WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT. FAREWELL, Sweet Binstead! take a fond farewell From one unused to sight of woods and seas, Amid the strife of cities doom'd to dwell, Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these, Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees, Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell; Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze, Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell. Again farewell! nor deem that I profane The soul to God, in reverential praise. THE WORLD. Он, what a palace rare hast thou created, With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated; Fruits hang around us; music fills each beak; So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek And the blood-offering of a grateful heart. TO A ROSE. THOU new-born Rose, emerging from the dew, Blush'd from the sea, how fair thou art to view, And fragrant to the smell! The Almighty Father Implanted thee, that men of every hue, Even a momentary joy might gather; And shall he save one people, and pursue Let me believe in thee, thou holy Rose, Be thy abode by saint or savage trod. Thou art the priest whose sermons soothe our woes, Preaching, with nature's tongue, from every sod, Love to mankind, and confidence in God. ON AN ANCIENT LANCE, HANGING IN AN ARMOURY. ONCE in the breezy coppice didst thou dance, Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance, Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang,) Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance, Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang, From age to age, in deep and dusty trance. What is thy change to ours? These gazing eyes, To earth reverting, may again arise In dust, to settle on the self-same space; Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface, And with his moulder'd eyes again replace. THE NIGHTINGALE. LONE warbler! thy love-melting heart supplies Drowning night's ear. Yet thine is but the skill Of loftier love, that hung up in the skies Those everlasting lamps, man's guide, until Morning return, and bade fresh flowers arise, Blooming by night, new fragrance to distil. Why are these blessings lavish'd from above On man, when his unconscious sense and sight Are closed in sleep; but that the few who rove, From want or woe, or travels urge by night, May still have perfumes, music, flowers, and light: So kind and watchful is celestial love! * |