So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, And, I beseech you, let not his report Betwixt my love and your high Majesty. William Shakespeare. Inglewood Forest. INGLEWOOD FOREST. SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST. HE forest huge of ancient Caledon THE Is but a name; nor more is Inglewood, That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood: Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign Nor wants the holy abbot's gliding shade Irwan. A FAREWELL TO THE VALLEY OF IRWAN. FAREWELL the fields of Irwan's vale, My infant years where Fancy led, And soothed me with the western gale, The primrose on the valley's side, The green thyme on the mountain's head, How oft, within yon vacant shade, Has evening closed my careless eye! Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale! Yet still, within yon vacant grove, Along yon flowery banks to rove, And watch the wave that winds away, John Langhorne. RIV Isis, the River. THE ISIS. IVER, who with thy two soul-stirring names Speak'st, one of Rhedicyna's youthful dream, And one of Commerce', Empire's mighty stream At proud Augusta's foot, — Isis, and Thames, From Godstow, where the fairest of frail dames, Ros'mund, with epitaph uncourteous lies, Down to the reach where the tired skiffer ties Or up or down, I cleft my swift-oared way Through the full stream with racing cutters gay; John Bruce Norton. Isle of Man. ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY. "Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori." HE feudal keep, the bastions of Cohorn, THE Even when they rose to check or to repel Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn Just limits; but yon tower, whose smiles adorn A tower of refuge to the else forlorn. William Wordsworth. WHY BY THE SEA-SHORE. HY stand we gazing on the sparkling brine, And all enraptured with its purity?— Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline William Wordsworth. TYNWALD HILL. NCE on the top of Tynwald's formal mound ONCE (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing Stage above stage) would sit this island's king, The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned; While, compassing the little mount around, Degrees and orders stood, each under each; Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach, The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. Off with yon cloud, old Snafell! that thine eye Over three realms may take its widest range; And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, If the whole state must suffer mortal change, Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty. William Wordsworth. Itchin, the River. TO THE RIVER ITCHIN. TCHIN! when I behold thy banks again, ITCHI Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast, |