Not knowing what to think, a while The Shepherd stood; then makes his way Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came ; On which the Traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This Dog, had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain that, since the day When this ill-fated Traveller died, The Dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time Composed 1805. TO THE DAISY. (39) Published 1815. SWEET Flower! belike one day to have I welcome thee once more: Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day His wish was gained a little time Would bring him back in manhood's prime And free for life, these hills to climb; With all his wants supplied. And full of hope day followed day While that stout Ship at anchor lay Beside the shores of Wight; The May had then made all things green; And, floating there, in pomp serene, That Ship was goodly to be seen, His pride and his delight! Yet then, when called ashore, he sought The tender peace of rural thought : In more than happy mood To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers! He then would steal at leisure hours, But hark the word!—the ship is gone ;— Once more on English earth they stand : Ill-fated Vessel !—ghastly shock! And through the stormy night they steer; "Silence!" the brave Commander cried; -A few (my soul oft sees that sight) Six weeks beneath the moving sea To quit the Ship for which he died, (All claims of duty satisfied ;) And there they found him at her side; Vain service yet not vainly done For such a gentle Soul and sweet, That neighbourhood of grove and field The birds shall sing and ocean make A mournful murmur for his sake; And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE of peele CASTLE, (33) IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. Composed 1805. Published 1807 I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven ;— Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine A Picture had it been of lasting ease, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such Picture would I at that time have made : So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind screne. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O'tis a passionate Work !—yet wise and well, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, |