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Poems

By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston

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I. WORDSWORTH'S HOME.
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I. WORDSWORTH'S HOME.

The fairest bowers in this enchanted land,
To me are darken'd by a fate severe,
And most yon terraced bower of Rydal-mere,
That long-loved mount, where oft some pilgrim band,
Won by the genius of the place, will stand
Lingering, as now, in many a distant year.
Alas! the Delphic “laurels never sere,”
Undying trophies of their planter's hand,
To Him were blighted, though they yet be green,
For me were wither'd, when no more was seen
The light that fed her aged father's heart,
And shed the tenderest glory on his fame.
The living forms of his creative art
For us are shadowy,—Dora but a name.
August, 1849.