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And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn
In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old highway leading to Ambleside, is a gate which, time out of mind, has been called the Wishing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favorable issue.
OPE rules a land forever green:
All powers that serve the bright-eyed queen
Are confident and gay;
And Fancy smooths the way.
Not such the land of Wishes, — there
And thoughts with things at strise ;
How poor, were human life!
When magic lore abjured its might,
One tender claim abate; Witness this symbol of your sway, Surviving near the public way,
The rustic Wishing-gate!
Inquire not if the faery race
Ere northward they retired;
Or here a saint expired.
Enough that all around is fair,
And in her fondest love, –
The selfish to reprove.
Yea! even the stranger from afar,
Unknowing and unknown,
All happiness her own.
Then why should conscious spirits fear The mystic stirrings that are here,
The ancient faith disclaim ? The local genius ne'er befriends
Desires whose course in folly ends,
Whose just reward is shame.
Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn,
Here crave an easier lot;
With firmer, holier knot.
And not in vain, when thoughts are cast
Some penitent sincere
No unavailing tear.
The worldling, pining to be freed
The current of his fate,
Upon the Wishing-gate.
The sage, who feels how blind, how weak Is man, though loath such help to seek,
Yet, passing, here might pause, And thirst for insight to allay Misgiving, while the crimson day
In quietness withdraws;
Or when the church-clock's knell profound
Of midnight makes reply;
WRITTEN AT GRASMERE, ON TIDINGS OF THE APPROACHING
DEATH OF CHARLES JAMES FOX.
OUD 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
Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
And many thousands now are sad,
A power is passing from the earth
That man, who is from God sent forth,
A REMEMBRANCE OF GRASMERE.
VALE and lake, within your mountain urn
Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep! Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return, Coloring the tender shadows of my sleep With light Elysian ; for the hues that steep Your shores in melting lustre seem to float On golden clouds from spirit-lands remote, Isles of the blest, and in our memory keep Their place with holiest harmonies. Fair scene, Most loved by evening and her dewy star! 0, ne'er may man, with touch unhallowed, jar The perfect music of thy charm serene ! Still, still unchanged, may one sweet region wear Smiles that subdue the soul to love and tears and prayer.