 | Poems |  |
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VI. THE LAKE OF LAUWERTZ.
Like Rydal with its sister-isles
The little lake of Lauwertz smiles;
If less exquisitely fair,
Yet the very character;
The very road along the shore,
And tufted rocks projecting o'er;
Straggling orchards like the same,
Plots of green that kindred claim:
E'en the lilies float and lave,
And the reeds are on the wave;
And the lights of morning make
Mimic lines across the lake.
All but Goldau's ruins seem
Rydal in a faithful dream.
The little lake of Lauwertz smiles;
If less exquisitely fair,
Yet the very character;
The very road along the shore,
And tufted rocks projecting o'er;
Straggling orchards like the same,
Plots of green that kindred claim:
E'en the lilies float and lave,
And the reeds are on the wave;
And the lights of morning make
Mimic lines across the lake.
All but Goldau's ruins seem
Rydal in a faithful dream.
Goldau's ruins!—more than all
The resemblance they recall.
Tell they not the o'erwhelming doom
Of soft beauty in its bloom;
Virtue, joy, and tenderness,
All that happy homes could bless,
In a moment's awful fate
Crush'd beneath a mountain's weight?
Why should Rydal seem like this?
Let the memory of bliss,
Let its ruin, answer why—
Let Jemima's grave reply.
The resemblance they recall.
Tell they not the o'erwhelming doom
Of soft beauty in its bloom;
240
All that happy homes could bless,
In a moment's awful fate
Crush'd beneath a mountain's weight?
Why should Rydal seem like this?
Let the memory of bliss,
Let its ruin, answer why—
Let Jemima's grave reply.
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