If, then, some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over, The soul's deep valley was not slow Its brightness to recover.
Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment!
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet,
Has o'er their pillow brooded;
And Care waylays their steps-a Sprite Not easily eluded.
For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot For mild Sorento's breezy waves; May classic Fancy, linking With native Fancy her fresh aid, Preserve thy heart from sinking!
O! while they minister to thee, Each vying with the other, May Health return to mellow Age, With Strength, her venturous brother;
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine, Nor lose one ray of glory!
For Thou, upon a hundred streams, By tales of love and sorrow. Of faithful love, undaunted truth, Hast shed the power of Yarrow; And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, Wherever they invite Thee, At parent Nature's grateful call, With gladness must requite Thee.
A gracious welcome shall be thine, Such looks of love and honour As thy own Yarrow gave to me When first I gazed upon her; Beheld what I had feared to see, Unwilling to surrender
Dreams treasured up from early days, The holy and the tender.
And what, for this frail world, were all That mortals do or suffer,
Did no responsive harp, no pen, Memorial tribute offer?
Yea, what were mighty Nature's self?
Her features, could they win us,
Unhelped by the poetic voice
That hourly speaks within us?
Nor deem that localised Romance Play false with our affections; Unsanctifies our tears-made sport For fanciful dejections: Ah, no! the visions of the past Sustain the heart in feeling
Life as she is our changeful Life, With friends and kindred dealing.
Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day In Yarrow's groves were centred; Who through the silent portal arch Of mouldering Newark enter'd; And clomb the winding stair that once Too timidly was mounted
By the last Minstrel,' (not the last!) Ere he his Tale recounted.
Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream!
Fulfil thy pensive duty,
Well pleased that future Bards should chant
For simple hearts thy beauty;
To dream-light dear while yet unseen,
Dear to the common sunshine,
And dearer still, as now I feel,
To memory's shadowy moonshine!
HIGH on her speculative tower Stood Science waiting for the hour When Sol was destined to endure That darkening of his radiant face Which Superstition strove to chase, Erewhile, with rites impure.
Afloat beneath Italian skies, Through regions fair as Paradise We gaily passed,-till Nature wrought A silent and unlooked-for change, That checked the desultory range Of joy and sprightly thought.
Where'er was dipped the toiling oar, The waves danced round us as before, As lightly, though of altered hue, Mid recent coolness, such as falls At noontide from umbrageous walls That screen the morning dew.
No vapour stretched its wings; no cloud Cast far or near a murky shroud;
The sky an azure field displayed;
'Twas sunlight sheathed and gently charmed, Of all its sparkling rays disarmed, And as in slumber laid:
Or something night and day between, Like moonshine--but the hue was green; Still moonshine, without shadow, spread On jutting rock, and curvèd shore, Where gazed the peasant from his door, And on the mountain's head.
It tinged the Julian steeps-it lay, Lugano! on thy ample bay; The solemnizing veil was drawn O'er villas, terraces, and towers; To Albogasio's olive bowers, Porlezza's verdant lawn.
But Fancy with the speed of fire Hath past to Milan's loftiest spire, And there alights 'mid that aerial host Of Figures human and divine, White as the snows of Apennine Indurated by frost.
Awe-stricken she beholds the array
That guards the Temple night and day;
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