Joy based on sorrow, good with ill combined,
And proud deliverance issuing out of pain
And direful throes; as if the All-ruling Mind,
With whose perfection it consists to ordain
Volcanic burst, earthquake, and hurricane,
Dealt in like sort with feeble human kind
By laws immutable. But woe for him
Who thus deceived shall lend an eager hand
To social havoc. Is not Conscience ours,
And Truth, whose eye guilt only can make
dim;

And Will, whose office, by divine command,
Is to control and check disordered Powers!

VII.

CONCLUDED

LONG-FAVOURED England! be not thou misled
By monstrous theories of alien growth,
Lest alien frenzy seize thee, waxing wroth,
Self-smitten till thy garments reek dyed red
With thy own blood, which tears in torrents
shed

Fail to wash out, tears flowing ere thy troth
Be plighted, not to ease but sullen sloth,
Or wan despair-the ghost of false hope fled
Into a shameful grave. Among thy youth,
My Country! if such warning be held dear,
Then shall a Veteran's heart be thrilled with
joy,

One who would gather from eternal truth,
For time and season, rules that work to cheer-
Not scourge, to save the People-not destroy.

VIII.

MEN of the Western World! in Fate's dark book

Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent?

Think ye your British Ancestors forsook
Their native Land, for outrage provident;
From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook
To give, in their Descendants, freer vent
And wider range to passions turbulent,
To mutual tyranny, a deadlier look?
Nay, said a voice, soft as the south wind's
breath,

Dive through the stormy surface of the flood
To the great current flowing underneath;
Explore the countless springs of silent good;
So shall the truth be better understood,
And thy grieved Spirit brighten strong in faith.

IX.

TO THE PENNSYLVANIANS.

DAYS undefiled by luxury or sloth,
Firm self-denial, manners grave and staid,
Rights equal, laws with cheerfulness obeyed,
Words that require no sanction from an oath,
And simple honesty a common growth-
This high repute, with bounteous Nature's aid,
Won confidence, now ruthlessly betrayed
At will, your power the measure of your
troth!-

All who revere the memory of Penn

X.

AT BOLOGNA, IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE INSURRECTIONS, 1837.

1.

Ан why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain
True freedom where for ages they have lain
Bound in a dark abominable pit,

With life's best sinews more and more unknit.
Here, there, a banded few who loathe the Chain
May rise to break it: effort worse than vain
For thee, O great Italian nation, split
Into those jarring fractions.-Let thy scope
Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve
To thy own conscience gradually renewed;
Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope;
Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude,
The light of Knowledge, and the warmth
Love.

For ever. -The Spirit of Alfred at the head Of all who for her rights watch'd, toil'd and bled Knows that this prophecy is not too bold. What-how! shall she submit in will and dec To Beardless Boys-an imitative race,

SUGGESTED BY THE VIEW OF LANCASTER

CASTLE (ON THE ROAD FROM THE SOUTH).
THIS Spot-at once unfolding sight so fair
Of sea and land, with yon grey towers that still
Rise up as if to lord it over air-
Might soothe in human breasts the sense of ill,
Or charm it out of memory; yea, might fill
The heart with joy and gratitude to God
For all his bounties upon man bestowed:
Why bears it then the name of "Weeping
Hill?"

Thousands, as toward yon old Lancastrian
Towers,

A prison's crown, along this way they past
For lingering durance or quick death with

A single human life have wrongly taken,
Pass sentence on themselves, confess the fast,
And, to atone for it, with soul unshaken
Kneel at the feet of Justice, and, for faith
Broken with all mankind, solicit death.

IV.

Is Death, when evil against good has fought
With such fell mastery that a man may dare
By deeds the blackest purpose to lay bare-
Is Death, for one to that condition brought,
For him, or any one, the thing that ought
To be most dreaded? Lawgivers, beware,
Lest, capital pains remitting till ye spare
The murderer, ye, by sanction to that thought
Seemingly given, debase the general mind;
Tempt the vague will tried standards to disown,
Nor only palpable restraints unbind,
But upon Honour's head disturb the crown,
Whose absolute rule permits not to withstand
In the weak love of life his least command.

V.

NOT to the object specially designed,
Howe'er momentous in itself it be,
Good to promote or curb depravity,
Is the wise Legislator's view confined.
His Spirit, when most severe, is oft most kind;
As all Authority in earth depends

On Love and Fear, their several powers he blends,

Copying with awe the one Paternal mind.
Uncaught by processes in show humane,
He feels how far the act would derogate
From even the humblest functions of the State;
If she, self-shorn of Majesty, ordain
That never more shall hang upon her breath
The last alternative of Life or Death.

VIII.

FIT retribution, by the moral code Determined, lies beyond the State's embrace, Yet, as she may, for each peculiar case

She plants well-measured terrors in the road
Of wrongful acts. Downward it is and broad,
And, the main fear once doomed to banishment,
Far oftener then, bad ushering worse event,
Blood would be spilt that in his dark abode
Crime might lie better hid. And, should the
change

Take from the horror due to a foul deed,
Pursuit and evidence so far must fail,.
And, guilt escaping, passion then might plead
In angry spirits for her old free range,
And the "wild justice of revenge" prevail.

Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine
Of an immortal spirit, is a gift

So sacred, so informed with light divine,
That no tribunal, though most wise to sift
Deed and intent, should turn the Being adrift
Into that world where penitential tear
May not avail, nor prayer have for God's ear
A voice that world whose veil no hand can lift
For earthly sight. "Eternity and Time,"
They urge, "have interwoven claims and rights
Not to be jeopardised through foulest crime:
The sentence rule by mercy's heaven-born
lights."

Even so: but measuring not by finite sense
Infinite Power, perfect Intelligence.

XI.

Ан, think how one compelled for life to abide
Locked in a dungeon needs must eat the heart
Out of his own humanity, and part

With every hope that mutual cares provide ;
And, should a less unnatural doom confide
In life-long exile on a savage coast,
Soon the relapsing penitent may boast
Hence thoughtful Mercy, Mercy sage and pure,
Of yet more heinous guilt, with fiercer pride.
Sanctions the forfeiture that Law demands,

Leaving the final issue in His hands

Whose goodness knows no change, whose love is sure, Who sees, foresees; who cannot judge amiss,

And wafts at will the contrite soul to bliss.

XII.

SEE the Condemned alone within his cell
And prostrate at some moment when remorse
Stings to the quick, and, with resistless force,
Assaults the pride she strove in vain to quell.
Then mark him, him who could so long rebel,
The crime confessed, a kneeling Penitent
Before the Altar, where the Sacrament
Softens his heart, till from his eyes outwell
Tears of salvation. Welcome death! while
Heaven

Does in this change exceedingly rejoice;
While yet the solemn heed the State hath given
Helps him to meet the last Tribunal's voice
In faith, which fresh offences, were he cast
On old temptations, might for ever blast.

XIII. CONCLUSION.

YES, though He well may tremble at the sound
Of his own voice, who from the judgment-seat
Sends the pale Convict to his last retreat
In death; though Listeners shudder all around,
They know the dread requital's source pro-
found;

Nor is, they feel, its wisdom obsolete-
(Would that it were !) the sacrifice unmeet
For Christian Faith. But hopeful signs abound
The social rights of man breathe purer air:
Religion deepens her preventive care;
Strike not from Law's firm hand that awful rod,
Then, moved by needless fear of past abuse,
But leave it thence to drop for lack of use:
Oh, speed the blessed hour, Almighty God!

XIV. APOLOGY.

THE formal World relaxes her cold chain
For One who speaks in numbers; ampler scope
His utterance finds; and, conscious of the gain,
Imagination works with bolder hope
The cause of grateful reason to sustain ;
And, serving Truth, the heart more strongly
beats

Against all barriers which his labour meets
In lofty place, or humble Life's domain.
Enough;-before us lay a painful road,
And guidance have I sought in duteous love
From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath
flowed

Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way
Each takes in this high matter, all may move
Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.

1840.

TO SIR GEORGE HOWLAND BEAUMONT, BART. FROM THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF CUMBERLAND.-1811.

FAR from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake, From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,

Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore
We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;
While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black
Comb

Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom,
Unless, perchance rejecting in despite
What on the Plain we have of warmth and light,
In his own storms he hides himself from sight.
Rough is the time; and thoughts, that would
be free

From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee;
Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road
Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad;
Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might
Attained a stature twice a tall man's height,
Hopeless of further growth, and brown and

Whose rugged walls may still for years demand
The final polish of the Plasterer's hand.
-This Dwelling's Inmate more than three
weeks' space.

And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place,
I-of whose touch the fiddle would complain,
Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain,
In music all unversed, nor blessed with skill
A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill,
Tired of my books, a scanty company!
And tired of listening to the boisterous sea-
Pace between door and window muttering
rhyme,

An old resource to cheat a froward time!

Though these dull hours (mine is it, or their

shame?)

Would tempt me to renounce that humble aim,
-But if there be a Muse who, free to take
Her seat upon Olympus, doth forsake
Those heights (like Phoebus when his golden
locks

He veiled, attendant on Thessalian flocks)
And, in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail
Trips down the pathways of some winding dale;
Or, like a Mermaid, warbles on the shores
To fishers mending nets beside their doors;
Or, Pilgrim-like, on forest moss reclined,
Gives plaintive ditties to the heedless wind,
Or listens to its play among the boughs
Above her head and so forgets her vows-
If such a Visitant of Earth there be
And she would deign this day to smile on me
And aid my verse, content with local bounds
Of natural beauty and life's daily rounds,
Thoughts, chances, sights, or doings, which we
tell

Without reserve to those whom we love well-
Then haply, Beaumont! words in current clear
Will flow, and on a welcome page appear
Duly before thy sight, unless they perish here.

What shall I treat of? News from Mona's
Isle ?

Such have we, but unvaried in its style;
No tales of Runagates fresh landed, whence
And wherefore fugitive or on what pretence;
Of feasts, or scandal, eddying like the wind
Most restlessly alive when most confined.
Ask not of me, whose tongue can best appease
The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;
The last year's cup whose Ram or Heifer
gained,

What slopes are planted, or what mosses drained:

An eye of fancy only can I cast

On that proud pageant now at hand or past, When full five hundred boats in trim array, With nets and sails outspread and streamer