They moved about in open sight, He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt On the Mountains visitant; He hath kenn'd them taking wing: He hath entered; and been told He can whisper words of might. On the blood of Clifford calls ;— "Quell the Scot," exclaims the Lance, Bear me to the heart of France, Is the longing of the Shield Tell thy name, thou trembling Field; Field of death, where'er thou be, Happy day, and mighty hour, When our Shepherd, in his power, Mail'd and hors'd, with lance and sword, To his Ancestors restored, Like a reappearing Star, Like a glory from afar, First shall head the Flock of War!" Alas! the fervent Harper did not know Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie, His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The sleep that is among the lonely hills. In him the savage Virtue of the Race, Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth; The Shepherd Lord was honour'd more and more: And, ages after he was laid in earth, "The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore. LINES, Composed at GRASMERE, during a walk, one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of MR. Fox was hourly expected. Loud is the Vale! the Voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty Unison of streams! Of all her Voices, One! Loud is the Vale;-this inland Depth In peace is roaring like the Sea; Yon Star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly. Sad was I, ev'n to pain depress'd, The Comforter hath found me here, Upon this lonely road; And many thousands now are sad, Wait the fulfilment of their fear; A Power is passing from the earth That Man, who is from God sent forth, Doth yet again to God return ?- Then wherefore should we mourn? |