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That not an image of the past
Should fear that pencil's touch!

Retirement then might hourly look
Upon a soothing scene,

Age steal to his allotted nook
Contented and serene;

With heart as calm as lakes that sleep
In frosty moonlight glistening;

Or mountain rivers, where they creep
Along a channel smooth and deep,
To their own far-off murmurs listening

XXX.

THIS Lawn, a carpet all alive

With shadows flung from leaves, to strive

In dance, amid a press

Of sunshine, an apt emblem yields

Of Worldlings revelling in the fields
Of strenuous idleness;

Less quick the stir when tide and breeze
Encounter, and to narrow seas

Forbid a moment's rest;

The medley less when Boreal Lights . Glance to and fro, like aery Sprites To feats of arms addrest!

1823.

Yet, spite of all this eager strife,
This ceaseless play, the genuine life
That serves the steadfast hours
Is in the grass beneath, that grows
Unheeded, and the mute repose
Of sweetly-breathing flowers.

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[The Rocking-stones, alluded to in the beginning of the following verses, are supposed to have been used, by our British ancestors, both for judicial and religious purposes: Such stones are not uncommonly found, at this day, both in Great Britain and in Ireland.]

WHAT though the Accused, upon his own appeal
To righteous Gods when man has ceased to feel,
Or at a doubting Judge's stern command,

Before the STONE OF POWER no longer stand,
To take his sentence from the balanced Block,
As, at his touch, it rocks, or seems to rock;
Though, in the depths of sunless groves, no more
The Druid-priest the hallowed Oak adore;
Yet, for the Initiate, rocks and whispering trees
Do still perform mysterious offices!

And functions dwell in beast and bird that sway

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The reasoning mind, or with the fancy play,
Inviting, at all seasons, ears and eyes
To watch for undelusive auguries ;—`
Not uninspired appear their simplest ways;
Their voices mount symbolical of praise,
To mix with hymns that Spirits make and hear;
And to fallen man their innocence is dear.
Enraptured Art draws from those sacred springs.
Streams that reflect the poetry of things!
Where Christian Martyrs stand in hues por
trayed,

That, might a wish avail, would never fade,
Borne in their hands the lily and the palm
Shed round the altar a celestial calm;

There, too, behold the lamb and guileless dove
Pressed in the tenderness of virgin loye
To saintly bosoms! - Glorious is the blending
Of right affections climbing or descending
Along a scale of light and life, with cares
Alternate; carrying holy thoughts and prayers
Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High;
Descending to the worm in charity;
Like those good Angels whom a dream of night
Gave, in the field of Luz, to Jacob's sight,
All, while he slept, treading the pendent stairs
Earthward or heavenward, radiant messengers,
That, with a perfect will in one accord

Of strict obedience, serve the Almighty Lord;
And with untired humility forbore

To speed their errand by the wings they wore.

What a fair world were ours for verse to paint, If Power could live at ease with self-restraint! Opinion bow before the naked sense

Of the great Vision,

faith in Providence ;

Merciful over all his creatures, just

To the least particle of sentient dust;
But, fixing by immutable decrees,
Seed-time and harvest for his purposes !
Then would be closed the restless oblique eye
That looks for evil like a treacherous spy;
Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds
That into breezes sink; impetuous minds
By discipline endeavor to grow meek

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As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek.
Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride,
Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side
Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice;
And not alone harsh tyranny would cease,
But unoffending creatures find release
From qualified oppression, whose defence
Rests on a hollow plea of recompense;
Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect
Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect.
Witness those glances of indignant scorn
From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn
The kindness that would make him less forlorn;
Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued,

His look of pitiable gratitude!

Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles,

Whose day departs in pomp, returns with smiles,

To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land,
As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned;
A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats
For Gods in council, whose green vales, retreats
Fit for the shades of heroes, mingling there
To breathe Elysian peace in upper air.

Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave,
Stone-walls a prisoner make, but not a slave.
Shall man assume a property in man?
Lay on the moral will a withering ban?
Shame that our laws at distance still protect
Enormities, which they at home reject!
"Slaves cannot breathe in England,” — yet that
boast

Is but a mockery! when from coast to coast,
Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil
Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil,
For the poor Many, measured out by rules
Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools,
That to an Idol, falsely called "the Wealth
Of Nations," sacrifice a People's health,
Body and mind and soul; a thirst so keen
Is ever urging on the vast machine

Of sleepless Labor, 'mid whose dizzy wheels
The Power least prized is that which thinks and
feels.

Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age
And all the heavy or light vassalage
Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit

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