Nugae Canorae :: :: University of Virginia Library

Southey, once more her interrupted voice
The Muse resumes To tell thee, Honoured Friend,
Though absent far, in Fancy's airy dream
That oft thy presence my lone hour beguiles,
Were sure a bootless toil. Thou knowest well
Thy station in my heart. What then select
To grace the humble verse? Perchance 'twould fill
A vacant hour to learn what scenes surround
The abode of him to whom thy love recurs
With sweet memorial unimpaired by time.

No rocks or mountains here, or “sea in storms,”
The world of sight endear. One joyless plain,
A map that imitates the cold March sky,
Lies evermore before the weary view.

Yet here I snatch my hours of untold bliss!
And curious, busy, in the anxious search
Of forms inanimate, on which to fix
My wayward sympathies, I haply find
A charm in barrenness; a power to please,—
Though bleakest winter lowers on every side,—
In many a shape which other eyes might pass
Unnoticed, unremembered.

The rude thorn,
Coated with yellow moss, on whose sere boughs
Hang scarlet berries, and some flakes of wool,
That hoarsely rustles on the wide grey moor;
The chalky hill, which terminates the view,
Crowned with a clump of firs, that make me think—
So small things wake sublime remembrances—
Of Scottish mountains, and of Scottish woods;
And other more remote acclivities,
With almost undistinguishable swell
Lying like pale clouds on the horizon's bound,
Amuse my soul with many a pleasing dream.

The little sinuous stream of underwood,
Shrouded in blackness of the winter months,
Stealing beneath the chalky eminence;—
Amid whose shade the church tower peeps alone,
Now a dim sullen mass of duskiest hue,
Unchecquer'd, save by one distinctest spot,
The single window of the embattled pile.
And now with shade half cloth'd, and half with light;
And near the wood, and still beneath the hill,
A snow-white cottage gleaming silently:—
All these to me are images of joy,
That suit the hour of meditative thought,
And bring refreshment to that purer mind,
Which seeks, by harmony of outward forms,
To 'stablish inward harmony and love,
And build on visible and earthly things
Unearthly thoughts! I love the wide extent,
The interminable sweep of unfenced moor,
That bares its bosom to the face of heaven!
Where, when the faint sun pours a silvery light,
The wandering clouds a partial blackness shed;
And o'er whose thistled heaps and clodded soil,
And whistling stubble, flies the cutting wind.

I love the shrill song of the merry lark,
Or fitful twitter of the lonely bird,
Which, at this season, from these naked plains,
Is all the music nature sends to heaven.

Rather than human converse, found in haunts
Of traffic, learning, pleasure, or of pride,
Love I these quiet unpretending friends!
And these are all the quiet rural friends
I here can boast possessing. Save one spire,
One spire, and woody village, whence, full oft,
My soul refreshed, through the unwearied gaze,
Drinks silent happiness! The glistening spire
Smiles in the sunbeam with a heavenly light;
And on a green bank fenced by orchard trees,
Lying towards that spot, we see, at noon,
Or hear, while bleating tenderly, young lambs
Enjoy the first warm cherishings of spring.
And, in the general waste, the trees around
Wave not unnotic'd, though their naked boughs
Boast not their summer richness, and the meads
Spread their green turf so sweetly to the stream

Silently flowing, that I seem to find
This scene, by crowds frequented every day,
Who note it not, a world of loveliness:
And, all forgetful of sublimer charms,
I look with gratitude to Him who made
All fair varieties, and gave to me
A sense those fair varieties to feel.

The Tower of Cherry-Hinton Church.

The village of Chesterton, which, in connexion with a wooded and meadowy foreground, formed with its stream, as seen from the Author's parlour at Barnwell, an exquisite scene.