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Is it that oft since then my heart has sighed
THE IVY OF KENILWORTH.
[EARD'ST thou what the Ivy sighed,
With its many glistening leaves,
Heard'st thou, while with dews of night
"Where I am the harp hath rung
And the blood-red wine flowed free,
"Where I am, now last and lone,
"Flung from these illumined towers,
"Where is now the feasting high?
"In my home no hearth is crowned,
Yes, thy warning voice I knew,
Yet my secret soul replied,
Surely one thing shall abide; Midst the wreck of ages, one, Heaven's eternal Word alone!"
NCE more I see thee, Skiddaw! once again Behold thee in thy majesty serene, Where, like the bulwark of this favored plain, Alone thou standest, monarch of the scene, Thou glorious mountain, on whose ample breast The sunbeams love to play, the vapors love to rest.
Once more, O Derwent! to thy awful shores
I come, insatiate of the accustomed sight,
Drink in with eye and ear a fresh delight;
Twelve years, (how large a part of man's brief day !) Nor idly nor ingloriously spent,
Of evil and of good have held their way,
Since first upon thy banks I pitched my tent.
Heaven hath with goodly increase blest me here,
Where childless and oppressed with grief I came ;
With voice of fervent thankfulness sincere,
Let me the blessings which are mine proclaim: Here I possess what more should I require? Books, children, leisure, all my heart's desire.
I WAS at that sober hour when the light of day is receding,
And from surrounding things the hues wherewith day has adorned them
Fade, like the hopes of youth, till the beauty of earth is departed,
Pensive, though not in thought, I stood at the window, beholding
Mountain and lake and vale; the valley disrobed of its verdure;
Derwent retaining yet from eve a glassy reflection, Where his expanded breast, then still and smooth as a mirror,
Under the woods reposed; the hills that, calm and majestic,
Lifted their heads in the silent sky, from far Glara
Bleacrag, and Maidenmawr, to Grizedal and westermost Withop.
Dark and distinct they rose.
The clouds had gathered
High in the middle air, - huge, purple, pillowy masses;
While in the west beyond was the last pale tint of the
Green as a stream in the glen whose pure and chrysolite waters
Flow o'er a schistous bed, and serene as the age of the righteous.
Earth was hushed and still; all motion and sound were suspended :
Neither man was heard, bird, beast, nor humming of insect,
Only the voice of the Greta, heard only when all is in stillness.
Pensive I stood, and alone; the hour and the scene had subdued me;
And as I gazed in the west, where infinity seemed to be open,
Yearned to be free from time, and felt that this life is a thraldom.
THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE.
ITHIN the mind strong fancies work,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills: