Is it that oft since then my heart has sighed William Lisle Bowles. HEAR Kenilworth. THE IVY OF KENILWORTH. EARD'ST thou what the Ivy sighed, In the place of regal mirth, With its many glistening leaves, And a voice is in each fold, 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, 66 '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, 66 Surely one thing shall abide; Midst the wreck of ages, one, Heaven's eternal Word alone!" Felicia Hemans. Keswick. ONCE KESWICK. NCE more I see thee, Skiddaw! once again Where, like the bulwark of this favored plain, Once more, O Derwent! to thy awful shores 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. Robert Southey. KESWICK. '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 High in the middle air, - huge, purple, pillowy masses; While in the west beyond was the last pale tint of the twilight, 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. Robert Southey. Kirkstone. THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE. WITHIN the mind strong fancies work, A deep delight the bosom thrills, Oft as I pass along the fork Of these fraternal hills: |