 | Poems |  |
244
LINES WRITTEN IN DERBYSHIRE.
I sat me down by the mountain-stream
In its silvery pride descending,
And methought it was like some fanciful dream,
Wild horror with loveliness blending!
In its silvery pride descending,
And methought it was like some fanciful dream,
Wild horror with loveliness blending!
I gazed on the rude and rugged rocks,
Scarce reclaimed from gloom by the empurpling heath,
Where the dark-coloured stones in shapeless blocks
Frowned like death o'er the beautiful valley beneath.
Scarce reclaimed from gloom by the empurpling heath,
Where the dark-coloured stones in shapeless blocks
Frowned like death o'er the beautiful valley beneath.
Then I gazed on that valley's delightful scene,
Romantic with pastoral loveliness,
And I felt that a spot so brightly serene
Must be the calm site of happiness!
Romantic with pastoral loveliness,
And I felt that a spot so brightly serene
Must be the calm site of happiness!
245
O'er the blooming world that lay at my feet
The sun his broad mantle of splendour was throwing,
And clear was the air, and the heath-flowers were sweet,
And the fresh mountain-breezes around me were blowing.
The sun his broad mantle of splendour was throwing,
And clear was the air, and the heath-flowers were sweet,
And the fresh mountain-breezes around me were blowing.
And methought in an hour, even a deep hour like this,
When Nature's wild beauties surround us,
Our souls feel the noblest sensations of bliss,
And earth teems with enchantments around us.
When Nature's wild beauties surround us,
Our souls feel the noblest sensations of bliss,
And earth teems with enchantments around us.
With enchantments? even so!—Ah! those rocks darkly frowning,
With a charm more impressive the scene had arrayed;
And, O! never was sunlight a fair landscape crowning,
But it borrowed a tenderer attraction from shade!
With a charm more impressive the scene had arrayed;
And, O! never was sunlight a fair landscape crowning,
But it borrowed a tenderer attraction from shade!
246
And, O! 'tis for ever and ever on earth—
These meetings of brightest and gloomiest things—
Of young passion and death,—and of sadness and mirth!—
Ah! the wormwood still lurks in earth's loveliest springs!
These meetings of brightest and gloomiest things—
Of young passion and death,—and of sadness and mirth!—
Ah! the wormwood still lurks in earth's loveliest springs!
If we fain would repose where no shadow descends,
Where no blight dims the leaf, and no canker the flower,
Where no wormwood with springs of enchantment e'er blends,
We must wait for a swift-hastening, dark-rolling hour!
Where no blight dims the leaf, and no canker the flower,
Where no wormwood with springs of enchantment e'er blends,
We must wait for a swift-hastening, dark-rolling hour!
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