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they are of the shy,
And from our earthly memory fade amay.
These words were uttered in a pensive mood,
COMPOSED AT CASTLE.
Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!
TO THE POET, DYER.
Bard of the Fleece, whose skilful Genius made
That Work a living landscape fair and bright;
Nor hallowed less with musical delight
Than those soft scenes through which thy Childhood stray'd,
Those southern Tracts of Cambria, " deep embayed,
By green hills fenced, by Ocean's murmur lulled;"
Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled
For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade
Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced,
Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still,
A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay
Long as the Shepherd's bleating flock shall stray
O'er naked Snowdon's wide aerial waste;
Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill.
0 Gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee,
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me
1 have no pain that calls for patience, no;
O gentle Creature! do not use me so,
A Flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!