And must be too the ruthless change bemoan
We sets & se utilitarian lure

1 paternal fields at random thrown?
Baffle the threat bright Scene, from Orrest-head
Gren to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance:
Fad te dy peace, thou beautiful romance
Ò mure; and human hearts be dead,
Speak, passing minds; ye torrents, with your strong
And constant voice, protest against the wrong.

Pero were re. Mountains, when, in times of old,
Your patriot sees to stem invasive war,
Intrereded your brows; ye gloried in each scar :
Now, be your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold,
That miles or Britain like a baneful star,
Was that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold,
And diese way made for her triumphal car
Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold!
Heard ys that Whistle? As her long-linked Train
Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view?
Yes re were startled;- and, in balance true
Weighing the mischief with the promised gain,
Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you
To share the passion of a just disdain.

XLVII.

AT FURNESS ABBEY.

HERE, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing,
Man left this Structure to become Time's prey,
A soothing spirit follows in the way

That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing.
See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Ruin,
Fall to prevent or beautify decay;

And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay,
The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!
Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour;
Even as I speak, the rising Sun's first smile
Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower
Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim
Prescriptive title to the shattered pile

Where, Cavendish, thine seems nothing but name!

XLVIII.

AT FURNESS ABBEY.

WELL have yon Railway Laborers to THIS ground
Withdrawn for noontide rest. They sit, they walk
Among the Ruins, but no idle talk

Is heard; to grave demeanor all are bound;
And from one voice a Hymn with tuneful sound
Hallows once more the long-deserted Choir,
And thrills the old, sepulchral earth around.

Others look up, and with fixed eyes admire

That wide-spanned arch, wondering how it was raised,

To keep, so high in air, its strength and grace:
All seem to feel the spirit of the place,

And by the general reverence God is praised:
Profane Despoilers, stand ye not reproved,
While thus these simple-hearted men are moved?
June 21st, 1845.

NOTES.

Page 32.

"To the Daisy."

This Poem, and two others to the same Flower, were written in the year 1802; which is mentioned, because in some of the ideas, though not in the manner in which those ideas are connected, and likewise even in some of the expressions, there is a resemblance to passages in a Poem (lately published) of Mr. Montgomery's, entitled, A Field Flower. This being said, Mr. Montgomery will not think any apology due to him; I cannot, however, help addressing him in the words of the Father of English Poets.

"Though it happe me to rehersin

That ye han in your freshe songis saied,
Forberith me, and beth not ill apaied,
Sith that ye se I doe it in the honour

Of Love, and eke in service of the Flour."

Page 46.

1807.

"The Seven Sisters."

The Story of this Poem is from the German of FREDERICA BRUN.

Page 85.

"The Wagoner."

Several years after the event that forms the subject of the Poem, in company with my friend, the late Mr. Coleridge, I happened to fall in with the person to whom the name of Ben

acessing regret that we had not,

ING De mai aber him or his wagon, he 211 TLC me and as to the man an ai que could come out of him; he

gating the horses out of a SWPL IS Med in the Poem, was told

Imani rani and round, is wheeling.”

This vote note of the bird was

Dy Tamaris song his fog-like tune,
Twring is wiriman's rattle about—”

vingressa saare the reader at the outset by so maxpressin, de passage was altered as it now

Per the ine. Can zu mortal dog come to her?" followed in the MS an neuent which has been kept back. Part of the suppressed verses shal here be given, as a gratification of privace feeding, which the well-disposed reader will find no difficulty in excusing. They are new printed for the first time. *Can any mortal clog come to her?

But Benjamin, in his vexation,

Possesses inward consolation:

He knows his ground, and hopes to find
A spot with all things to his mind,

An upright mural block of stone,
Moist with pure water trickling down.
A slender spring; but kind to man

It is, a true Samaritan;

Close to the highway, pouring out