Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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 | Malvern Hills |  |
73
DARTMOOR.
ARGUMENT.
Distant view of Dartmoor. Ascent up its side. Cultivation succeeded by barrenness. Lofty rock. Mountain springs. Flowers of Dartmoor. Effects of a sudden storm on the streams and rivers of Dartmoor. Moss. View from the highest Peak. The wildness of such scenery not according with England. Solitary traveller. Peat. Pannier-horses. Colts. A cottage. The housewife. The sire. The children. Comforts of cottage life. Druids. Their traces visible on Dartmoor. Incompetency of Science, Learning, Nature, or Genius, to correct Idolatry, and to teach the knowledge of the true God. Apostrophe to pure Religion. Reference to the ancient Britons, who, after their defeat, retired beyond Dartmoor. Pursued by the enemy. Storms and Sterility dismay the Saxons. Changes on the Earth effected by man. Proposed Asylum on Dartmoor, for the pauper children of London. Anticipations. Character of Devonshire. Conclusion.
WHAT hills are those, deserted, brown, and bare,
Whose mouldering crags the spoils of Time declare?
Dartmoor! thy stately presence I perceive,
Seen first at morn, and lingering last with eve:
Thy rugged pinnacles, unfolded clear,
Rising in solemn grandeur, vast, as drear.
Whose mouldering crags the spoils of Time declare?
Dartmoor! thy stately presence I perceive,
Seen first at morn, and lingering last with eve:
74
Rising in solemn grandeur, vast, as drear.
Mounting thy sides, and musing as I go,
Streams, oozing from their source, beside me flow,
Traced by the flag; their motion, as they stray,
Known by the Sun's slant beams that on them play:
Larks, faintly heard, my weary steps beguile,
And, warm with promise, all things speak and smile.
Onward I press, yet, still before me rise,
Peaks, grey with age, their home among the skies.
As Nature's mild and gentler forms depart,
A sterner feeling sinks into my heart:
The waving corn, the “hum” of human kind,
The paths familiar, far are left behind,
And to th' horizon's dim-discover'd bound,
Heaths, strew'd with granite fragments, reign around,
So, on her course, when first the Bark proceeds,
The port, the shore, at every glance recedes;
'Till, forward borne, as favouring billows roll,
Each object fades that lingers near the soul.
Streams, oozing from their source, beside me flow,
Traced by the flag; their motion, as they stray,
Known by the Sun's slant beams that on them play:
Larks, faintly heard, my weary steps beguile,
And, warm with promise, all things speak and smile.
Onward I press, yet, still before me rise,
Peaks, grey with age, their home among the skies.
As Nature's mild and gentler forms depart,
A sterner feeling sinks into my heart:
The waving corn, the “hum” of human kind,
The paths familiar, far are left behind,
And to th' horizon's dim-discover'd bound,
Heaths, strew'd with granite fragments, reign around,
75
The port, the shore, at every glance recedes;
'Till, forward borne, as favouring billows roll,
Each object fades that lingers near the soul.
Approaching now a Torr of towering height,
Where huge Rock-Idols awe while they invite,
In silence, I survey the prospect round,
Vales clothed with fern, and hills with ruins crown'd.
By slender aid from fancy, (which can give
Nerve to the feeble, make the breathless live,)
Imposing structures glisten in the Sun,
Completed often, oftener, just begun.
Base, architrave, and outstretched columns fair,
Promiscuous cast, and whitening in the air,
Save when, to change the sameness of the scene,
Lichen and Archil spot with red and green.
Whether primeval cliffs, by slow decay,
Have crumbled, till yon shapes they now display;
Or they were thus by force volcanic thrown,
Or heap'd, by power of mortal, stone on stone,
In times when men yoked lions to their car,
Nothing is certain, but that—“there they are.”
Where huge Rock-Idols awe while they invite,
76
Vales clothed with fern, and hills with ruins crown'd.
By slender aid from fancy, (which can give
Nerve to the feeble, make the breathless live,)
Imposing structures glisten in the Sun,
Completed often, oftener, just begun.
Base, architrave, and outstretched columns fair,
Promiscuous cast, and whitening in the air,
Save when, to change the sameness of the scene,
Lichen and Archil spot with red and green.
Whether primeval cliffs, by slow decay,
Have crumbled, till yon shapes they now display;
Or they were thus by force volcanic thrown,
Or heap'd, by power of mortal, stone on stone,
77
Nothing is certain, but that—“there they are.”
78
On yonder mount, where crags unnumbered lie,
Too poor for praise, too mean for rivalry,
One lordly rock, his head, disdainful, rears,
Braving the tempests of a thousand years,—
The dark and gloomy giant of the waste,
Whom eve-o'ertaken travellers pass in haste,
And, gazing at his front, austere and rude,
Start at the wizard haunts of solitude.
Too poor for praise, too mean for rivalry,
One lordly rock, his head, disdainful, rears,
Braving the tempests of a thousand years,—
The dark and gloomy giant of the waste,
Whom eve-o'ertaken travellers pass in haste,
And, gazing at his front, austere and rude,
Start at the wizard haunts of solitude.
Ascending still; each moment to my eyes,
New wilds extend, and prouder summits rise.
The limpid streams, so late that tortuous ran
Down Dartmoor's sides, when first my toil began;
Boasting no name, by dews nocturnal fed,
And early lost mid reeds that near them spread:
Such now have vanish'd, while a nobler train,
From loftier springs, pass boisterous to the plain;
Winding through hollows in their mazy round,
And to the sea, howe'er diverted, bound.
These speed through banks that wrath departed show,
The neutral soil where herbs forbear to grow;
Through devious paths with hoarse impatience glide,
'Neath brambles oft, which matted straws bestride:
Dangling with every breeze, detained, when last,
Bearing their spoils, the floods imperious past.
Some simple flowers, attendant, fresh and fair,
Shed grateful perfumes on the “desert air:”
“Sweet-gale,” and “Thyme,” and “Spleenwort” here expand,
“Dwarf-raspb'ries” that confess th' ungenial land;
“Daisies,” in every nook of verdure found,
Or “Violets,” that empurple far the ground;
The “Sun-dew” pure, her crystal drop descried,
And thou, tall “Foxglove!” still Danmonium's pride.
New wilds extend, and prouder summits rise.
The limpid streams, so late that tortuous ran
Down Dartmoor's sides, when first my toil began;
Boasting no name, by dews nocturnal fed,
And early lost mid reeds that near them spread:
Such now have vanish'd, while a nobler train,
From loftier springs, pass boisterous to the plain;
79
And to the sea, howe'er diverted, bound.
These speed through banks that wrath departed show,
The neutral soil where herbs forbear to grow;
Through devious paths with hoarse impatience glide,
'Neath brambles oft, which matted straws bestride:
Dangling with every breeze, detained, when last,
Bearing their spoils, the floods imperious past.
Some simple flowers, attendant, fresh and fair,
Shed grateful perfumes on the “desert air:”
“Sweet-gale,” and “Thyme,” and “Spleenwort” here expand,
“Dwarf-raspb'ries” that confess th' ungenial land;
“Daisies,” in every nook of verdure found,
Or “Violets,” that empurple far the ground;
The “Sun-dew” pure, her crystal drop descried,
And thou, tall “Foxglove!” still Danmonium's pride.
80
The mists, that round yon Peak concentering spread,
Changes portend that mountain dwellers dread.
Clouds, dense and lowering, throng the western sky;
A pause proclaims aerial conflicts nigh,
Save when, (the equal prelude that dismays)
On summits bleak, the winds their voices raise,
Heard in the stillness, like the sullen roar
From Ocean's distant wave-assaulted shore.
Now storms conflicting burst upon the ear;
The wild-goat hurries to his covert near—
Whilst quivering flags before the tempest bend,
Rains, with brief warning, torrent-like descend;
And the loud gust, ascending peal on peal,
Comes with a might that probes the heart of steel.
Changes portend that mountain dwellers dread.
Clouds, dense and lowering, throng the western sky;
A pause proclaims aerial conflicts nigh,
Save when, (the equal prelude that dismays)
On summits bleak, the winds their voices raise,
Heard in the stillness, like the sullen roar
From Ocean's distant wave-assaulted shore.
Now storms conflicting burst upon the ear;
The wild-goat hurries to his covert near—
81
Rains, with brief warning, torrent-like descend;
And the loud gust, ascending peal on peal,
Comes with a might that probes the heart of steel.
Where are the silver rills that wound their way
Through tufted reeds, or spiring rushes gay;
Too small to shadow, in their face below,
The peaceful flowers that on their margin blow?
Or, where the streams, reflecting Heaven's clear dyes,
That roll'd o'er cress which vainly strove to rise,
Soothing the sense with their melodious song,
As to the vale they sparkling danced along;—
Haply to turn some clattering mill beside,
Or bear to sister towns their crystal tide?
Fled! like the savage, savage to engage,
At every blast convulsed with deeper rage!
See, in long lines of terrible array,
Th' impetuous waters, foaming, force their way.
If wrathful thus the mountain rills appear,
What forms must Dartmoor's headstrong rivers bear?
Taw, Yealme, and Stour, by countless streamlets fed,
Plunging infuriate down their rocky bed;—
Teign, in whose breast eternal discord reigns,
Or thou fierce Dart! indignant at thy chains?
So late who sped'st, dispensing murmurs faint,
Though arm'd with power, yet yielding to constraint;
Whose earnest flow th' obstructing stone divides,
Stain'd with the weeds that clothe its jagged sides;
Stretch'd out amid the current deep and strong,
And waving as it, lucid, pours along!
Now swoll'n by sudden storm, with furious force,
Onward thou bear'st whate'er would stem thy course;
Vex'd, madden'd, sending forth the fearful roar,
Then, winding round yon point, art seen no more!
Semblance of man, disquieted in vain,
Treading ambition's path, intent on gain;
Flush'd now with honours; panting for renown;
Scorning all toils to grasp the laurel-crown;
Loud, eager, ardent, hurrying on his way,
Disturb'd, or torn, by jarring passion's sway,
Scheme and device exuberant in his soul,
Till death, that foe abrupt! subverts the whole!
Through tufted reeds, or spiring rushes gay;
Too small to shadow, in their face below,
The peaceful flowers that on their margin blow?
Or, where the streams, reflecting Heaven's clear dyes,
That roll'd o'er cress which vainly strove to rise,
Soothing the sense with their melodious song,
As to the vale they sparkling danced along;—
Haply to turn some clattering mill beside,
Or bear to sister towns their crystal tide?
82
At every blast convulsed with deeper rage!
See, in long lines of terrible array,
Th' impetuous waters, foaming, force their way.
If wrathful thus the mountain rills appear,
What forms must Dartmoor's headstrong rivers bear?
83
Plunging infuriate down their rocky bed;—
84
Or thou fierce Dart! indignant at thy chains?
So late who sped'st, dispensing murmurs faint,
Though arm'd with power, yet yielding to constraint;
Whose earnest flow th' obstructing stone divides,
Stain'd with the weeds that clothe its jagged sides;
Stretch'd out amid the current deep and strong,
And waving as it, lucid, pours along!
Now swoll'n by sudden storm, with furious force,
Onward thou bear'st whate'er would stem thy course;
Vex'd, madden'd, sending forth the fearful roar,
Then, winding round yon point, art seen no more!
85
Treading ambition's path, intent on gain;
Flush'd now with honours; panting for renown;
Scorning all toils to grasp the laurel-crown;
Loud, eager, ardent, hurrying on his way,
Disturb'd, or torn, by jarring passion's sway,
Scheme and device exuberant in his soul,
Till death, that foe abrupt! subverts the whole!
Is it some vagrant phantasy? the change,
Seems mightier than the last, so new! so strange!
The clouds discharged, from their unknown retreat,
The zephyrs back return on pinion fleet;
And in their comeliest garb (heaven's azure clear,)
Once more these crags and leafless wilds appear.
Seems mightier than the last, so new! so strange!
The clouds discharged, from their unknown retreat,
The zephyrs back return on pinion fleet;
86
Once more these crags and leafless wilds appear.
Moss have I seen, where, by the Moon's pale light,
Dryads might trip with fairies through the night,
(While Philomela gave th' inspiring lay,
The eye profane of mortal held at bay,)
Spread o'er some wood, or, mantling aged wall,
With the next war of winds ordain'd to fall;
Or crowning hut forlorn, 'neath beechen shade,
Prosperous itself, but all below decay'd,
Yet here the region is of that sweet flower,
Which decks the stones with many an elfin bower,
Through which the beetle peeps, or wanders o'er
His tiny vestibule, or corridor;
While near him, in the curious coil of grey,
The sly aranea waits her hapless prey.
Dryads might trip with fairies through the night,
(While Philomela gave th' inspiring lay,
The eye profane of mortal held at bay,)
Spread o'er some wood, or, mantling aged wall,
With the next war of winds ordain'd to fall;
Or crowning hut forlorn, 'neath beechen shade,
Prosperous itself, but all below decay'd,
Yet here the region is of that sweet flower,
Which decks the stones with many an elfin bower,
Through which the beetle peeps, or wanders o'er
His tiny vestibule, or corridor;
While near him, in the curious coil of grey,
The sly aranea waits her hapless prey.
Where is the lovelier sight than mountain steep,
When blustering storms, exhausted, sink to sleep;
The Sun aloft in cloudless pomp, serene,
With wild magnificence, the circling scene;
Rocks, hills, and sky in sleep lethean bound,
Nor one discordant voice obtruding round?
Excess of joy that verges fast on pain!
Silence maintains, too undisturb'd her reign.
In this secluded hour, when all is still,
And thoughts, fantastic, captive lead the will;
The spirit, borne on fancy's airy car,
Uncurb'd by reason's cold, but polar star,
Environ'd by the desolate and vast;
Requires a clear remembrance of the past,
To feel afresh th' indissoluble ties
Of earth, and all her softening charities.
When blustering storms, exhausted, sink to sleep;
The Sun aloft in cloudless pomp, serene,
With wild magnificence, the circling scene;
Rocks, hills, and sky in sleep lethean bound,
Nor one discordant voice obtruding round?
Excess of joy that verges fast on pain!
Silence maintains, too undisturb'd her reign.
In this secluded hour, when all is still,
And thoughts, fantastic, captive lead the will;
The spirit, borne on fancy's airy car,
Uncurb'd by reason's cold, but polar star,
87
Requires a clear remembrance of the past,
To feel afresh th' indissoluble ties
Of earth, and all her softening charities.
What prospects in succession, wide as new,
From yon high Peak might break upon my view!
Form'd for dominion, 'tired in royal mien,
On which the rays of evening long are seen,
(Its splendour with beneficence combined,
Warning, mid bogs, the flag-collecting hind,)
When night, the soft enticer to repose,
Her sable canopy o'er Nature throws.
With labour hard that brow august is gain'd!
Confusion here her rule hath long maintain'd:
Far off, dismantled, stands the stannier stone,
With here and there the tower of age unknown;
Deep ravines, fretted by the wintry flood,
And large, tho' dwarfish still, old Wistman's wood.
Oh, spot! where, far from earth's cabal and crime,
Man seems a being alien to the clime,
One waste, continuous, meets the wearied eye,
No motion, but the cloud slow sailing by,
No sound remote, a death-like hush profound,
With hills, the wreck of chaos, scatter'd round!
From yon high Peak might break upon my view!
Form'd for dominion, 'tired in royal mien,
On which the rays of evening long are seen,
(Its splendour with beneficence combined,
Warning, mid bogs, the flag-collecting hind,)
When night, the soft enticer to repose,
Her sable canopy o'er Nature throws.
With labour hard that brow august is gain'd!
Confusion here her rule hath long maintain'd:
Far off, dismantled, stands the stannier stone,
With here and there the tower of age unknown;
88
And large, tho' dwarfish still, old Wistman's wood.
89
Man seems a being alien to the clime,
One waste, continuous, meets the wearied eye,
No motion, but the cloud slow sailing by,
No sound remote, a death-like hush profound,
With hills, the wreck of chaos, scatter'd round!
Is this the land where all things noble smile?
Can this belong to thee, my native Isle!
O Britain! in pre-eminence of worth,
Who sit'st a queen o'er all the realms of earth?
With stately mansion, and meandering stream,
Mid temples meet for an Elysian dream,
Whose rich champaigns on every side present
Peace, join'd with health, and labour with content;
Cots, flocks, and herds, which he who sees must love,
With many a spire that points to worlds above?
In all the good, the generous, and refined,
In all that moves the heart, exalts the mind,
Bounding to heights, while others coldly climb;
Thy princely institutions, hoar with time,
Never by man, in happiest age, surpass'd,
(Heaven long protect them from the scathing blast
Can this be Albion?—views like these pertain
To that sweet clime where beauty holds her reign,
And all the Graces, all the Virtues shine,
Arts, friendship, genius, visitants divine?
The spell is burst? on Albion's ground I stand:
Out, in the distance far, lies Ocean's strand!
There England's Navy in her Hamoaze rides,
With Neptune's self that equal sway divides;
The wooden bulwarks to Britannia dear,
Which the whole world alternate laud, and fear.
Can this belong to thee, my native Isle!
O Britain! in pre-eminence of worth,
Who sit'st a queen o'er all the realms of earth?
With stately mansion, and meandering stream,
Mid temples meet for an Elysian dream,
90
Peace, join'd with health, and labour with content;
Cots, flocks, and herds, which he who sees must love,
With many a spire that points to worlds above?
In all the good, the generous, and refined,
In all that moves the heart, exalts the mind,
Bounding to heights, while others coldly climb;
Thy princely institutions, hoar with time,
Never by man, in happiest age, surpass'd,
(Heaven long protect them from the scathing blast
Can this be Albion?—views like these pertain
To that sweet clime where beauty holds her reign,
And all the Graces, all the Virtues shine,
Arts, friendship, genius, visitants divine?
The spell is burst? on Albion's ground I stand:
Out, in the distance far, lies Ocean's strand!
There England's Navy in her Hamoaze rides,
With Neptune's self that equal sway divides;
The wooden bulwarks to Britannia dear,
Which the whole world alternate laud, and fear.
Twice have I travers'd Dartmoor's hills and plains,
But still the curse, the barren curse, remains;
Spring scarce can thaw the rigours of her sky,
And, without offering, Autumn passes by;
Yet charms there are in shapeless tracks like these,
Distemper'd wilds possess their power to please.
Here, varied as the visions of the night,
Earth's fractured elements my gaze invite;
Views of dark horror, yet, that lustre shed,
And prospects which commingle joy with dread.
But still the curse, the barren curse, remains;
91
And, without offering, Autumn passes by;
Yet charms there are in shapeless tracks like these,
Distemper'd wilds possess their power to please.
Here, varied as the visions of the night,
Earth's fractured elements my gaze invite;
Views of dark horror, yet, that lustre shed,
And prospects which commingle joy with dread.
Said I, that all was barrenness alone,—
Vales, boundless spread, with summits strew'd with stone?
Prepared no vestige of mankind to see,
No features rose but wide sterility;
Now, through the grander lineaments, my eye
Perceives, with wonder, kindlier objects nigh.
So, haply, deeds at which our hands we raise,
Survey'd with closer scan might challenge praise;
So oft in foes, beheld through passion blind,
Virtues despair'd of, Charity might find.
Vales, boundless spread, with summits strew'd with stone?
Prepared no vestige of mankind to see,
No features rose but wide sterility;
Now, through the grander lineaments, my eye
Perceives, with wonder, kindlier objects nigh.
So, haply, deeds at which our hands we raise,
Survey'd with closer scan might challenge praise;
So oft in foes, beheld through passion blind,
Virtues despair'd of, Charity might find.
Estranged, long time, from every human trace,
At glimpse of man, smiles kindle in my face;
For, mid the winding road that lies below,
One traveller journeys on, with footsteps slow,
Oft pausing some disruptured clift to view,
Till home-allurements prompt his pace anew.
Now I behold, upon the subject plain,
The black peat-hillocks, and the pannier-train,
Bearing the winter store to dwelling green—
In some far dell, by none but hunter seen,
When, bounding on through perils manifold,
He tracks his scent, from crag, from hold to hold,
Till sudden check'd; the game and chase have flown;
He stops, a hallow'd sympathy to own:
The light blue vapours, from the chimney rude,
(In that wild scene of waste and solitude,)
Rising toward Heaven in many a circle fair,
Speak to his heart, of social life, e'en there.
At glimpse of man, smiles kindle in my face;
For, mid the winding road that lies below,
One traveller journeys on, with footsteps slow,
92
Till home-allurements prompt his pace anew.
93
The black peat-hillocks, and the pannier-train,
Bearing the winter store to dwelling green—
In some far dell, by none but hunter seen,
94
He tracks his scent, from crag, from hold to hold,
Till sudden check'd; the game and chase have flown;
He stops, a hallow'd sympathy to own:
The light blue vapours, from the chimney rude,
(In that wild scene of waste and solitude,)
Rising toward Heaven in many a circle fair,
Speak to his heart, of social life, e'en there.
Objects, to human notice scarce reveal'd,
In times like these, some hues attractive yield.
Welcome, ye ants! that with the dawn appear,
Welcome, ye filmy insects! sporting near;
(Childe's solitary tomb, in this lone place,
Might prove a link to bind me to my race;)
Welcome, ye sheep! far off that herded lie,
Screen'd by some mouldering bank from sun or fly;
Welcome, ye birds! that there your gambols take;
What shapes are those, that wildering thoughts awake,
Discern'd upon yon prominence of stone,
In hour of sport grotesque by Nature thrown?
So sagely grave, the mane half worn away,
Trailing to earth, with coats of iron grey—
Their chests a forest, and their haunches bare,
Their shapeless legs, masses of shaggy hair,
With downcast look, still as the rock beneath?
Colts! Dartmoor Colts! the roughest forms that breathe!
In times like these, some hues attractive yield.
Welcome, ye ants! that with the dawn appear,
Welcome, ye filmy insects! sporting near;
(Childe's solitary tomb, in this lone place,
Might prove a link to bind me to my race;)
95
Screen'd by some mouldering bank from sun or fly;
Welcome, ye birds! that there your gambols take;
What shapes are those, that wildering thoughts awake,
Discern'd upon yon prominence of stone,
In hour of sport grotesque by Nature thrown?
So sagely grave, the mane half worn away,
Trailing to earth, with coats of iron grey—
Their chests a forest, and their haunches bare,
Their shapeless legs, masses of shaggy hair,
With downcast look, still as the rock beneath?
Colts! Dartmoor Colts! the roughest forms that breathe!
96
Ah! there, till now unkenn'd, in cheerful white,
A cot, amid the marshes, meets my sight.
O memory! why so treacherous, once so true;
Sweet recollections crowd upon my view:
The self-same cot, at which, in season past,
I call'd, and, hungry, broke my lengthen'd fast;
Converse indulged, reciprocal and kind,
(The “splendid shilling” duly left behind,)
The very Dame who spread her homely fare,
And earnest press'd the stranger, lo! is there:—
For ever busy, though, as sunk the Sun,
Deploring that so much remain'd undone,
Yet who, true wisdom! still could time afford
To read her Bible, ever on her board.
In kersey-coat, by gales uncourteous fann'd,
With neat white bib, and basket in her hand,
I see her on the scatter'd furze present
Her garments to the bleaching firmament.
And there appears the hospitable sire,
Rearing the turf-pile for his Christmas fire,
While rosy children, with their flaxen hair,
Loose to the wind, officious burdens bear:
Bless'd Ignorance! who, as their mountains, free,
Deem the whole world comprised in what they see.
A cot, amid the marshes, meets my sight.
O memory! why so treacherous, once so true;
Sweet recollections crowd upon my view:
The self-same cot, at which, in season past,
I call'd, and, hungry, broke my lengthen'd fast;
Converse indulged, reciprocal and kind,
(The “splendid shilling” duly left behind,)
The very Dame who spread her homely fare,
And earnest press'd the stranger, lo! is there:—
For ever busy, though, as sunk the Sun,
Deploring that so much remain'd undone,
Yet who, true wisdom! still could time afford
To read her Bible, ever on her board.
In kersey-coat, by gales uncourteous fann'd,
With neat white bib, and basket in her hand,
I see her on the scatter'd furze present
Her garments to the bleaching firmament.
And there appears the hospitable sire,
Rearing the turf-pile for his Christmas fire,
97
Loose to the wind, officious burdens bear:
Bless'd Ignorance! who, as their mountains, free,
Deem the whole world comprised in what they see.
Some stunted trees before the dwelling grow,
Bent from th' Atlantic blast, their bitterest foe.
A strip of corn, the time-worn stones among,
Waves slowly to the breeze that sweeps along,
While near it, skirting a tumultuous stream,
Herbage, long mown, invites the sun's warm beam;
Nor these alone discreet remembrance show
Of Autumn's wind, and bleak December's snow;
Around the crazy door, which mounds defend,
Potatoes thrive, the poor man's greatest friend.
Though their lean kine, perverse, too far have stray'd,
Or in their garden floods have ravage made;
Though oft they watch the Heavens, and oft retire,
Chill'd still with rains, to stir the ember fire,
Forbear your pity! let the current flow,
Here wasted, in behalf of real woe!
Many, in ermine clad, oppress'd with cares,
Rest not, at night, with hearts so light as theirs,
With them solicitude has slender range,
They know no contrast, and they fear no change;
And though hard fare, their birth-right, they endure,
Pleasures their hearth surround, if humble, pure:
The mountain winds conspire to brace and cheer,
And brute intemperance is a stranger here:
Theirs are the wants which men unpamper'd crave,
And theirs the hopes that stretch beyond the grave.
Bent from th' Atlantic blast, their bitterest foe.
98
Waves slowly to the breeze that sweeps along,
While near it, skirting a tumultuous stream,
Herbage, long mown, invites the sun's warm beam;
Nor these alone discreet remembrance show
Of Autumn's wind, and bleak December's snow;
Around the crazy door, which mounds defend,
Potatoes thrive, the poor man's greatest friend.
Though their lean kine, perverse, too far have stray'd,
Or in their garden floods have ravage made;
Though oft they watch the Heavens, and oft retire,
Chill'd still with rains, to stir the ember fire,
Forbear your pity! let the current flow,
Here wasted, in behalf of real woe!
Many, in ermine clad, oppress'd with cares,
Rest not, at night, with hearts so light as theirs,
With them solicitude has slender range,
They know no contrast, and they fear no change;
And though hard fare, their birth-right, they endure,
Pleasures their hearth surround, if humble, pure:
The mountain winds conspire to brace and cheer,
And brute intemperance is a stranger here:
Theirs are the wants which men unpamper'd crave,
And theirs the hopes that stretch beyond the grave.
99
Beholding hills, upon whose iron breast,
A permanence of being seems imprest;
The same through ages past, and still to be,
The earthly emblem of eternity;
Th' excursive thought, (whilst these unmoved remain,)
Traces the shifting scenes of mortals vain;
Man's little great concerns, kings' rise and fall,
While Dartmoor downward looks, and scorns it all.
The spirit, free as is the ambient air,
Throws back her glance upon the times that were;
Dwells on the years, by mental night o'ercast,
When skins preserved our fathers from the blast;
When the barbaric faith of ancient days,
Shone here with direful and concenter'd blaze.
What crowds upon the very sward I tread,
Once reverenced idols, bending low the head,
As they survey'd their stone-gods drench'd in gore;
Or heard their voices in the thunder's roar;
Or drown'd with shouts the agonizing cry
From peopled-wickers, kindling wide the sky—
But these deform'd prostrations of the mind
Have to oblivion's gulf been long consign'd;
Or lightly float on memory's tranquil stream,
The shadowy vestige of a morning dream.
A permanence of being seems imprest;
The same through ages past, and still to be,
The earthly emblem of eternity;
Th' excursive thought, (whilst these unmoved remain,)
Traces the shifting scenes of mortals vain;
Man's little great concerns, kings' rise and fall,
While Dartmoor downward looks, and scorns it all.
The spirit, free as is the ambient air,
Throws back her glance upon the times that were;
Dwells on the years, by mental night o'ercast,
When skins preserved our fathers from the blast;
When the barbaric faith of ancient days,
Shone here with direful and concenter'd blaze.
What crowds upon the very sward I tread,
Once reverenced idols, bending low the head,
As they survey'd their stone-gods drench'd in gore;
Or heard their voices in the thunder's roar;
Or drown'd with shouts the agonizing cry
From peopled-wickers, kindling wide the sky—
But these deform'd prostrations of the mind
Have to oblivion's gulf been long consign'd;
Or lightly float on memory's tranquil stream,
The shadowy vestige of a morning dream.
Disastrous hour, when Hell, our race to cheat,
First sanctified the forest's dark retreat;
That once, as Heaven's vicegerents, Druids led
To seek these wilds, with tangling trees o'erspread;
To brave the mountain-torrent, foaming by,
And here prefer their curs'd idolatry:
On yonder beacon of dismantled stone,
To raise the altar, hear their victims groan;
And hope, delusive dream! by deeds like these,
Avenging heaven to deprecate or please,
Up yon tall crags e'en now the sign appears,
Steps coarsely wrought, the work of unknown years,
By which the priests ascended, hosts in sight,
To the rock-basin on the loftiest height,
And there perform'd, while Pity's eyes o'erflow,
Rites! Moloch rites! o'er which the veil we throw.
First sanctified the forest's dark retreat;
That once, as Heaven's vicegerents, Druids led
To seek these wilds, with tangling trees o'erspread;
To brave the mountain-torrent, foaming by,
And here prefer their curs'd idolatry:
100
To raise the altar, hear their victims groan;
And hope, delusive dream! by deeds like these,
Avenging heaven to deprecate or please,
Up yon tall crags e'en now the sign appears,
Steps coarsely wrought, the work of unknown years,
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To the rock-basin on the loftiest height,
And there perform'd, while Pity's eyes o'erflow,
Rites! Moloch rites! o'er which the veil we throw.
Did ever Science, on her blazon'd throne,
(Worshipp'd by some, who worship her alone!)
Did ever Learning, to the stars allied,
Glory of man, by none but fools decried;—
Did ever Nature, whose ecstatic praise,
Crowds echo, who no higher thought can raise;
Did ever Genius, in her flights sublime,
Spurning the narrow bounds of space and time;
Did ever these, with being's endless form,
Summer's mild breeze, or Winter's driving storm,
Revolving seasons, e'en the midnight sky,
Proclaiming, “thunder-tongued,” a deity!
Subdue the harden'd, cruelty restrain,
Or turn the wandering heart from idols vain?
See Druids in their reeking vestments bound,
While cliffs and rills, and sylvan scenes surround!
View Bramah's swarthy sons, 'mong genial skies,
Offering to demons nightly sacrifice!
See Vishnoo, Boodh, and Moslem devotees,
Framing their sensual Heavens, mid rocks and trees!
Witness the sages, boasts of elder time,
Who dared, save one, all hills of knowledge climb,
And, failing there, the record left behind,
That none, “by wisdom,” God, might seek and find.
(Worshipp'd by some, who worship her alone!)
Did ever Learning, to the stars allied,
Glory of man, by none but fools decried;—
Did ever Nature, whose ecstatic praise,
Crowds echo, who no higher thought can raise;
Did ever Genius, in her flights sublime,
Spurning the narrow bounds of space and time;
Did ever these, with being's endless form,
Summer's mild breeze, or Winter's driving storm,
Revolving seasons, e'en the midnight sky,
Proclaiming, “thunder-tongued,” a deity!
Subdue the harden'd, cruelty restrain,
Or turn the wandering heart from idols vain?
See Druids in their reeking vestments bound,
While cliffs and rills, and sylvan scenes surround!
View Bramah's swarthy sons, 'mong genial skies,
Offering to demons nightly sacrifice!
102
Framing their sensual Heavens, mid rocks and trees!
Witness the sages, boasts of elder time,
Who dared, save one, all hills of knowledge climb,
And, failing there, the record left behind,
That none, “by wisdom,” God, might seek and find.
What hallowed Being here directs her flight?
Her flowing robe of pure and pearly white;
With radiant chaplets, borrowed from the Sun,
Bearing the olive wreath on Calvary won?
Her brow benignant; meek, her look divine,
As Love, when pleading at Devotion's shrine?
Wheree'er the form angelic wings her way,
Harpies, which feed on man, resign their prey!
All deeds of darkness vanish, that consume,
Life, just expanding, hurried to the tomb!
Or Juggernaut, or Shivu's orgies vile!
Infanticide, the widow's blazing pile,
Remorseless, “red-eyed” superstition wild,
Feasting the famish'd tigress with his child!
Or bearing onward (still the passion, blood!)
His sire, to gorge the shark in Ganges' flood!
These all, the brood of Erebus, retire
At her approach, abash'd, to dens of fire!
Celestial Visitant! o'er this dark earth,
Enlarge thy triumphs! give that kingdom birth,
Which only can the powers of Hell restrain,
And consummate, O Peace! thy righteous reign.
Her flowing robe of pure and pearly white;
With radiant chaplets, borrowed from the Sun,
Bearing the olive wreath on Calvary won?
Her brow benignant; meek, her look divine,
As Love, when pleading at Devotion's shrine?
Wheree'er the form angelic wings her way,
Harpies, which feed on man, resign their prey!
All deeds of darkness vanish, that consume,
Life, just expanding, hurried to the tomb!
Or Juggernaut, or Shivu's orgies vile!
Infanticide, the widow's blazing pile,
Remorseless, “red-eyed” superstition wild,
Feasting the famish'd tigress with his child!
Or bearing onward (still the passion, blood!)
His sire, to gorge the shark in Ganges' flood!
These all, the brood of Erebus, retire
At her approach, abash'd, to dens of fire!
Celestial Visitant! o'er this dark earth,
Enlarge thy triumphs! give that kingdom birth,
Which only can the powers of Hell restrain,
And consummate, O Peace! thy righteous reign.
In days, less rude, when War his banners rear'd,
How may these wilds, by turns, have awed and cheep'd.
Perchance, in all their martial pomp array'd,
Some chieftains, high in fame, might here have stray'd;
Bold to explore, the prelude to possess,
Who fear'd, at this sepulchral wilderness!
Not so the Britons! Vanquish'd by the foe,
These heights they reach, whose windings well they know,
Nor pausing to survey the trackless waste,
Up, earnest up, the “steep, rough” sides they haste,
Braving the lone recesses of the Moor,
Behind them Death, but Liberty before!
At length, escaped beyond this belt of stone,
Round them they gaze, and call one spot their own,
Joy in their breasts, and transport in their eyes,
Save when, with scorpion sting, the thoughts arise
Of wrongs, oppressions, ever fresh, though past,
Chiefly, when Britain's mothers shriek'd aghast;
Beholding, dread precursors of despair!
Assassins' daggers gleaming in the air!
Sons, brothers, husbands, as with wounds they reel,
Imploring mercy from the hearts of steel!
The purple tide, there from the banquet ran,
Wide-spreading, stain indelible on man!
As slaughter closed, what perfidy began!
How may these wilds, by turns, have awed and cheep'd.
103
Some chieftains, high in fame, might here have stray'd;
Bold to explore, the prelude to possess,
Who fear'd, at this sepulchral wilderness!
Not so the Britons! Vanquish'd by the foe,
These heights they reach, whose windings well they know,
Nor pausing to survey the trackless waste,
Up, earnest up, the “steep, rough” sides they haste,
Braving the lone recesses of the Moor,
Behind them Death, but Liberty before!
At length, escaped beyond this belt of stone,
Round them they gaze, and call one spot their own,
Joy in their breasts, and transport in their eyes,
Save when, with scorpion sting, the thoughts arise
Of wrongs, oppressions, ever fresh, though past,
Chiefly, when Britain's mothers shriek'd aghast;
Beholding, dread precursors of despair!
Assassins' daggers gleaming in the air!
Sons, brothers, husbands, as with wounds they reel,
Imploring mercy from the hearts of steel!
The purple tide, there from the banquet ran,
Wide-spreading, stain indelible on man!
As slaughter closed, what perfidy began!
104
Whence yonder glittering rays, far off, that beam,
Like noon-tide lustre, on some restless stream?
Faint sounds are heard! a motion slow is there!
A shout imperfect vibrates in the air!
The Saxons haste! List to their sturdy tread!
The shining helms flash terrors from their head!
Buckler, and sword, intenser glare display,
While ravenous Death, impatient, waits his prey.
Check'd, not dismay'd, at Dartmoor's base they stand;
Silent they mark the view on every hand;
Parch'd herbage, hill-tops in their dreariest form,
With vales, perpetual haunt of wind and storm.
Yet, not to Nature they their homage pay;
Far other aims their hearts obdurate sway:
Theirs is one thought, the same straight road to tread,
By which, so late, the routed Britons fled.
They see the path, clear in the broken ground,
And, like the roebuck, up the mountain bound.
Hour after hour, the foe his toil sustains,
Till Eve's last streak retires, and midnight reigns.
Like noon-tide lustre, on some restless stream?
Faint sounds are heard! a motion slow is there!
A shout imperfect vibrates in the air!
The Saxons haste! List to their sturdy tread!
The shining helms flash terrors from their head!
105
While ravenous Death, impatient, waits his prey.
Check'd, not dismay'd, at Dartmoor's base they stand;
Silent they mark the view on every hand;
Parch'd herbage, hill-tops in their dreariest form,
With vales, perpetual haunt of wind and storm.
106
Far other aims their hearts obdurate sway:
Theirs is one thought, the same straight road to tread,
By which, so late, the routed Britons fled.
They see the path, clear in the broken ground,
And, like the roebuck, up the mountain bound.
Hour after hour, the foe his toil sustains,
Till Eve's last streak retires, and midnight reigns.
Heaven always just, though in his own wise way,
Sometimes o'erwhelms th' oppressor with dismay:
A season this might lion-hearts confound,
Such soul-distracting tempests rave around:
The drenching rain beats through the hour of sleep,
Whilst o'er the Saxons winds unpitying sweep.
The burst of elemental sounds austere,
Prolong'd by darkness, deafening, strikes the ear.
Fresh foes augment the horrors of the night!
Flashes, the Peaks invest, with forked light,
And such portentous peals prevail on high,
Each fears the “final doom” is drawing nigh.
Sometimes o'erwhelms th' oppressor with dismay:
A season this might lion-hearts confound,
Such soul-distracting tempests rave around:
The drenching rain beats through the hour of sleep,
Whilst o'er the Saxons winds unpitying sweep.
The burst of elemental sounds austere,
Prolong'd by darkness, deafening, strikes the ear.
Fresh foes augment the horrors of the night!
Flashes, the Peaks invest, with forked light,
And such portentous peals prevail on high,
Each fears the “final doom” is drawing nigh.
Morn dimly breaks, at length, the twilight grey,
Reluctant long, her empire yields to day.
The warrior chief, projecting conquests wide,
Upbraids the tardy moments as they glide.
A rugged point before him towers serene,
Thither he speeds to trace the circling scene.
What sudden palsy on his sinew preys,
As slowly he the neighbouring realm surveys!
No human dwelling! Wastes, or crags up-piled,
And all beyond, more desolate, more wild,
“Back, back!” he shouts, rage beaming from his eye,
“Here storms may thrive, but living thing must die!”
Reluctant long, her empire yields to day.
The warrior chief, projecting conquests wide,
Upbraids the tardy moments as they glide.
A rugged point before him towers serene,
Thither he speeds to trace the circling scene.
What sudden palsy on his sinew preys,
As slowly he the neighbouring realm surveys!
107
And all beyond, more desolate, more wild,
“Back, back!” he shouts, rage beaming from his eye,
“Here storms may thrive, but living thing must die!”
O Earth! what changes on thy face appear,
Through man, the Lord of this sublunar sphere!
There, land he tills, where once the waters roll'd,
Here, guides new rivers, there, arrests the old;
Ranges o'er Alpine rocks, on courser fleet;
Prostrates Hercynian forests at his feet;
Joins sea with distant sea, in confluence wide,
Or barrier rears to ocean's raging tide!
These very mounts, that cheerless thus expand,
To man have bow'd, or Time's transforming hand,
For here, of old, oaks, sweeping tempests braved,
The deep gloom hung, the wood impervious waved;
And, soon their ancient glory to restore,
Mildew and death may triumph here no more.
Through man, the Lord of this sublunar sphere!
There, land he tills, where once the waters roll'd,
Here, guides new rivers, there, arrests the old;
108
Prostrates Hercynian forests at his feet;
109
Or barrier rears to ocean's raging tide!
110
To man have bow'd, or Time's transforming hand,
111
The deep gloom hung, the wood impervious waved;
112
Mildew and death may triumph here no more.
113
Must fancy still, with ever-varying dye,
Obtrude her airy shadows, flitting by?
Can Dartmoor breathe a spirit not her own,
Where tyrant Desolation broods alone?
Can scenes like these, to penury resign'd,
Bursting the sleep of ages, teem with mind?
These arid wastes submit to Ceres' reign,
Hills wave with corn, and flocks adorn the plain?
No idle vision, changing with the sun,
Behold the work, with blessings fraught, begun!
View the first vict'ry fair of human toil!
See the young team invade the virgin soil!
There houses long and large, unseen till now,
Smile like the firs on some Norwegian brow,
Th' inspiring pledge of that auspicious day,
When Dartmoor's reeds and fens shall pass away;
Summer's deep-foliage clothe her mountains bare,
And harvest-home reward the reaper's care.
Obtrude her airy shadows, flitting by?
114
Where tyrant Desolation broods alone?
Can scenes like these, to penury resign'd,
Bursting the sleep of ages, teem with mind?
These arid wastes submit to Ceres' reign,
Hills wave with corn, and flocks adorn the plain?
No idle vision, changing with the sun,
Behold the work, with blessings fraught, begun!
View the first vict'ry fair of human toil!
See the young team invade the virgin soil!
There houses long and large, unseen till now,
Smile like the firs on some Norwegian brow,
Th' inspiring pledge of that auspicious day,
When Dartmoor's reeds and fens shall pass away;
115
And harvest-home reward the reaper's care.
Are there some men, amid a world so vile,
Upon whose paths admiring angels smile?
Some spirits who to earth have found their way,
Some souls ethereal, form'd of purer clay,
Who love to break the child of sorrow's chain,
To whom the orphan never pleads in vain?—
The stay of lonely widowhood opprest,
On whom ten thousand beams of blessing rest?—
Whose “light,” diffuses round a “ray serene.”
Yet whose best deeds by Heaven alone are seen?
My country! many such in thee are found,
Whose unbought praise both hemispheres resound;
Who prove for Britain (not to sight reveal'd!)
Her strongest bulwark, and her firmest shield!
And who, at length, at the last trumpet's call,
Will hear “Well done!” from God, the Judge of all.
These, pondering with divine benignity
On lisping outcasts, London! own'd by thee,
Deserted, naked, destitute, forlorn,
No hand to guide, no Mentor to forewarn,
Projected plans of mercy, when the place
Where lonely captives pined, or brave, or base,
Expands her hundred doors, and Dartmoor yields
Her blasted heaths to labour, fruits, and fields!
Here is the promise verified, e'en here,
The plough and sickle form'd from sword and spear!
Oh, spot! on which our anxious hopes repose;
Here let the desert “blossom like the rose!”
To age mature, may Heaven's especial care
Watch o'er thy charge! protect from ev'ry snare!
And on their heads, to friendless want the friend,
His choicest gifts, in copious showers, descend.
Upon whose paths admiring angels smile?
Some spirits who to earth have found their way,
Some souls ethereal, form'd of purer clay,
Who love to break the child of sorrow's chain,
To whom the orphan never pleads in vain?—
The stay of lonely widowhood opprest,
On whom ten thousand beams of blessing rest?—
Whose “light,” diffuses round a “ray serene.”
Yet whose best deeds by Heaven alone are seen?
My country! many such in thee are found,
Whose unbought praise both hemispheres resound;
Who prove for Britain (not to sight reveal'd!)
Her strongest bulwark, and her firmest shield!
And who, at length, at the last trumpet's call,
Will hear “Well done!” from God, the Judge of all.
These, pondering with divine benignity
On lisping outcasts, London! own'd by thee,
Deserted, naked, destitute, forlorn,
No hand to guide, no Mentor to forewarn,
Projected plans of mercy, when the place
Where lonely captives pined, or brave, or base,
116
Her blasted heaths to labour, fruits, and fields!
117
The plough and sickle form'd from sword and spear!
Oh, spot! on which our anxious hopes repose;
Here let the desert “blossom like the rose!”
To age mature, may Heaven's especial care
Watch o'er thy charge! protect from ev'ry snare!
And on their heads, to friendless want the friend,
His choicest gifts, in copious showers, descend.
Visions before me burst, in long array,
Bright as the winged harbingers of day.
Here, blooming like some palm on Lybia's waste,
Among these wilds, (half from the earth erased,
So spurn'd of man, scarce seen but by the skies,)
I mark the Infant Town progressive rise,
Destined, perchance, nor distant far, to throw
Her stately shadow o'er the plain below:—
I view the smiling hamlet lift her head;
Expanded meads, in vest luxuriant, spread;
Trees flourish where so late huge torrs were found,
Whilst many a church casts sanctity around.
Haste on to eminence, like some pure spring,
Small at its source, at length, a lord, a king,
Pouring his mass of waters to the sea,
And gathering, as he flows, fresh royalty.
Bright as the winged harbingers of day.
Here, blooming like some palm on Lybia's waste,
Among these wilds, (half from the earth erased,
So spurn'd of man, scarce seen but by the skies,)
I mark the Infant Town progressive rise,
Destined, perchance, nor distant far, to throw
Her stately shadow o'er the plain below:—
I view the smiling hamlet lift her head;
Expanded meads, in vest luxuriant, spread;
Trees flourish where so late huge torrs were found,
Whilst many a church casts sanctity around.
Haste on to eminence, like some pure spring,
Small at its source, at length, a lord, a king,
Pouring his mass of waters to the sea,
And gathering, as he flows, fresh royalty.
118
While thus, to thee, the passing note I raise,
Oh, Dartmoor shall thy Parent find no praise?
Devon! whose beauties prove, from flattery free,
The happy theme where wranglers all agree!
When troubles press, or health, that blessing, fails,
What joy to range thy renovating vales;
“England's Montpelier!” o'er thy downs to stray,
Thy logans, camps, and cromlechs huge, survey;
Thy rivers to their mountain source explore,
Or roam refresh'd beside thy craggy shore;
To track thy brooks, that, to the passer by,
Babble their airs of liquid melody,
Winding through glens, where seldom suns have shone,
Like life, through all obstructions, gliding on;
Thy distant offspring with th' enthusiast's zest,
Extol thee still, in charms perennial drest;
Trace, and retrace each haunt of childhood sweet,
And, “Oh, my country:” in their dreams repeat.
And, if at length, when years are on their wane,
Surmounting bars, and bursting every chain,
To their “dear Devon” they return once more,
What pleasure to renew the joys of yore,
(Now mellow'd down, by time, to calm delight,
Like eve's broad orb, retiring from the sight;)
To mount thy wood-crown'd hills, and there to stand,
Creation blooming round, a Tempe land!
Shrubs, rocks, and flowers, voluptuous in attire,
Whatever eye can charm, or heart desire,
And in the distance, through some opening seen,
Old ocean, in his vast expanse of green.
Oh, Dartmoor shall thy Parent find no praise?
Devon! whose beauties prove, from flattery free,
The happy theme where wranglers all agree!
When troubles press, or health, that blessing, fails,
What joy to range thy renovating vales;
“England's Montpelier!” o'er thy downs to stray,
Thy logans, camps, and cromlechs huge, survey;
119
Or roam refresh'd beside thy craggy shore;
To track thy brooks, that, to the passer by,
Babble their airs of liquid melody,
Winding through glens, where seldom suns have shone,
Like life, through all obstructions, gliding on;
Thy distant offspring with th' enthusiast's zest,
Extol thee still, in charms perennial drest;
Trace, and retrace each haunt of childhood sweet,
And, “Oh, my country:” in their dreams repeat.
And, if at length, when years are on their wane,
Surmounting bars, and bursting every chain,
120
What pleasure to renew the joys of yore,
(Now mellow'd down, by time, to calm delight,
Like eve's broad orb, retiring from the sight;)
To mount thy wood-crown'd hills, and there to stand,
Creation blooming round, a Tempe land!
Shrubs, rocks, and flowers, voluptuous in attire,
Whatever eye can charm, or heart desire,
And in the distance, through some opening seen,
Old ocean, in his vast expanse of green.
Nor Devon, must thy honours linger here;
Though thou wast made to wake the rapturous tear,
And grant thy children, down to life's last close,
Forms fair on which their spirits might repose,
Yet higher claims are thine, in which the heart,
The germ eternal, bears conspicuous part;
Thine is the region large, the pale renown'd,
Where “Worthies” dwelt of old, and still abound;
In thee, congenial element, we find
The great! the liberal! the ennobling mind!
Virtues retired, that shrink from public gaze,
And genius, which demands a nation's praise.
Though thou wast made to wake the rapturous tear,
And grant thy children, down to life's last close,
Forms fair on which their spirits might repose,
Yet higher claims are thine, in which the heart,
The germ eternal, bears conspicuous part;
Thine is the region large, the pale renown'd,
Where “Worthies” dwelt of old, and still abound;
In thee, congenial element, we find
The great! the liberal! the ennobling mind!
Virtues retired, that shrink from public gaze,
And genius, which demands a nation's praise.
Dartmoor! at length, the parting word to thee!
I leave thy borders not from sorrow free;
But all things here, successive, pass away
In storm, or sun-shine, like an April day:
Heaven's gorgeous clouds the night advancing tell,
“Mother of many rivers,” now, farewell,
I leave thy borders not from sorrow free;
But all things here, successive, pass away
In storm, or sun-shine, like an April day:
Heaven's gorgeous clouds the night advancing tell,
“Mother of many rivers,” now, farewell,
| Malvern Hills | |