To the neat mansion, where, his Flock among, The learned Pastor dwells, their watchful Lord. Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword, Though pride's least lurking thought appear a wrong To human kind; though peace be on his tongue, Gentleness in his heart; can earth afford Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free, As when, arrayed in Christ's authority, He from the Pulpit lifts his awful hand; Conjures, implores, and labours all he can For re-subjecting to divine command The stubborn spirit of rebellious Man?
The sinful product of a bed of Weeds! Fitliest beneath the sacred roof proceeds The ministration; while parental Love Looks on, and Grace descendeth from above As the high service pledges now, now pleads. There, should vain thoughts outspread their wings and fly
To meet the coming hours of festal mirth, The tombs which hear and answer that brief cry, The Infant's notice of his second birth,
Recal the wandering soul to sympathy
With what Man hopes from Heaven, yet fears from Earth
YES, if the intensities of hope and fear Attract us still, and passionate exercise Of lofty thoughts, the way before us lies
Distinct with signs-through which, in fixed career, As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year Of England's Church-stupendous mysteries! Which whoso travels in her bosom, eyes As he approaches them, with solemn cheer. Enough for us to cast a transient glance The circle through; relinquishing its story For those whom Heaven hath fitted to advance, And, harp in hand, rehearse the King of Glory- From his mild advent till his countenance Shall dissipate the seas and mountains hoary.
FROM Little down to Least-in due degree, Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest, Each with a vernal posy at his breast, We stood, a trembling, earnest Company! With low soft murmur, like a distant bee, Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed; And some a bold unerring answer made; How fluttered then thy anxious heart for me, Beloved Mother! Thou whose happy hand
Hlad bound the flowers I wore, with faithful tie: Sweet flowers! at whose inaudible command Her countenance, phantom-like, doth re-appear: O lost too early for the frequent tear, And ill requited by this heart-felt sigh!
BLEST be the Church, that, watching o'er the needs Of Infancy, provides a timely shower, Whose virtue changes to a Christian Flower
Among the benefits arising, as Mr Coleridge has well observed from a Church Establishment of endowments corresponding with the wealth of the country to which it belongs, may be reckoned, as eminently important, the examples of civility and refinement which the Clergy, stationed at intervals, afford to the whole people. The established Clergy in many parts of England have long been, as they continue to be, the principal bulwark against barbarism, and the link which unites the sequestered Peasantry with the intellectual
THE Young-ones gathered in from hill and dale, With holiday delight on every brow: 'Tis passed away; far other thoughts prevail; For they are taking the baptismal Vow Upon their conscious selves; their own lips speak The solemn promise. Strongest sinews fail, And many a blooming, many a lovely cheek Under the holy fear of God turns pale, While on each head his lawn-robed Servant lays An apostolic hand, and with prayer seals The Covenant. The Omnipotent will raise Their feeble Souls; and bear with his regrets, Who, looking round the fair assemblage, feels That ere the Sun goes down their childhood sets.
advancement of the age. Nor is it below the dignity of the subject to observe that their Taste, as acting upon rural Residences and scenery, often furnishes models which Country Gentlemen, who are more at liberty to follow the caprices of Fashion, might profit by. The precincts of an old residence must be treated by Ecclesiastics with respect, both from prudence and necessity. 1 remember being much pleased, some years ago, at Rose Castle, the Rural Seat of the See of Carlisle, with a style of Garden and Architecture, which, if the Place had belonged to a wealthy Layman, would no doubt have been swept away. A Parsonage-house generally stands not far from I SAW a Mother's eye intensely bent the Church; this proximity imposes favourable restraints, and Upon a Maiden trembling as she knelt; sometimes suggests an affecting union of the accommodations and In and for whom the pious Mother felt elegancies of life with the outward signs of piety and mortality.With pleasure I recal to mind a happy instance of this in the Resi-Things that we judge of by a light too faint, dence of an old and much-valued friend in Oxfordshire. The House Tell, if ye may, some star-crowned Muse, or Saint! and Church stand parallel to each other, at a small distance; a cir- Tell what rushed in, from what she was relieved-cular lawn, or rather grass-plot, spreads between them; shrubs and Then, when her Child the hallowing touch received, trees curve from each side of the Dwelling, veiling, but not hiding the Church. From the front of this Dwelling, no part of the BurialAnd such vibration to the Mother went ground is seen; but, as you wind by the side of the Shrubs towards That tears burst forth amain. Did gleams appear, the Steeple end of the Church, the eye catches a single, small, low, Opened a vision of that blissful place monumental head-stone, moss-grown, sinking into, and gently in- Where dwells a Sister-child? And was power given clining towards, the earth. Advance, and the Churchyard, populous Part of her lost One's glory back to trace and gay with glittering Tombstones, opens upon the view. This humble and beautiful Parsonage called forth a tribute, for which see Even to this Rite? For thus She knelt, and, ere A Parsonage in Oxfordshire, in Miscellaneous Sonnets. The Summer-leaf had faded, passed to Heaven.
By chain yet stronger must the Soul be tied: One duty more, last stage of this ascent, Brings to thy food, memorial Sacrament! The Offspring, haply at the Parents' side; But not till They, with all that do abide In Heaven, have lifted up their hearts to laud And magnify the glorious name of God, Fountain of Grace, whose Son for Sinners died. Here must my Song in timid reverence pause: But shrink not ye whom to the saving rite The Altar calls; come early under laws
That can secure for you a path of light
The longest date do melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whitened hill and plain And is no more; drop like the tower sublime Of yesterday, which royally did wear
Its crown of weeds, but could not even sustain Some casual shout that broke the silent air, Or the unimaginable touch of Time.
MONASTIC Domes! following my downward way, Untouched by due regret I marked your fall! Now, ruin, beauty, ancient stillness, all
Through gloomiest shade; put on (nor dread its weight) Dispose to judgments temperate as we lay
Armour divine, and conquer in your cause!
CONTENT With calmer scenes around us spread And humbler objects, give we to a day Of annual joy one tributary lay; This day when, forth by rustic music led, The village Children, while the sky is red With evening lights, advance in long array Through the still Church-yard, each with garland gay, That, carried sceptre-like, o'ertops the head Of the proud Bearer. To the wide Church-door, Charged with these offerings which their Fathers bore For decoration in the Papal time,
The innocent procession softly moves:
The spirit of Laud is pleased in Heaven's pure clime, And Hooker's voice the spectacle approves!
WOULD that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave Less scanty measure of those graceful rites And usages, whose due return invites
A stir of mind too natural to deceive; Giving the Memory help when she would weave A crown for Hope! I dread the boasted lights That all too often are but fiery blights, Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve. Go, seek when Christmas snows discomfort bring The counter Spirit, found in some gay Church Green with fresh Holly, every pew a perch In which the linnet or the thrush might sing, Merry and loud, and safe from prying search, Strains offered only to the genial Spring.
FROM low to high doth dissolution climb, And sinks from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime,
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
This is still continued in many Churches in Westmorland. It takes place in the month of July, when the floor of the Stalls is strewn with fresh rushes; and bence it is called the Rusb-bearing..
On our past selves in life's declining day: For as, by discipline of Time made wise, We learn to tolerate the infirmities And faults of others, gently as he may Towards our own the mild Instructor deals, Teaching us to forget them or forgive. Perversely curious, then, for hidden ill Why should we break Time's charitable seals? Once ye were holy, ye are holy still; Your spirit freely let me drink and live!
EMIGRANT FRENCH CLERGY. EVEN while I speak, the sacred roofs of France Are shattered into dust; and self-exiled From Altars threatened, levelled, or defiled, Wander the Ministers of God, as chance Opens a way for life, or consonance Of Faith invites. More welcome to no land The fugitives than to the British strand, Where Priest and Layman with the vigilance Of true compassion greet them. Creed and test Vanish before the unreserved embrace Of Catholic humanity:-distrest They came, and, while the moral tempest roars Throughout the Country they have left, our shores Give to their Faith a dreadless resting-place.
Taus all things lead to Charity-secured By THEM who blessed the soft and happy gale That landward urged the great Deliverer's sail, Till in the sunny bay his fleet was moored! Propitious hour! had we, like them, endured Sore stress of apprehension, with a mind Sickened by injuries, dreading worse designed, From month to month trembling and unassured, How had we then rejoiced! But we have felt, As a loved substance, their futurity; Good, which they dared not hope for, we have seen; A State whose generous will through earth is dealt; A State-which, balancing herself between Licence and slavish order, dares be free.
This is borrowed from an affecting passage in Mr George Dyer's History of Cambridge.
* See Burnet, who is unusually animated on this subject: the east wind, so anxiously expected and prayed for, was called the Protestant wind..
Bur liberty, and triumphs on the Main, And laurelled Armies-not to be withstood, What serve they? if, on transitory good Intent, and sedulous of abject gain,
The state (ah surely not preserved in vain!) Forbear to shape due channels which the Flood Of sacred Truth may enter-till it brood O'er the wide realm, as o'er the Egyptian Plain The all-sustaining Nile. No more—the time
Is conscious of her want; through England's bounds, In rival haste, the wished-for Temples rise! I hear their sabbath bells' harmonious chime Float on the breeze-the heavenliest of all sounds That hill or vale prolongs or multiplies!
CHURCH TO BE ERECTED.
BE this the chosen site;-the virgin sod, Moistened from age to age by dewy eve, Shall disappear-and grateful earth receive The corner-stone from hands that build to God. Yon reverend hawthorns, hardened to the rod Of winter storms, yet budding cheerfully; Those forest oaks of Druid memory, Shall long survive, to shelter the Abode
Of genuine Faith. Where, haply, 'mid this band Of daisies, Shepherds sate of and wove yore May-garlands, let the holy Altar stand For kneeling adoration; while-above, Broods, visibly pourtrayed, the mystic Dove, That shall protect from Blasphemy the land.
MINE ear has rung, my spirit sunk subdued, Sharing the strong emotion of the crowd, When each pale brow to dread hosannas bowed While clouds of incense mounting veiled the rood, That glimmered like a pine-tree dimly viewed Through Alpine vapours. Such appalling rite Our Church prepares not, trusting to the might Of simple truth with grace divine imbued; Yet will we not conceal the precious Cross, Like Men ashamed: the Sun with his first smile Shall greet that symbol crowning the low Pile; And the fresh air of « incense-breathing morn" Shall wooingly embrace it; and green moss Creep round its arms through centuries unborn.
NEW CHURCH-YARD.
THE encircling ground, in native turf arrayed, Is now by solemn consecration given
To social interests, and to favouring Heaven; And where the rugged Colts their gambols played, And wild Deer bounded through the forest glade, Unchecked as when by merry Outlaw driven, Shall hymns of praise resound at morn and even; And soon, full soon, the lonely Sexton's spade Shall wound the tender sod. Encincture small,
The Lutherans have retained the Cross within their Churches; it is to be regrested that we have not done the same.
But infinite its grasp of joy and woe! Hopes, fears, in never-ending ebb and flow- The spousal trembling-and the « dust to dust »>— The prayers, the contrite struggle, and the trust That to the Almighty Father looks through all!
CATHEDRALS, ETC.
OPEN your Gates, ye everlasting Piles!
Types of the Spiritual Church which God hath reared; Not loth we quit the newly-hallowed sward And humble altar, mid your sumptuous aisles To kneel-or thrid your intricate defiles— Or down the nave to pace in motion slow; Watching, with upward eye, the tall tower grow And mount, at every step, with living wiles Instinct to rouse the heart and lead the will By a bright ladder to the world above. Open your Gates, ye Monuments of love Divine! thou Lincoln, on thy sovereign hill!
Thou, stately York! and Ye, whose splendours cheer Isis and Cam, to patient Science dear!
INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAN- BRIDGE.
TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned, Albeit labouring for a scanty band
Of white-robed Scholars only, this immense And glorious Work of fine Intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more;
So deemed the Man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.
WHAT awful perspective! while from our sight With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light, Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite, Whoe'er ye be, that thus-yourselves unseen— Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen, Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night! But, from the arms of silence-list! O list! The music bursteth into second life;- The notes luxuriate-every stone is kissed By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife; Heart-thrilling strains, that cast before the eye Of the Devout a veil of ecstasy!
THEY dreamt not of a perishable home
Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear Or groveling thought, to seek a refuge here;
Along the nether region's rugged frame! Earth prompts-Heaven urges; let us seek the light Studious of that pure intercourse begun When first our infant brows their lustre won; So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright From unimpeded commerce with the Sun, At the approach of all-involving night.
WHY sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled, Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the WORD Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored, Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold His drowsy rings. Look forth! that stream behold, THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed Floating at ease while nations have effaced Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold Long lines of mighty Kings- look forth, my Soul! (Nor in this vision be thou slow to trust) The living Waters, less and less by guilt Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll, Till they have reached the Eternal City-built For the perfected Spirits of the just!
The White Doe of Rylstone; () OR, THE FATE OF THE NORTONS.
They that deny a God, destroy Man's nobility: for certainly Man is of kinn to the Beasts by his Body; and if he be not of kinn to God by his Spirit, he is a base ignoble Creature. It destroys likewise Magnanimity, and the raising of humane Nature: for take an example of a Dogg, and mark what a generosity and courage be will put on, when he finds himself maintained by a man, who to him is instead of a God, or Melior Natura. Which courage is manifestly such, as that Creature without that confidence of a better Nature than his own could never attain. So Man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon Divine protection and favour, gathereth a force and faith which human Nature in itself LORD BACON.
It soothed us-it beguiled us-then, to hear Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell; And griefs whose aery motion comes not near The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel; Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer, High over hill and low adown the dell Again we wandered, willing to partake
All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.
Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Aloft ascending, and descending deep,
Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest trees Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep
Of the sharp winds;-fair Creatures!-to whom Heaven A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.
This tragic Story cheered us: for it speaks Of female patience winning firm repose; And of the recompense which conscience seeks A bright, encouraging example shows;
Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, Needful amid life's ordinary woes;
Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless A happy hour with holier happiness.
He serves the Muses erringly and ill, Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive: O, that my mind were equal to fulfil
The comprehensive mandate which they give- Vain aspiration of an earnest will!
Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, Beloved Wife! such solace to impart As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.
RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORLAND, April 20, 1815.
FROM Bolton's old monastic tower (2) The bells ring loud with gladsome power; The sun is bright; the fields are gay With people in their best array Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, Along the banks of crystal Wharf, Through the Vale retired and lowly, Trooping to that summons holy. And, up among the moorlands, see What sprinklings of blithe company! Of lasses and of shepherd grooms, That down the steep hills force their way, Like cattle through the budded brooms; Path, or no path, what care they? And thus in joyous mood they hie To Bolton's mouldering Priory.
What would they there?-Full fifty years That sumptuous Pile, with all its peers, Too harshly hath been doomed to taste The bitterness of wrong and waste: Its courts are ravaged; but the tower Is standing with a voice of power,
That ancient voice which wont to call
To mass or some high festival; And in the shattered fabric's heart Remaineth one protected part; A rural Chapel, neatly drest, (3) In covert like a little nest; And thither young and old repair, This Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer.
Fast the church-yard fills;-anon Look again, and they all are gone;
The cluster round the porch, and the folk Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak! (4) And scarcely have they disappeared Ere the prelusive hymn is heard :- With one consent the people rejoice, Filling the church with a lofty voice! They sing a service which they feel: For 't is the sun-rise now of zeal, And faith and hope are in their prime, In great Eliza's golden time.
A moment ends the fervent din, And all is hushed, without and within; For though the priest, more tranquilly, Recites the holy liturgy,
The only voice which you can hear
Is the river murmuring near.
-When soft!-the dusky trees between,
And down the path through the open green, Where is no living thing to be seen;
And through yon gateway, where is found, Beneath the arch with ivy bound,
Free entrance to the church-yard ground; And right across the verdant sod Towards the very house of God; -Comes gliding in with lovely gleam, Comes gliding in serene and slow, Soft and silent as a dream, A solitary Doe!
White she is as lily of June,
And beauteous as the silver moon
When out of sight the clouds are driven,
And she is left alone in heaven;
Or like a ship some gentle day
In sunshine sailing far away,
A glittering ship, that hath the plain
Of ocean for her own domain.
Lie silent in your graves, ye dead! Lie quiet in your church-yard bed! Ye living, tend your holy cares; Ye multitude, pursue your prayers; And blame not me if my heart and sight Are occupied with one delight! "T is a work for sabbath hours If I with this bright Creature go, Whether she be of forest bowers, From the bowers of earth below; Or a Spirit, for one day given, A gift of grace from purest heaven.
What harmonious pensive changes
Wait upon her as she ranges
Round and through this Pile of state,
Overthrown and desolate!
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