This holy Monk, this Abbot — him mean I, Touched then his tongue, and took away the grain; And, when the Abbot had this wonder seen, 'Eke the whole Convent on the pavement lay, Young Hew of Lincoln! in like sort laid low By cursed Jews—thing well and widely known, For not long since was dealt the cruel blow, Pray also thou for us, while here we tarry Weak sinful folk, that God, with pitying eye, In mercy would his mercy multiply On us, for reverence of his Mother Mary!' THE RIVER DUDDON rises upon Wrynose Fell, on the confines of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Lancashire; and, serving as a boundary to the two last counties, for the space of about twenty-five miles, enters the Irish sea, between the Isle of Walney and the Lordship of Millum. TO THE REV. DR. W (WITH THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION.) THE Minstrels played their Christmas tune While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling Laurels, thick with leaves, Through hill and valley every breeze That scraped the chords with strenuous hand. And who but listened? till was paid The greeting given, the music played, O Brother! I revere the choice A barren and ungrateful soil. Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine, Hadst heard this never-failing rite; And seen on other faces shine A true revival of the light; Which Nature, and these rustic Powers, In simple childhood, spread through ours! For pleasure hath not ceased to wait Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate Call forth the unelaborate sounds, Or they are offered at the door That guards the lowliest of the poor. |