LXXV. REST. THE boat is hauled upon the hardening sand, No light winds play the reed-pipes as they pass; O balmy hours of silver sheen and dew! Shall nought belie you save this labouring breast-The soul alone to Nature be untrue, And still of what she hath not go in quest? Just now ye spake. Ah, speak those words anew, 'Wait, weary heart; soon thou shalt also rest.' LXXVI. FOUNTAINS ABBEY. ABBEY! for ever smiling pensively, How like a thing of Nature dost thou rise Amid her loveliest works! as if the skies, Clouded with grief, were arched thy roof to be, And the tall trees were copied all from thee ! Mourning thy fortunes-while the waters dim Flow like the memory of thy evening hymn, Beautiful in their sorrowing sympathy; As if they with a weeping sister wept, Winds name thy name! But thou, though sad, art calm, And Time with thee his plighted troth hath kept; For harebells deck thy brow, and, at thy feet, Where sleep the proud, the bee and redbreast meet, Mixing thy sighs with Nature's lonely psalm. LXXVII. SILENCE. HUSH-hush! it is the charm of nothingness, — O joy wherein no soul a friend may greet, From forth whose womb we sprang without a throe? To Thee resort for rest and peace all men ; LXXVIII. A SUNSET THOUGHT. THE sun is burning with intensest light Like to the Bush, in which to Moses' sight My head, in wonder hush'd, before His might! Yea! this whole world so vast, to Faith's clear eye, LXXIX. LONDON, AFTER MIDNIGHT. SILENCE broods o'er the mighty Babylon; To start refreshed. Oh Thou, who rul'st above, Awake, the spirit of pure peace and love, Which Thou breath'st through it now, so still and deep! |