Ye who the world's cold scorn may sometimes

move

To curse mankind!—and ye that doubt and fear, Oh! see how Nature beams with boundless

love!

The God of Nature shall instruct you there,
All rapture to the heart, all music to the ear.

you ye

And
Cambrian hills and valleys sweet,-
You gave such pleasure to a wearied mind,
You fill'd a heart, which thought all joy deceit,

With unfeign'd rapture, and with peace refin❜d. Thanks to your charms and glories unconfin'd! Thanks to that God who gave a heart to feel! And may your rude scenes with an influence

kind

Continue long the wound of care to heal, And warm afresh with joy, Affliction's bosom chill!

And you, ye shadowy spirits, that unseen

All wildly glance those fabled scenes among, Whose solemn voices, oft Night's conscious

queen

Salute with murmur sweet, and mystic song;

May you for him that raptur'd roves along, Or climbs some rock whose fork'd peak cleaves

the sky,

If chance the powers of verse to him belong, Bid dreams of hallow'd import flutter by,

And purge from mortal film, his half-enlighten'd eye!

WILD Scenes! tho' absent from my sight,' Remembrance often views your wakeful

charm:

She cherishes with fond delight

The enthusiastic thrill, the feeling warm, The glow poetic, and the wild alarm, That ever wait, enchanting scenes! on you. She often sees your hanging wood

Wave on the mountain's brow,
And kens your mild reflecting flood

Sleep in the vale below,

With feelings keenly true;

She views the mountain torrent white with foam,

As its big mass darts wildly from on high; While conscious shades that shed an awful

gloom,

From the rude glare of Day's unwelcome eye Shroud many a fairy form that loves to hover nigh.

Majestic views!

What trembling effort of my votive muse,
May dare to hail

Shades where SUBLIMITY shall ever
dwell?

Where oft SHE points the melancholy rock, To make it frown more dread;

And bids the beetling crag more proudly mock The embrio storm that hovers round its

head.

While SHE, of rapturous thought the Magic Queen, Wakes every ruder grace,

BEAUTY, more lovely in an awful scene,

Adorns of nature the expressive face

With many a sweeter charm,
And hues divinely warm,-
Bids the torrent as it flows

In the vale below repose,

Bids the glowing car of day
Shed a soft attemper'd ray,
Gives the groves a fresher green
Where mild zephyr sails serene,
BEAUTY calms the liquid lake,
And ever bids it sweetly take

The margin rock, and each time-hallow'd

wood,

Each mountain wildly high, sublimely rude, With soft reflected grace in its reposing flood.

Methinks I see in native charm attir'd

All the bright forms of KESWICK's happy vale: Methinks I see the scene, which oft inspir'd

The glow of Genius, and the Muses' tale. DERWENT! I view thy lake of clearest glass, Which Nature decks in beauty all thine ownThe liquid lustre of its level face

Where the gay pinnace glitters to the sun.
"I feel the balmy gales that blow,"

Its surface brightly clear along;
And now I hear them murmur low,

The lightly trembling woods among.
The cluster'd isles that scarcely peep
From the blue bosom of the deep,