UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 ■f<

 
 POEM S. 
 
 BY THE RF.V. 
 
 THOMAS WHYTEHEAD, M.A. 
 
 FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 AND CHAPLAIN TO THE BISHOF OF NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR J. G. F. & J. RIVINGTON, 
 
 st. Paul's church yard, 
 and waterloo place, pall mall. 
 
 1842.
 
 LONDON : 
 r.ILHLRT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 
 bT. John's square. 

 
 p 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 K 
 
 1 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I, 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Empire of the Sea 1 
 
 The Death of the Duke of Gloucester 
 To F. W. F. . . . ' . 
 " Thou wert the first of all I knew " 
 Holy Baptism .... 
 For a Day of Penitence . 
 
 To 
 
 To F. W. F. 
 
 To 
 
 To F. W. F. 
 Littlemore 
 " Deem not 
 crest " 
 Namur . 
 Venice . 
 Venice . 
 Malines . 
 Goldau . 
 
 for lack of lance and waving 
 
 13 
 25 
 26 
 28 
 29 
 31 
 32 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 
 41 
 45 
 
 47 
 48 
 49 
 51 
 
 r***->-j£ a./-
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XVIII. Heidelberg 54 
 
 XIX. St. Stephen's Day . . . . . .58 
 
 XX. For E. and H. W.— A Hymn ... 60 
 
 XXI. Freshwater, June, 1840 62 
 
 XXII. The Answer 65 
 
 XXIII. Pictures in a Friend's Room . . . .68 
 
 XXIV. To a Spider 69 
 
 XXV. The Firmament 72 
 
 XXVI. The Feast of the Circumcision ... 74 
 XXVII. Hymn at the Foot of the Cross . . .75 
 
 XXVIII. The Restoration 84 
 
 XXIX. The Soul's Vestments 85 
 
 XXX. Freshwater, 1840 86 
 
 XXXI. " death ! thou keen, insulting enemy " . 87 
 
 XXXII. To 88 
 
 XXXIII. Hymns towards a Holy Week ... 89
 
 J. 
 THE EMPIRE OF THE SEA.
 
 " Two Voices are there : one is of the Sea, 
 One of the Mountains ; each a mighty voice : 
 In botli from age to age Thou didst rejoice, 
 They were thy chosen Music, Liberty !" 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 ehr <£m$tri oi tijt Jfra. 
 
 Who hath not loved to turn his weary eye 
 On those twin deeps, the Ocean and the Sky ? 
 To wing his soul from Earth, whose loveliest scene 
 Shows hut the wreck of that which once has been, 
 — Where all of beauty, all of bliss, the flowers 
 That still grow wild amid her ruin'd bowers, 
 Spotless before, in this ungenial clime 
 Have caught the shades of woe, the hues of crime,— 
 To where Creation's mighty Firstborn stand, 
 Bright as they rose beneath Jehovah's hand ? 
 Here by secluded lake, or lonely plain, 
 Where all should smile, and only Nature reign, 
 Still 'mid her haunts is War's red footprint seen, 
 On mouldering tower, or mound of ranker green, 
 
 b 2
 
 4 THE EMPIRE 
 
 And scarce the heather's purple robe can hide 
 
 The turf- grown camp upon the mountain's side. 
 
 But o'er thy breast, old Ocean, as the ray 
 
 Of the wing'd lightning darts in pathless play, 
 
 The gleam from Victory's crimson pinions shed 
 
 Just casts its passing shadow, and is fled, 
 
 Thy waves a moment sink beneath the stain, 
 
 Then glance unsullied into light again. 
 
 For one fierce hour the dark-prow'd battle roars, 
 
 And angry Ocean foams with glancing oars, 
 
 Loud thrills the death-shriek from the crowded deck, 
 
 Down the deep gulf as reels the staggering wreck ; 
 
 Crash after crash the desperate onset tells, 
 
 And each black billow peals an hundred knells : — 
 
 Then sinks the scene to silence and to sleep, 
 
 While scarce a trophy floats upon the deep, 
 
 And nought is heard of all the tumult, save 
 
 The still low murmur of the unconscious wave. 
 
 But who shall weep the vanquish'd, who shall mark 
 
 Where vainly struggling sank the foundering bark ? 
 
 What dirge shall wail the warriors of the sea, 
 
 And where's the grave shall shrine their memory r
 
 OF THE SEA. 
 
 Far, far beneath in princely tomb they lie, 
 The deep their sepulchre, their pall the sky, 
 Where the loud tempest sings their wild lament, 
 And the tall billow rears their monument. 
 
 Ye memory-peopled waters, ye whose shore 
 Sees Athens smile, and hears old Tiber roar, 
 Where lovely Venice like a drooping bride 
 Yet fondly gazes on her Adrian tide, 
 And Tyre looks down from her forsaken steep, 
 The Ariadne of the Syrian deep ; 
 Still to the pilgrim of that classic ground, 
 Your haunted wave is tuneful with the sound 
 Of chiming Paeans, like the shell that rings 
 With the sea's unforgotten murmurings, 
 And Ocean's ancient Masters proudly rise 
 In long procession to his favour'd eyes. 
 
 First of the throng, with enterprising brow, 
 The keen Phoenician steers his shadowy prow ; 
 To him, sole Hierarch of the secret main, 
 Had hoary Neptune shown his ancient reign, 
 And told of realms, and islands of the blest, 
 Bevond the fabled Pillars of the West.
 
 6 THE EMPIRE 
 
 The Tvrian mother with her boy would stand 
 On the wet margin of the shell-strewn sand, 
 Point his ancestral birth-right, bid him roam 
 O'er its wide plains, and call its waves his home ; 
 Till Ocean loved him like a foster-child, 
 And Commerce on the bold adventurer smiled 
 As oft she saw his daring sail unfurl'd, 
 To found a Carthage, or explore a world. 
 
 With loftier look the Athenian eyes the main, 
 He plough'd its waves for Glory — not for Gain ; 
 His less adventurous navies never swept 
 To where the unwaken'd isles of Ocean slept, 
 Eat a bright tract of living lustre show'd 
 Where the bold Greek had sped his glorious road, 
 And tyrants learnt the dangerous shores to shun, 
 Where Cimon rose, and Salamis was won. 
 
 Next of that stately train the Roman stands, 
 The crystal sceptre sparkling in his hands, 
 And binds the trophy of the vanquish'd West, 
 The Punic wreath, around his helmet-crest : 
 Yet didst thou never look on yonder tide, 
 Lord of the world, with half the Tyrian's pride ;
 
 OF THE SEA, 7 
 
 Thou from thy field of fame, the battle-plain, 
 
 Didst gaze a conqueror on the conquer'd main ; 
 
 'Twas but a realm to thee, to him the wave 
 
 The storm-rock'd cradle of his childhood gave, 
 
 He grew the nursling of the mighty Sea, 
 
 But thou, stern Rome, — the land-wolf suckled thee ! 
 
 Now on that vision'd pageant seems to creep 
 A gathering cloud of shadows dark and deep, 
 Where Cross and Crescent, dimly mingling, gleam 
 Like the wild phantoms of a sick man's dream ; 
 Till from the gloom emerging o'er the tide, 
 The lion-standard of Venetia's pride 
 Floats like a stately swan, when o'er the bay 
 Of some lone lake she cleaves her silent way, 
 Or oft asleep on its blue bosom lies, 
 White as a cloud becalm'd in summer skies : 
 For such wert thou, bright City of the Isles, 
 The favour'd Queen of Ocean's thousand smiles, 
 Till Cambray's royal vultures sought thy nest, 
 Pluck'd thy proud wings, and tore thy ruffled breast. — 
 — But see what giant visions crowding fast, 
 Rise in the moonlight of the shadowy Past,
 
 8 THE EMPIRE 
 
 Where through the mists of Time, a silent throng-, 
 The ghosts of mighty Empires glide along. 
 Here, Lusia, towers thy Henry's princely form, 
 And Gama hraves the Spirit of the Storm ' ; 
 Proud with the homage of the Western main, 
 There stately floats the golden flag of Spain ; 
 High on the prow Columbus seems to stand, 
 As first he gazed upon the rising land, 
 And easjer bless'd its blue and slender bound, 
 Skirting the changeless Ocean's weary round : 
 So gleams the thirst- fired Arab's fading eye, 
 When his worn camel scents the fountain nigh, 
 And far against the brazen heaven he sees 
 The cool lone palm-tree waving in the breeze. 
 
 But fiv, bright visions ! — should Helvetia's child 
 Forsake his Alpine haunts, and pine-cliffs wild, 
 To seek in fair Italia's land of vines 
 Nature's stern throne, or Freedom's mountain shrines? 
 Should Grecian patriot leave his native sod 
 For holier ground than that Harmodius trod ? 
 
 1 See Camoens' Lusiad.
 
 OF THE SEA. 9 
 
 Or England's son of Ocean's empire sing, 
 Nor ask of her to consecrate the string ? 
 No, let me tune it where the white waves roar 
 Round some bold headland of my native shore, 
 When the dwarf oak upon its forehead bare 
 Flings to the racking winds its shaggy hair : 
 And as her cliffs roll back the bursting flood, 
 Tell how her Drake and high-born Howard stood, 
 When nations leagued to tear her island gem 
 From the bright front of Ocean's diadem. 
 For, God of Battles, at Thy dread command 
 The watchful waves kept sentry round our land, 
 And the grim Tempest stood o'er Albion's tide, 
 With the red lightning girded at his side, 
 Rush'd at Thy bidding on the invaded main, 
 And whelm'd the proud leviathans of Spain. 
 Bright Isle ! on every shore, by every sea, 
 Have thy bold sons some trophy rear'd to thee ; 
 From climes where Winter grasps the struggling wave 
 And chains it icebound in his silent cave, 
 Or sends his giant glaciers floating forth, 
 Like mighty navies, through the frozen North ;
 
 10 THE EMPIRE 
 
 Far as those Indian seas, where night hy night 
 
 The Star of Egypt 2 showers its saintly light, 
 
 And like the Moon's bright priestess seems to shine 
 
 'Mid Heaven's pale lamps, before her silver shrine. 
 
 Right o'er the Western wave thine Anson flew, 
 
 And thunder'd forth thy name to pale Peru ; 
 
 Where first Columbus rear'd the flag of Spain, 
 
 Did gallant Rodney sweep it from the main ; 
 
 And onward where the blue Pacific smiles 
 
 And sparkles 'mid its galaxy of isles, 
 
 Thine was the bark, — though dear the wreath was 
 
 won, ' 
 When bold Discovery wept her murder'd son, — 
 Which cross'd the untrodden threshold of the seas 
 That chafe between those sunny Cyclades ; 
 While fair Guiana claims a glance from Fame, 
 As proud to shrine thy Raleigh's injured name. 
 
 Oh ! w T ho on Rigi's pinnacle can stand, 
 And look from such a throne o'er such a land, 
 
 2 The brilliant star Canopus. See Moore's Lalla Rookh, 
 p. 219.
 
 OF THE SEA. 11 
 
 Where mountain, lake, and river round him lie, 
 
 And sparkling snow-peaks mingle with the sky, 
 
 All crowding in upon his loaded gaze, 
 
 Nor feel bewilder'd in the dazzling maze ? 
 
 So when in thought my wide-spread course I shape 
 
 From the dark Baltic to Saint Vincent's Cape, 
 
 Or where the thunder-cloud of Nelson's war 
 
 On Gaul's proud eagle burst at Trafalgar, 
 
 And on to glorious Acre, and the scene 
 
 "Where gallant Exmouth quell' d the Algerine ; 
 
 Forgive, ye deathless spirits of the brave, 
 
 That haunt each shore, and " start from every wave," 
 
 If, while I gaze on glories so divine, 
 
 The faint notes tremble on a lyre like mine, 
 
 And Fancy's waxen wings, that bore my flight, 
 
 Melt in the sunshine of a theme so bright ? 
 
 Yet, — as the pibroch's war-note wild and clear 
 
 Best wakes the soul of Albyn's mountaineer, 
 
 While at its thrilling sound his memory glows 
 
 With the proud names of Douglas and Montrose, — 
 
 The minstrel's numbers, whose untutor'd lyre 
 
 Is tuned, though feebly, to your deeds of fire,
 
 12 THE EMPIRE OF THE SEA. 
 
 Shall find in secret hearts a silent string, 
 
 Whose wakening life-notes at that theme shall ring, 
 
 And rouse the slumbering spirit into flame, 
 
 That had not kindled but at Nelson's name.
 
 II. 
 
 THE 
 
 DEATH OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE 
 
 DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
 
 GTljc 23catf) of Sjis Konal li;>tgf)ttcS6tf)c 
 JDufer of (Glottrrstrr. 
 
 1835. 
 
 Angel of Death ! where'er thy flight be sped, 
 
 To courtly canopy or dungeon-bed ; 
 
 Where'er 'mid bursting sobs or silent gloom 
 
 Thy noiseless footsteps haunt the sick-man's room ; 
 
 Whether thou lov'st to veil thy awful form 
 
 In the dark mantle of the reveling storm, 
 
 Or in the unsuspected breeze to guide 
 
 The bounding vessel to the whirlpool's tide ; 
 
 Spirit of might ! hath earth or heaven a balm 
 
 The last dread struggle of the soul to calm, 
 
 That lingers still unwilling to depart 
 
 From the regretted form and failing heart, 
 
 And clasps the chains that to her hold engage 
 
 The loved companion of her pilgrimage ?
 
 16 DEATH OF H. R. H. 
 
 As the bright drop that in the flower-cup lies 
 Melts half- reluctant to its native skies. 
 
 Can Nature lend her glimmering light to cheer 
 Her fainting prophet in that hour of fear ? 
 See -where he lies beneath the banyan's shade, 
 The hoarv- Druid of the Indian glade ; 
 With wilder'd gaze he turns bis restless eye 
 From the dark Veda's scroll of mystery, 
 The heaven's blue clearness is around him spread, 
 The silver'd leaves are twinkling o'er his head ; 
 Sure in so fair a page no eye might read 
 Such mystic symbols, and so dark a creed ! 
 In the broad censer ' unobserved has died 
 The sacred flame that flicker'd at his side, 
 While nearer still death's deepening shadows roll, 
 And close unbroken round the Brahmin's soul. 
 
 Genius of Ancient Rome ! thy voice could tell 
 How thy stern Decii and thy Scipios fell, 
 
 1 '•' A Brahmin when desirous of spending his last day-. 
 according to the order of Ids sacred hooks, in the contempla- 
 tion of the Deity, carries into the woods with him his Veda, 
 and the holy fire, which he keeps alive as ong as he ha- 
 strength to watch it. " — Encyd. -
 
 THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 17 
 
 How hearts that shrank in calmer mood away 
 From the chill thought of silent slow decay, 
 When the wild joy of boisterous battle woke, 
 Rush'd on grim death ambitious of the stroke ; 
 As the proud eagle 2 pants in vain to rise 
 On broad-spread pinions thro' the breathless skies, 
 But springs in triumph when the calm be past, 
 Screams in the storm, and rides the mountain blast. 
 
 Ah ! not for them had Mercy's tranquil ray 
 Chased the dark horrors of the grave away ! 
 No rude-carved record o'er the hillock's breast 
 Told the bright hope that soothed the slumberer's rest; 
 No spring-flowers budding from the funeral ground 
 Whisper'd their still " Resurgam" all around ; 
 But one cold shroud of unrelenting gloom 
 Curtain'd the silent chambers of the tomb. — 
 — Oh ! it is bitter on the briny main, 
 When the fierce death-thirst burns through every vein, 
 
 2 I have heard from the shepherds of Glenorchy, Argyle- 
 shire, that the eagles are at times caught becalmed on the 
 hills, there not being sufficient wind to allow them to rise.
 
 18 DEATH OF H. R. H. 
 
 To watch the mocking waves pursue the ship, 
 And die of thirst while they invite the lip ! 
 But keener far the death-pang of dismay, 
 Where the loud Atheist struggles to be gay, 
 When the blest balms 3 that bloom around so fair 
 But fire his wound, and madden his despair ; 
 See ! the first horrors of that world have birth, 
 And meet and mingle with the last of earth ! 
 While, as his anguish'd spirit writhes for rest, 
 The secret chain draws faster round his breast, 
 As rock-pent torrents deepen as they rage 
 The channel'd dungeon of their stony cage. 
 
 Sweet exile from this dark unhallow'd ground, 
 Where may thy footsteps, gentle Peace, be found ? 
 Say, dost thou love by yonder scenes to stay, 
 Where Resignation breathes her soul away, 
 And hopes to mortal hearts in mercy given 
 Wake in each brightening tear the hues of heaven ? 
 
 3 rd (itv yap Ik yr)£ cv<7<pp6i>tov fiiiXiyfiara 
 j3poroTg, tt i <pav a kiov tint ruaSt vifv voaovg. 
 
 (Choeph. Scholefield.)
 
 THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 19 
 
 Domestic Love ! I see thee gliding bright 
 
 Through the dark cloud that seeks to veil thy light, 
 
 And like some guardian spirit from the skies 
 
 Bend o'er the couch where princely Gloucester lies, 
 
 Drinking with anxious ear the low-drawn breath 
 
 As calm he slumbers in the lap of death ; 
 
 While the wing'd soul, impatient of her stay, 
 
 Far into opening visions soars away, 
 
 Till scarce her ken this dwindling world can see 
 
 On the wide chart of vast Eternity. 
 
 Calm was the Sunday eve 4 , Saint Mary's bell 
 To the blest day had flung its last farewell, 
 And thoughts of sadness claiming sweet control 
 Crept with the hues of evening o'er the soul, 
 Wandering that hour of mystery to explore 
 When the fair landscape shall delight no more, 
 But other eyes on such a sunset raised, 
 Feel as we felt, and gaze where we have gazed. 
 Hark ! 'twas the death-bell's voice whose iron tongue 
 Broke the deep spell that o'er my spirit hung : 
 
 ' He expired on the evening of Sunday, Nov. 30, 1835. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 DEATH OF H. R. H. 
 
 'Twas Gloucester's knell ! how spreads the mourn- 
 ful tale, 
 Peals from each tower, and floats on every gale ? 
 The veteran soldier s starting at the sound, 
 In his far home, shall hear it circling round, 
 And with dimm'd eye, in melancholy pride, 
 Shall tell of battles fought by Gloucester's side, 
 While e'en the children hush their noisy game, 
 And learn to weep at good Prince William's name. 
 
 Seize the bold pencil, let the portrait live 
 With all the glow a Pindar's hand could give, 
 And paint in burning colours bright and free 
 All that a Patriot and a Prince should be ! 
 Paint the warm heart on noblest aims intent, 
 By courts unsullied and by threats unbent, 
 Where Envy's serpent eye can find no stain, 
 And Flattery tries her Syren voice in vain, 
 Let Learning's walls beneath his smile ascend, 
 And Worth neglected find at length a friend, 
 
 5 This allusion refers to the Duke's being actively engaged 
 in the Dutch war in 1794, when Prince William of Glou- 
 cester.
 
 THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 21 
 
 Trace but the outline of that princely breast, 
 And weeping England shall supply the rest. 
 
 There is a grandeur in a Nation's tears, 
 When every heart one common burthen bears ; 
 'Tis not the Sorrow whose obtrusive glare 
 Bursts in wild grief, or smoulders in despair ; 
 'Tis one majestic gloom that reigns around, 
 Dims every eye, and saddens every sound, 
 A silent surface of unruffled woe 
 That tells the depth of feeling hid below. 
 
 Such were the tears that generous Athens shed 6 
 O'er patriot chiefs, and sons untimely dead, 
 As from her gates along the crowded road 
 Weeping she pass'd to valour's last abode ; 
 While in the race of glory, sire to son 
 The torch pass'd onward as his course was done ' , 
 Then sank contented with the meed she gave, 
 The sacred honours of a Soldier's grave. 
 
 So grateful Science o'er the marble weeps 
 Where her loved Granta's good Maecenas sleeps : 
 
 6 See the splendid description of an Athenian Funeral 
 and the Ceramicus, Thucyd. ii. 34. 
 
 7 For the race of the Xafiiracotyopia, see Lucret. ii. 71.
 
 22 DEATH OF H. R. H. 
 
 Oh, might her tears his silent guerdon be, 
 
 And fall like dews around his memory ! 
 
 Had he but perish'd when in Youth's bright hours 
 
 With blameless step he trod her classic bowers, 
 
 And while she gazed with all a mother's pride, 
 
 The princely flower had languish'd, droop'd, and 
 
 died, 
 Yet had she wept, and bade her praises bloom 
 Like funeral garlands o'er his early tomb : 
 But when he sank as Autumn suns to rest, 
 And years had bound him to her grateful breast, 
 Hers shall be grief moi - e sacred and more deep, 
 Tears such as orphans o'er a parent weep, 
 And the pale Muse to deck his grave unbind 
 The wreath that round her youthful brows he twined s , 
 While Learning's pious hand enrols his fame 
 By royal Henry's side, and Margaret's saintly 
 
 name. 
 But who shall clear the gloom from Granta's 
 
 brow, 
 And which of all her sons shall shield her now ? 
 
 s The Chancellor's English Medal was first established by 
 the late Duke.
 
 THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 23 
 
 To guard her charter'd rights unshrinking stand, 
 And earn the laurel from her grateful hand ? 
 
 Here to Thy feet she turns with hended knee, 
 
 And, generous Camden, rests her eyes on Thee ! 
 
 Past is the cloud, and dried the holy tear 
 That England shed around her Prince's bier : 
 Favour'd of Heaven, that like a halcyon's nest 
 Securely slumberest on the Ocean's breast, 
 Where Freedom breathes her incense all around 
 Like a sweet wild-flower in its native ground, 
 Thine are the sons thy treasured hearths inspire, 
 In peace all softness, but in flight all fire, 
 That met bare-bosom'd on thy heights, La Haye, 
 The cuirass'd might of Gallia's proud array, 
 Sprang to the charge, as waved their Leader's hand, 
 And worthy proved of Wellington's command. 
 And if the sympathies of earth can move 
 The sacred ardour of a spirit's love, 
 If the pure censer of celestial bliss 
 Hold aught of fondness for a world like this, 
 Is there an orb of all the clusters bright 
 That pour their splendour o'er the vault of night,
 
 24 DEATH OF THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 
 
 Whose lovelier gem upon the spangled sky 
 Outshines his native star in Gloucester's eve. 
 Or charms away one tributary smile 
 From the loved precincts of his own bright Isle ?
 
 25 
 
 III. 
 
 Co dr. m. $. 
 
 Rememberest thou those few unearthly hours 
 
 In Esthwaite vale ? My soul lay hushed and bare 
 
 To thoughts that disentranced the slumbering powers 
 
 Of its most hidden affections : feelings there 
 
 Came like the breeze that stirr'd but did not break 
 
 The sleeping stillness of that molten lake 
 
 With breeze-like visitations, everywhere 
 
 Leaving a tremulous lustre in their wake. 
 
 Come then, for thou hast found its entrance, share 
 
 The soul that since to thee hath open lain. 
 
 'Tis but a homely garden of few flowers, 
 
 Some too, my brother, cherish'd much and rare, 
 
 Of thine own planting. Sainted spirits twain *, 
 
 Whose loves once hallowed Pontus, smile on ours ! 
 
 Ambleside, 1837. 
 
 1 Saints Basil and Gregory.
 
 26 
 
 IV. 
 dfor ffiutit. 
 
 Tune—" Canst thou forget ?" Dr. Callcott. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou wert the first of all I knew 
 
 To pass unto the dead, 
 And Paradise hath seem'd more true, 
 And come down closer to my view, 
 
 Since there thy presence fled. 
 
 ii. 
 The whispers of thy gentle soul 
 
 At silent lonely hours, 
 Like some sweet saint-bell's distant toll, 
 Come o'er the waters as they roll 
 
 Betwixt thy world and ours. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh ! still my spirit clings to thee, 
 
 And feels thee at my side ; 
 Like a green ivy, when the tree 
 Its shoots had clasp'd so lovingly 
 Within its arms hath died :
 
 FOR MUSIC. 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 And ever round that lifeless thing 
 Where first their clusters grew, 
 
 Close as while yet it lived they cling, 
 
 And shrine it in a second spring 
 Of lustre dark and new. 
 
 Ambleside, August, 1837.
 
 28 
 
 V. 
 
 %\oXv 2Sapffem. 
 
 I dwelt among the deep and yearning hills, 
 
 In a lone hermitage, where all around, 
 
 Though far from mountain pool or gushing rills, 
 
 Grew strange bright flowers from out the thirsty 
 
 ground, 
 That made me marvel as I pass'd them by, 
 For all the year their freshness stayed the same ; 
 And I thank'd God, but knew not whence it came 
 That thus thev lived where all seem'd dead and dry. 
 There by a keen-eyed friend I late was found, 
 To whom I told my dwelling's mvstery ; 
 He smiled, and led me where the gurgling sound 
 Of hidden waters oft perplex'd mine eye, 
 And there a secret fountain I espied, 
 And, glass'd therein, a Cross stood planted by its side. 
 
 Ambleside, 1837.
 
 29 
 
 VI. 
 
 dfor a J3ai) at Iknttnue. 
 
 — dia Trig dydin]Q tov Hviv/iaTog. Ep. ad Rom. 
 I. 
 
 Stay, grieved One, stay ! 
 I have opened to strangers the sacred cell 
 Of the spirit where Thou didst deign to dwell, — 
 
 But leave me not lone to-day. 
 
 n. 
 
 Return, dread Guest ! 
 Oh ! enter the threshold that yet doth bear 
 The holy Cross that was sculptured there 
 
 When the Master the mansion blest. 
 
 in. 
 
 Tis with me still, 
 Though the sign be dimm'd and its freshness gone ; 
 — And I trust in His grace who died thereon 
 
 To shield me from mortal ill.
 
 I 
 30 FOR A DAY OF PENITENCE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then bless me now ! 
 Thou that wert by at that solemn hour 
 When the holy priest by Thine awful power 
 
 First traced it upon my brow ! 
 
 v. 
 
 Send still Thine aid ! 
 Till asleep on the lap of the Church I may fall, 
 And start from the dust at the trumpet-call 
 
 In the might of that symbol arraved ! 
 
 Ambleside, Sept. 1837.
 
 31 
 
 VII. 
 
 Co . 
 
 The springs of silent thought and purpose high 
 
 Rise at our boyhood's threshold ; let us drink 
 
 Deep ere we quit them, and life's sultry sky 
 
 Have stolen their freshness. It were hard to think 
 
 Of youth departed, like a thriftless stream 
 
 That minded not amid its native hills 
 
 To hoard deep waters from those secret rills 
 
 Which gurgling through the mountain mosses gleam, 
 
 Nor with their full-brimm'd runnels sought to link 
 
 Its own too scanty course, — till all are past, 
 
 And nought can now its heedless haste redeem : 
 
 So in one shallow brook it ends at last 
 
 Its feeble voiceless waters, that can claim 
 
 Of the vale's simple records scarce a name. 
 
 Ambleside, July, 1837.
 
 32 
 VIII. 
 
 Co jr. m. $. 
 
 ON LEAVING AMBLESIDE. 
 
 X«tp' 'Ap£0oi<ra, 
 Kat Trorafioi, rot x"~ £ Ka\bv Kara Gi^/SpicJoc uo^tup. 
 
 I. 
 
 The lake hath called unto the river 
 
 And the river unto the hill, 
 And down the headlong waters shiver 
 
 From torrent, tarn, and gill ; 
 I hear them cry all glancing hv 
 
 Through the misty morning light ; 
 " Thou hast seen us in our gentleness, 
 
 Now see us in our might." 
 
 ii. 
 
 And, Rothay, thou the loudest there 
 
 Dost tell my time is past ; 
 I may not see thee thus forswear 
 
 The gentle thing thou wast. 
 12 

 
 TO F. W. F. 33 
 
 Type of all tranquil souls to me 
 
 Was that calm course of thine ; 
 Then let thy mood of strength be viewed 
 
 By other eyes than mine. 
 
 in. 
 
 Dear friend, of blessed by-gone time 
 
 Each stirring thought is telling, 
 And every crag we used to climb 
 
 Is some sweet memory's dwelling ; 
 But chief, where Brat hay dashes by 
 
 Those Church-crowned lonely scars, 
 Our walks beneath the moonless sky 
 
 And the unherded stars. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Rivers there are to me that talk 
 
 Of many a darling tale ; 
 Old Ouse that chaunts of mitred York, 
 
 And Wharfe of Bolton vale ; 
 
 D
 
 34 TO F. W. F. 
 
 But none may learn a song so sweet 
 Where'er their waters wander, 
 
 As those two brother streams that meet 
 In thy calm home, Winander. 
 
 Ambleside, Sept. 1837.
 
 35 
 
 IX. 
 Co . 
 
 I saw a glorious City, girded round 
 
 With tented foes in motley bands outspread, 
 
 And from the walks arose a chaunt-like sound 
 
 j 
 Of proud old sons that timed the sentry's tread : 
 
 But one paced silent on the battlement, 
 
 For home or heritage he there had none ; 
 
 He was an alien, and his strength had spent 
 
 In strangers' wars. — Dear friend, the hour draws on 
 
 "When thou upon the ancient walls must stand 
 
 Of God's beleaguer'd Church : then here enshrine 
 
 Thy heart's best treasure, and in her calm land 
 
 Build thee a home of hopes and thoughts divine, 
 
 And bind self-mastery round thee like the ring 
 
 Whose iron cincture girt the Scottish King. 
 
 Keswick, 1838. 
 
 d2
 
 36 
 X. 
 
 Co #. m. jr. 
 
 A sound of Church-bells on a working day, 
 
 A Cross amidst a crowded market-place, 
 
 That, like a benediction, seems to lay 
 
 On all that restless throng a spell of grace ; 
 
 E'en such, sweet friend, hath been the thought of 
 
 thee, 
 When heavy on my heart the world hath leant : 
 We were two solitary barks at sea, 
 That on strange waters touch'd, and found we went 
 Each to the same far land ; and though we be 
 Long out of sight, like chance companions parted, 
 Across the drear world drifting lonelily, 
 Yet ne'er again can we be lonely-hearted ; 
 For the sweet hope shall haunt us ever more 
 Of pacing hand in hand along the eternal shore. 
 
 Keswick, 183C.
 
 37 
 
 XL 
 
 Eittlcmorc 
 
 'Twas Whitsuntide, and Monday's sun stood halfway 
 
 down the skies, 
 And Oxford spires, upshooting bright, burn'd like a 
 
 sacrifice ; 
 I came unto a village-church, in a green burial-ground 
 Where pious hands had planted trees of holy mean- 
 ing round ; 
 The cedar to the sycamore its dusky flakes outthrew 
 In memory of Mount Lebanon, and of that lowly 
 
 Jew 
 Who climb'd to see as Jesus past ; around, the 
 
 hamlet lav, 
 As if within the sheep-bell's call that little flock 
 
 would stay : 
 For day by day the chapel-bell did summon them to 
 
 prayer, 
 And hearts that loved the summons well, of gentle 
 
 mould, were there.
 
 38 LITTLEMORE. 
 
 The dame is at her cottage-door, the child is out at 
 
 play, 
 And every soul in Littlemore keeps joyful holiday. 
 It is a time that Christian lands to peaceful mirth 
 
 have given, 
 For holy Church loves quiet rest for thought of rest 
 
 in Heaven. 
 Past is the hour of evening prayer, then wherefore 
 
 from within 
 Come sounds as of sweet voices forth, and an organ's 
 
 solemn din ? 
 Is it the Angel of the place, in solitary song, 
 Like those that on the mountain-tops sing anthems 
 
 all day long 
 'Mid shrill winds and the vapours in their rainbow- 
 haunted throng ? 
 Or is it that the souls of those beneath the Altar laid, 
 In such blest tone sing loud and lone, as holy John 
 
 hath said ? 
 Fast is the door, the strain goes on, unaudienced 
 
 though it be, 
 Like all those lovely things that are where none is 
 
 there to see ;
 
 LITTLEMORE. 39 
 
 At length one opeh'd at my call ;— it was a sight of 
 
 grace, 
 That met me by the Altar-rail within that holy place ; 
 For there before an organ stood the little lonely 
 
 quire, 
 A mother and three village youths in holiday attire, 
 And two from out one psalm-book sang unto the 
 
 other playing 
 With reverent look, as they to God a solemn thing 
 
 were saying. 
 She too, I guess her heart is full, as at their side she 
 
 stands, 
 With eyes upon the pavement fix'd, and lowly- 
 clasped hands, 
 Her meek voice mingles with the psalm, glad mother 
 
 of the three, 
 But sure her soul is blessing God for that fair 
 
 company ; 
 For they have left the village green, those comelv 
 
 youths and tall, 
 To close within the quiet Church their summer 
 
 festival ;
 
 40 LITTLEMORE. 
 
 And thus to join the Sunday quire they tune their 
 
 voices clear : 
 Long blest ones, long shall your sweet song be 
 
 ringing in mine ear.
 
 41 
 
 XII. 
 
 " When the hermit and Ysaie, by order of Merlin, had 
 proceeded to the hermitage of Sir Lancelot du Sae and found 
 that he was dead, and by advice of the dwarf Irone, when they 
 had repaired to his tomb, the marble slab which covered the 
 body of the warrior being raised, the hermit dubbed Ysaie a 
 Knight with the right arm of the skeleton." — Ysaie le Trieste. 
 
 Deem not for lack of lance and waving crest 
 
 That chivalry hath departed ; though the brow 
 
 Show where the deep-worn lines of thought have prest, 
 
 Not the tight clasping of the helmet now ; 
 
 And skirt of steel be changed for studious vest ; — 
 
 Still doth the old heart live, whose knightly vow 
 
 Did once with lofty deeds the world endow, 
 
 And dignity on meanest things imprest. 
 
 Are not the dead around thee ? is not thine 
 
 The past as an inheritance to stir 
 
 High memories in thee, which thy blood may warm ? 
 
 And lives not fiction, truth's romantic shrine, 
 
 Whence Arthur's self thou mayest unsepulchre, 
 
 And take thy knighthood from his skeleton arm ?
 
 WRITTEN DURING A TOUR. 
 1839.
 
 45 
 
 XIII. 
 $athur. 
 
 May 30. 
 I. 
 
 What dost thou so young, fair maiden, 
 
 With that convent veil ? 
 Sorrow must have early laden 
 
 That brow so sad and pale. 
 What grief has made thee weary 
 
 Of this earth so soon ? 
 The morn, bethink thee, may be dreary. 
 
 But all be bright at noon. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Of the world thou leavest 
 
 Little hast thou known, 
 How the grave of what thou grievest 
 
 Will soon be overgrown : 
 And then I fear for thee, lest thou 
 
 With other eyes survey 
 The cloister and its lonesome vow, 
 
 And the world thou hast cast away. 
 12
 
 46 NAMUR. 
 
 III. 
 
 That warm gush of kisses 
 
 On thy brother pour'd, 
 Told it thee not what springs of blisses 
 
 In saddest hearts are stored ? 
 How every hope of ours, 
 
 And every joy that dies, 
 Sheds first the seeds for other flowers 
 
 Of brighter leaf to rise. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Peace be to thee ! nor in sadness 
 
 May thy soul awake 
 To the beauty and the gladness 
 
 Of the world thou dost forsake ! 
 And if with spirit calm and holy 
 
 Thou tread this quiet shrine, 
 Maiden, 'twill not be melancholy 
 
 To such a heart as thine.
 
 47 
 
 XIV. 
 Center. 
 
 Now have I seen the magic city rest 
 Like a fair fleet at anchor on the sea ; 
 And all that ever yet my dreams have blest 
 Of strange Arabian palaces, and thee, 
 Granada, wondrous city of the Moor, 
 Hath this one night outdone, and left them poor. 
 That proud old square, where corridor and dome, 
 With marbles bright and rich mosaicks gleam'd, 
 And its tall minaret-tower, I might have deem'd 
 Some Paynim Soldan's gorgeous dizen'd home ; 
 So all unlike our Western world it seem'd, 
 Where'er from sea to sky the eye might roam : 
 Yet 'twas a Christian City, where did dwell 
 Those king-like knights that quell'd the infidel. 
 
 August 16.
 
 48 
 
 XV. 
 
 Wcnict. 
 
 The city sleeps like an enchanted queen 
 
 Whose heart a hundred years a trance hath bound. 
 
 Still bright and lovely as her youth hath been, 
 
 The while her palace- walls are crumbling round : 
 
 And like a green-coil'd dragon at her feet 
 
 For her good guardian set, the faithful sea 
 
 Looks up into her eyes as if to greet 
 
 The first ray of awakening life ; but she 
 
 Unconscious on her marble chair sleeps on, 
 
 A pale majestic maiden, all alone ; 
 
 For princes, warriors, coil'd about her throne : 
 
 Her mouldering halls are silent evermore, 
 
 And yet she is an empress as before. 
 
 August 16.
 
 49 
 
 XVI. 
 
 IHaltnrs. 
 
 Beautiful city ! there doth rest 
 An image on my soul so blest 
 Of thy old streets and quiet halls, 
 Thy gabled roofs, and garden-walls 
 That on the moats beneath in showers 
 Fling their fast-falling lilac flowers, 
 
 I dare not visit thee again : 
 Perchance the lovely dream would break, 
 And I in this dark world should wake, 
 And that were grief and pain. 
 
 I will not go ; but thou to me 
 
 A city of the sky shall be, 
 
 E
 
 50 MALINES. 
 
 Seen in the evening clouds : 
 And when shall come my weary days, 
 On that sweet vision I will gaze, 
 Like a sailor from the shrouds 
 On some green isle : though scarce an hour I stay'd 
 Where o'er the square there lay thy tall cathedral's 
 shade. 
 
 Antwerp, May 25.
 
 51 
 
 XVII. 
 
 As seen from the Righi. 
 
 Some gentle souls have sigh'd to think 
 
 That they by all around 
 So quickly shall forgotten be, 
 And all things smile as cheerfully 
 
 When they lie under-ground. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And they have wish'd that earth for them 
 
 A mother's tears should weep, 
 Nor fill so soon there empty place, 
 But wear a sudden tenderer face 
 Where her lost children sleep. 
 e 2
 
 52 GOLDAU. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then let them gaze on Goldau's vale, 
 Where nature in her woe 
 
 Sits desolate beside the dead, 
 
 Refusing to be comforted 
 
 For those that lie below. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We saw her spread the evening mists 
 
 Above them like a pall : 
 And she had scatter'd flowers among 
 The giant tomb-stones that were flung 
 
 From that dread mountain-fall. 
 
 v. 
 
 Poor villagers, we wept for you, 
 
 By your own hills betrayed : 
 And sweet it was our eyes to turn 
 To where thy lovely lake, Lucerne, 
 The holy symbol made.
 
 GOLDAU. 53 
 
 VI. 
 
 For there it gleam' d, a silver Cross, 
 
 Down in the twilight vale ; 
 And we did bless the sacred sign 
 That told of life and hope divine 
 
 When the mighty hills shall fail. 
 
 July 8.
 
 54 
 
 XVIII. 
 f^ctttelhcrcj;. 
 
 I roam'd through many a city proud 
 That crowns old Rhine's historic plain, 
 
 A pilgrimage my heart had vow'd 
 Long time to royal Carlomain. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And things whereof my youth had dream'd 
 Were given unto my eager sight ; 
 
 Some brighter than my thoughts had deem'd, 
 And some that scarcely seem'd so bright. 
 
 in. 
 
 And now, for I was all alone, 
 
 My English heart was homeward turning, 
 When by a gate of sculptured stone 
 
 I sate me down one sunny morning.
 
 HEIDELBERG. 55 
 
 IV. 
 
 It led into a garden bright 
 
 Within a roofless castle's bound, 
 
 Whose silent halls and towers of might 
 Girded a mossv terrace round ; 
 
 And kings did from their niches look, 
 And I, their dwellings' lonely ranger, 
 
 The sadness of the scene partook, 
 And felt me desolate and a stranger. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In such low mood, it chanced I gazed 
 Where o'er the arch a tablet saith, 
 
 How Frederic had that garden raised 
 For his young bride Elizabeth l . 
 
 1 " Fredericus Elizabethse conjugi carissimse :" — the in- 
 scription over the garden archway of that part of the castle
 
 56 HEIDELBERG. 
 
 VII. 
 
 That name had sacred powers to wake 
 Such thoughts in me as could none other, 
 
 If 'twere hut for the honour'd sake 
 Of her and of her martyr'd brother : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For she was child of England's king ; 
 
 And to her home beyond the water 
 A high-enduring soul did bring, 
 
 As might beseem a Stuart's daughter. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And many an uncomplaining year 
 She bore her heritage of woes : 
 
 But 'twas more dear a memory yet 
 
 Which at that name's sweet bidding rose. 
 
 called The English Palace, built by the Elector Frederic for 
 the Princess Elizabeth
 
 HEIDELBERG. 57 
 
 M 
 
 X. 
 
 Thou gentle soul, so early gone ! 
 
 'Twas thou didst look upon me then, 
 And I was glad I was alone, 
 
 A wanderer among foreign men. 
 
 "Heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui 
 
 menunisse 
 
 t" 
 
 June 6, 1839.
 
 58 
 
 *» 
 XIX. 
 
 £t. J?tqjfccn'<5 23ag, 1839. 
 
 i. 
 
 Bishop of my soul ! to Thee 
 Let thy new -sent Deacon flee, 
 When his fears press heavily : 
 
 ii. 
 
 On my head have hands been laid, 
 Charge been given, and vows been made, 
 And my spirit is affray'd. 
 
 m. 
 
 Give me, Lord, a soul of prayer, 
 Ghostly strength, Thy trust to bear, 
 And wrestle with the powers of air. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Give me courage, wisdom, might, 
 And let Thy Spirit, Fount of Light, 
 Urge and aid my inward sight.
 
 ST. STEPHENS DAY. 59 
 
 V. 
 
 Open Thou, O Lord, mine eyes, 
 That into view, without disguise, 
 Things invisible may rise. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou, whom angel-faced Saint Stephen 
 Saw behind the open'd heaven, 
 
 Hear a follower of the seven ! 
 
 i 
 
 VII. 
 
 Keep me faithful to that day 
 When I from here shall pass away, 
 And Christ receive my soul for aye.
 
 60 
 
 XX. 
 
 tfov e. an& $. 223. 
 HYMN. 
 
 i. 
 
 The glittering grass, with dewstars bright, 
 
 Is all astir with twinkling light ; 
 
 What pity such a fair array 
 
 So soon is meant to melt away ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Yet hath God given those drops a power 
 To raise the grass and cheer the flower. 
 All the hot noon their grace shall bide, 
 And fresh shall fall at eventide. 
 
 in. 
 
 So day by day, O Lord, renew 
 The grace of my baptismal dew : 
 Let its sweet power be with me now, 
 As when it sparkled on my brow.
 
 FOR E. AND H. W. 6] 
 
 IV. 
 
 And evermore that gift bestow, 
 While in Thy garden here I grow ; 
 That still to heaven my growth may tend, 
 From whence those blessed dews descend. 
 
 Brightstone, August, 1840.
 
 62 
 
 XXI. 
 
 jfrc$htoatcr. 
 June, 1840. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mine own dear people, whom the Lord 
 
 Unto my care hath given, 
 To feed with His most Holy Word, 
 
 And guide you up to Heaven ; 
 
 ii. 
 
 Short time ago I oft had plann'd 
 
 How joyous it would be 
 To ramble where your tall cliffs stand 
 
 High o'er the sunny sea ; 
 
 in. 
 
 Or through the shadowy coppice-wood 
 
 My lonely way to keep, 
 And with earth's brightest forms to take 
 
 Communion still and deep.
 
 FRESHWATER. 63 
 
 IV. 
 
 But now my steps I gladlier bend, 
 
 Your cottage homes to seek ; 
 And of the inner life ye spend, 
 
 In solemn converse speak : 
 
 v. 
 
 For I have learnt in human hearts 
 
 A deeper mystery lies, 
 Than e'en this wondrous earth imparts, 
 
 Or dwells in sea or skies. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A thousand impulses divine, 
 
 And feelings unconfest, 
 Have gone to mould the soul whose shrine 
 
 Is the rude fisher's breast. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Each has a being all his own, 
 And thought -which none but he 
 
 Has ever thought, and which alone 
 He can impart to me.
 
 64 FRESHWATER. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And within each a fount doth flow 
 From life's eternal springs ; 
 
 Then why for lofty converse go 
 To mute and soulless things ?
 
 65 
 XXTI. 
 
 i. 
 
 Ye breezy downs, and headlands gray, 
 
 Forgive my hasty song ; 
 A voice has whisper'd me to-day 
 
 That I have done you wrong. 
 
 ii. 
 
 My people's ancient friends are ye, 
 
 Whose old familiar face 
 They ever have been used to see 
 
 Around their dwelling-place : 
 
 in. 
 
 And all their life, they know not why, 
 Does on their hearts the power 
 
 Of that unchanging presence lie, 
 That meets them every hour.
 
 66 THE ANSWER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye have a voice that unto each, 
 
 Although they little deem, 
 Has day by day been uttering speech 
 
 Of deepest holiest theme. 
 
 v. 
 
 And many a one has lived to look, 
 
 From childhood up to age, 
 On nought in all Creation's book 
 
 Save on your single page. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then would I know my people well, 
 
 Their inmost souls discern, 
 I too must in that presence dwell, 
 
 And that same language learn : 
 
 VII. 
 
 I oft must walk where they have walk'd, 
 These cliffs and coves among, 
 
 And catch the still voice that has talk'd 
 Unto their souls so long.
 
 THE ANSWER. 67 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So shall we like one household feel 
 Who see the same friends' faces 
 
 Together all their lives, and kneel 
 In the same old Church-places. 
 
 f •>
 
 b8 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 =Ptctuw$ in a tfvitri*'* i^oom. 
 
 There hung upon the walls, 
 Whereon his eyes would rest at intervals, 
 A few choice pictures ; here on reverent knee 
 Was offering of her flowers Saint Amelie ; 
 And there an infant Christ, in desert wild, 
 Gave high commission to the marvellous Child 
 That knelt before them, Mary looking on : 
 And next unto an angel- faced Saint John, 
 The martyr king with calm- complaining eye 
 Look'd forth from out a frame of ebony. 
 
 University College, Oxford.
 
 69 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Co a ^pftrrr. 
 
 i. 
 
 Patient creature, sitting there, 
 Fisher of the deep-blue air, 
 With thy net of filing twine, 
 Stretch'd upon my cottage-vine, 
 Sure a quiet heart is thine ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 I have watch'd thee there this hour 
 
 In thv secret leafv bower ; 
 All the while a single flv 
 Has not flown thv meshes bv, — 
 They are empty, night is nigh. 
 
 in. 
 
 Yet thou lonesome thing, for thee 
 Few have thought, or sympathy 
 Where thv scantv food to aret, 
 Thou that weary watch dost set 
 By thy solitary net.
 
 70 
 
 TO A SPIDER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou, as God has given thee skill, 
 Dost thy humble task fulfil, 
 Busv at thy lines outspread, 
 Mending up each broken thread ; 
 Thus thy little life is led. 
 
 Yet belike some idler's hand, 
 Who nature cannot understand, 
 As in pity for thy prey, 
 All thy toil for many a day 
 At one stroke will sweep away. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Shame upon the delicate sense 
 That at thee would take offence ! 
 
 Thus, some passing qualm to smother, 
 Oft will man too treat his brother, 
 Wronging one to right another.
 
 TO A SPIDER. 71 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh, how selfish and unsound 
 Such sensibility is found ! 
 
 Few there are of those, I trow, 
 Who such tender hearts avow, 
 Half as innocent as thou.
 
 72 
 
 XXV. 
 
 CSc dfmnammt. 
 
 Floods of waters high in air 
 The strong firmament doth bear, 
 
 Whence day by day the dew and rain 
 
 Fall upon the thirsty plain, 
 
 And mount to heaven back again. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Emblem of the grace in store 
 In Thv blest Presence evermore, 
 That on lowly hearts and true 
 Descending like the silent dew, 
 Still to its fountain mounts anew. 
 
 in. 
 
 Be it, Lord, for ever ours 
 Daily to drink those holy showers, 
 That deep within our souls may lie 
 A well of waters never dry 
 Springing up to heaven most high. 

 
 THE FIRMAMENT. 73 
 
 IV. 
 
 So to thee the Spirit's giver, 
 Fount of life's eternal river, 
 Bear we all our earthly days, 
 Biding in His quiet ways, 
 Fruit of love and holy praise. 
 
 v. 
 
 Thou who tookest flesh and blood, 
 That our eyes might look on God, 
 To thy Name all glory be, 
 In the everlasting Trinity, 
 Now and to eternity.
 
 74 
 
 XXVI. 
 Che dfca£t of the Circumcision. 
 
 " Quid facitis circumcidentes puerum ?" — S. Bernard. 
 
 Oh, wherefore bring ye here this Holy Child ? 
 
 Such rite befits the sinful, not the clean ; 
 
 Why should this tender infant undefiled 
 
 Be thus espoused in blood l , while we have been 
 
 So gently into covenant beguiled ? 
 
 No keen -edged knife our bleeding foreheads scored 
 
 With the sharp cross of our betrothed Lord : 
 
 But we belike in quiet wonder smiled, 
 
 While on our brow the Priest, with finger cold, 
 
 Traced with the hallow'd drops the saving sign ; 
 
 Whilst Thou, unsparing of Thy tears, the old 
 
 And sterner ritual on Thvself didst take, — 
 
 Meet opening for a life of love like Thine, 
 
 Changing the blood to water for our sake. 
 
 1 Sponsus sanguinum, Exod. iv.
 
 XXVII. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 AT 
 
 THE FOOT OF THE CROSS.
 
 76 
 
 [Two Latin hymns, with several omissions, are here blended 
 
 into one.] 
 
 Salve Jesu, rex sanctorum, 
 Spes votiva peccatorum, 
 Crucis ligno tanquam reus, 
 Pendens homo, verus Deus, 
 Caducis nutans genibus. 
 
 O quam pauper ! O quam nudus ! 
 Qualis est in Cruce ludus [ : ] 
 Derisorum [jocus 1 ] factus, 
 Sponte tamen, non coactus, 
 Attritus membris omnibus. 
 
 Sanguis tuus abundanter 
 Fusus fluit incessanter ; 
 Totus lotus in cruore 
 Stas in maximo dolore, 
 Prwcinctus vili tegmine ! 
 
 i Totus. Ed. Ben.
 
 77 
 
 $gmn at the foot of the Cross. 
 
 From St. Bernard. 
 
 Jesu, king of saints, whose name 
 Is the sinful suppliant's claim, 
 Very God, I gaze on Thee, 
 Knees adroop upon the tree 
 Stretch'd like a criminal : 
 
 O how stricken ! O how bare ! 
 What a mockery is there ! 
 Made the scorn of every scoffer, 
 Yet Thyself didst freely offer 
 To bear that crushing thrall. 
 
 Fast and faster without stay 
 Flows the gushing blood alwav ; 
 Wash'd in that red stream all over, 
 While one poor vest Thy limbs did cover, 
 Thou stand'st in mighty pain.
 
 7= HYMN 
 
 O Majestas infinita ! 
 O egestas inaudita ! 
 Quis pro tanta charitate 
 Quserit Te in veritate, 
 Dans sanguinem pro sanguine ? 
 
 Clavos pedum, plagas duras, 
 Et tam graves impressuras, 
 Circumplector cum affectu, 
 Tuo pavens in aspectu, 
 Tuorum mem or vulnerum. 
 
 Grates tantse charitati 
 Nos agamus vulnerati, 
 O amator peccatorum, 
 Reparator confractorum, 
 O dulcis Pater pauperum. 
 
 Quicquid est in me confractum, 
 Dissipatum aut distractum, 
 Dulcis Jesu, totum sana, 
 Tu restaura, Tu complana, 
 Jam pio medicamine.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS. 79 
 
 Thou Majesty Divine ! 
 Was ever poverty like Thine ! 
 Who for such surpassing love, 
 Yielding blood for blood, will prove 
 
 True follower in Thy train ? 
 
 Print of nails, and stripe of lashes, 
 And those cruel bleeding gashes, 
 
 1 embrace, in wonder gazing 
 On that vision most amazing 
 
 Of what Thou didst endure. 
 
 Sharing now Thy wounds I pray Thee, 
 Let me love for love repay Thee, 
 Thou whose soul for sinners smarted, 
 Healer of the broken-hearted, 
 Kind Father of the poor. 
 
 What in me is wounded, broken, 
 What doth sore disease betoken, 
 Sweetest Saviour, make it whole, 
 Thou restore me, heal my soul 
 With medicine divine.
 
 80 HYMN 
 
 Ac si praesens sis accedo, 
 Imo Te prsesentem credo : 
 Me sanatis hie, ut spero ; 
 Sana me, et salvus ero, 
 In Tuo lavans sanguine. 
 
 Plagas tuas rubicundas 
 Et fixuras tam profundas 
 Cordi meo fac inscribi, 
 Ut configar totus Tibi, 
 Te modis amans omnibus. 
 
 Dulcis Jesu, pie Deus, 
 Ad Te clamo, licet reus : 
 Prsebe mihi Te benignum, 
 Ne repellas me indignum 
 De Tuis Sanctis pedibus. 
 
 Coram cruce procumbentem, 
 Hosque pedes complectentem, 
 Jesu bone, non me spernas, 
 Sed de cruce sancta cernas 
 Compassionis gratia.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS. 81 
 
 I draw near, as Thou wert by me, 
 Yea, I do believe Thee nigh me : 
 Heal me, Thou my hope hast been ; 
 Cleanse me, and I shall be clean, 
 When wash'd in blood of Thine. 
 
 On my heart each stripe be written 
 Wherewith Thou for me wert smitten, 
 Each deep wound, that I may be 
 Wholly crucified with Thee, 
 And loving Thee alway. 
 
 Gracious Jesu, Lord most dear, 
 Guilty though I am, give ear : 
 Show Thine own sweet clemency ; 
 Spurn me not, though vile I be 
 From Thy blest feet away. 
 
 Here before Thee fallen, weeping 
 And with tears these torn feet steeping, 
 Jesu, for Thv mercv's sake 
 Pity on my misery take, 
 And one kind look let fall. 
 
 G
 
 82 HYMN 
 
 In hac cruce, stans directe, 
 Vide me, O mi Dilecte ; 
 Ad Te totum me converte ; 
 " Esto sanus," die aperte, 
 " Dimitto tibi omnia."
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS. 83 
 
 From the cross, uplifted high, 
 My Beloved, cast Thine eye ; 
 Turn me to Thee, heart and soul ; 
 Speak the word of power, " Be whole, 
 I have forgiven thee all." 
 
 e 2
 
 84 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 €hc i£U£iovattcm. 
 
 May 29. 
 
 Charles, I could weep to think of thee to-day ! 
 Who, when a nation at thy feet outpour'd 
 Its glad devotion like a boundless hoard, 
 Couldst squander all the sacred gift away ; 
 All that so long this widow'd land had stored 
 Up in her heart, till she to thee might pay 
 The love which, faithful to her martyr'd lord, 
 She let none touch beside. O ! lost one, say 
 Did ne'er thine heart upbraid thee with the shout 
 That England's long-pent loyalty sent out, 
 When young and stainless yet, on Dover strand, 
 With all thy famous nobles at thy side, 
 Ormonde and Digby, Cottington and Hyde, 
 She saw thee back from exile step to land ?
 
 S5 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Cftc foul's We&tmtnte. 
 
 The soul of man doth in a palace dwell, 
 
 Like to some fabled Nereid, undiscern'd, 
 
 Save in the wondrous many-colour'd shell 
 
 That she hath form'd around her, whence is learn'd 
 
 From the fair shape and fashion of her cell 
 
 Somewhat of its unseen inhabitant. 
 
 She is a mute that cannot speak her want, 
 
 But makes the world her loom, wherein to tell 
 
 In speaking tapestry how her heart hath yearn'd 
 
 To make her being's mystery visible. 
 
 She stands before us seen and yet conceal'd 
 
 In various vests, in language and the frame 
 
 Of outward flesh still changing still the same ; 
 
 Like God beneath Creation's veil reveal'd.
 
 56 
 
 XXX. 
 
 dfrcshinatcr. 
 
 Men little know how many a heavy thought 
 
 And anxious grief the village pastor meets, 
 
 Which he whose lot is cast 'mid crowded streets 
 
 And cities knows not : — Every deed miswrought, 
 
 Each heartless word, with sad announcement fraught 
 
 Of fruitless toil, and kindness coldly took, 
 
 Are all too faithfully before him brought. — 
 
 So have I seen beside a shallow brook 
 
 An eager boy stand angling all the day, 
 
 When the clear waters to his view betray 
 
 Each fish that comes slow-gliding towards the hook ; 
 
 And now his heart beats quick, his eyes are gay 
 
 With hope, till soon, with disappointed look, 
 
 He sees his prize turn off and dart away. 
 
 September 5th, 1810.
 
 87 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " I prayed to God to avenge me of death." 
 
 Ed. Irving. 
 
 i 
 
 death ! thou keen, insulting enemy ; 
 Here kneeling lonely in this desolate room, 
 
 1 have prayed sore to be avenged of thee 
 For this thy cruel deed ; and from the gloom 
 Of the dark entrance-chamber of the tomb 
 Now go T forth once more, from this sharp hour, 
 To fight against thee, battling manfully 
 
 With that fell Prince who gives thee all thy power ; 
 And mighty is the arm that strengthens me. 
 Yet should I falter, and in conflict cower, 
 To hide my bleeding heart, O ! then the thought 
 Of that sweet victim ravish'd from my side, 
 And Him who to redeem thy captives died, 
 Shall nerve my soul to combat as I ought. 
 
 Wednesday evening, 
 March 17, 1811. 
 The day on which Mrs. W. was buried at Lavington. 
 To Archdeacon W.
 
 88 
 
 XXXII. 
 Co . 
 
 i. 
 
 I know thou wilt never 
 
 Reproach me, my love. 
 When I meet thee for ever, 
 
 In that far land above ; 
 Not a word of reproof, 
 
 Not a glance from thine eye, 
 Shall tell I have cost thee 
 
 A tear or a sigh. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I know thou forgivest 
 
 My rash-broken vow. 
 Thou canst see, where thou livest, 
 
 My bitter grief now : 
 But O, shall I in heaven, 
 
 When thou lookest on me, 
 Of myself be forgiven, 
 
 As I now am of Thee ?
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 HYMNS TOWAEDS A HOLY WEEK.
 
 91 
 
 Jpecontt £3a£. 
 
 This world I deem 
 
 But a beautiful dream 
 Of shadows that are not what they seem, 
 
 Where visions rise, 
 
 Giving dim surmise 
 Of the things that shall meet our waking eyes. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Arm of the Lord ! 
 
 Creating Word ! 
 Whose glory the silent skies record, 
 
 Where stands thy name 
 
 In scrolls of flame, 
 On the firmament's high- shadowing frame !
 
 92 SECOXD DAY'S 
 
 III. 
 
 I gaze o'er head, 
 
 Where thy hand hath spread 
 For the waters of heaven that crystal hed, 
 
 And stored the dew 
 
 In its deeps of blue, 
 Which the fires of the sun come temper'd through. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Soft they shine 
 
 Through that pure shrine, 
 As beneath the veil of thy Flush divine 
 
 Beams forth the light, 
 
 That were else too bright 
 For the feebleness of a sinner's sight. 
 
 v. 
 
 And such I deem 
 
 This world will seem 
 When we waken from life's mysterious dream, 
 
 And burst the shell 
 
 Where our spirits dwell 
 In their wondrous antenatal cell.
 
 HYMN. 93 
 
 VI. 
 
 I gaze aloof 
 
 On the tissued roof, 
 Where time and space are the warp and woof, 
 
 Which the King of Kings 
 
 As a curtain flings 
 O'er the dreadfulness of eternal things — 
 
 VII. 
 
 A tapestried tent, 
 
 To shade us meant 
 From the hare everlasting firmament ; 
 
 Where the hlaze of the skies 
 
 Comes sdft to our eyes, 
 Through a veil of mystical imageries. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But could I see, 
 
 As in truth they he, 
 The glories of heaven that encompass me, 
 
 I should lightly hold 
 
 The tissued fold 
 Of that marvellous curtain of hlue and gold.
 
 94 
 
 SECOND DAY'S HYMN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Soon the whole, 
 
 Like a parched scroll, 
 Shall before my amazed sight uproll, 
 
 And without a screen 
 
 At one burst be seen 
 The Presence wherein I have ever been. 
 
 x. 
 
 O ! who shall bear 
 The blinding glare 
 Of the Majesty that shall meet us there ? 
 What eye may gaze 
 On the unveil'd blaze, 
 Of the light-girdled throne of the Ancient of days ? 
 Christ us aid ! 
 Himself be our shade, 
 That in that dread day we be not dismay'd !
 
 95 
 
 EJrivtf 23a». 
 
 i. 
 
 Thou spakest ; and the waters roll'd 
 
 Back from the earth away, 
 They fled by Thy strong voice controll'd, 
 
 Till Thou didst bid them stay : 
 Then did that rushing mighty ocean 
 Like a tame creature cease its motion, 
 Nor dared to pass where'er Thy hand 
 Had fix'd its bound of slender sand. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And freshly risen from out the deep 
 
 The land lay tranquil now, 
 Like a new-christen'd child asleep 
 
 With the dew upon its brow : 
 As when in after-time the Earth 
 Rose from her second watery birth, 
 In pure baptismal garments drest, 
 And calmly waiting to be blest.
 
 96 
 
 THIRD DAY'S 
 
 III. 
 
 Again Thou spakest, Lord of Power, 
 
 And straight the land was seen 
 All clad with tree and herb and flower, 
 
 A robe of lustrous green : 
 Like souls wherein the hidden strength 
 Of their new-birth is waked at length, 
 When robed in holiness they tell 
 What might did in those waters dwell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And still within this earth resides 
 
 A hidden power divine, 
 And waiting for the hour she bides 
 
 Till Thou shalt give the sign : 
 Then sudden into light shall burst 
 A flush of glory like at first, 
 And this dark world around us lie 
 Arrav'd in immortality.
 
 HYMN. 97 
 
 V. 
 
 Lord, o'er the waters of my soul 
 
 The word of power be said ; 
 Its thoughts and passions bid Thou roll 
 
 Each in its channell'd bed ; 
 Till that in peaceful order flowing, 
 They time their glad obedient going 
 To Thy commands, whose voice to-day 
 Bade the tumultuous floods obey. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For restless as the moaning sea, 
 
 The wild and wayward will 
 From side to side is wearilv 
 
 Changing and tossing still ; 
 But sway'd by Thee, 'tis like the river 
 That down its green banks flows for ever, 
 And calm and constant tells to all 
 The blessedness of such sweet thrall. 
 
 H
 
 98 THIRD DAY'S HYMN. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then in my heart, Spirit of Might, 
 
 Awake the life within, 
 And bid a spring-tide calm and bright 
 
 Of holiness begin : 
 So let it lie with Heaven's grace 
 Full shining on its quiet face, 
 Like the young Earth in peace profound 
 Amid th' assuaged waters round.
 
 99 
 
 dfourtij J3aj>. 
 
 As yet the darkness and the day- 
 Sphered in their separate dwelling lay, 
 But for the thrones of eve and morn 
 The kings of light were yet unborn. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Then spake the Word of the Most High, 
 And straight the solitude of sky 
 Was peopled with the glimmering powers 
 That sway the seasons, years, and hours ; 
 
 in. 
 
 And sun and moon, the signal given, 
 Arose and took their seat in heaven, 
 High o'er the earth, to yield it light, 
 And rule the day-time and the night. 
 h 2
 
 100 
 
 FOURTH DAY'S 
 
 IV. 
 
 And far and near, in files of flame, 
 The stars from out the darkness came, 
 God's host, in mystic ranks an* signs 
 Marshalling their far-off beaconing lines. 
 
 v. 
 
 In silent order each bright band 
 Bows to a secret high command, 
 On separate pauseless mission sent 
 For witness, guide, and government. 
 
 VI. 
 
 To heaven above, to earth below. 
 The ordaining word of power doth go ; 
 And kings and priests, O Lord, from Thee 
 Take their appointed ministry. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Their lamps of clay Thy hand hath lit, 
 Each for its different station fit, 
 A globe of light, a trinkling spark, 
 To rule the dav or cheer the dark.
 
 HYMN. 101 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And Thou for each an orb hast traced, 
 Where we without or halt or haste 
 May move in order calm and true, 
 As the sky's white-robed pilgrims do. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O happy are the souls that stay 
 In such harmonious course alway, 
 And like the patient stars are found 
 Walking each day their quiet round! 
 
 x. 
 
 Deem not when on the heavens ye gaze 
 And see the midnight all ablaze 
 That we midst those bright strangers are 
 An idle solitary star. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Each soul, the living and the dead, 
 The very earth whereon we tread, 
 Is bound by mightiest, holiest ties 
 With all creation's destinies.
 
 102 FOURTH DAY'S HYMN. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Christ of God, who dwells on high 
 In splendour of the Deity, 
 Did take, O Earth, from dust of thine, 
 That sacred Form, that Flesh Divine. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 For this Thou ever shalt remain 
 •Link'd into life's eternal chain, 
 The fine cleansed altar, where the curse 
 Was taken from the universe ; 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Temple, from whose quires shall ring 
 Those harps the lost ones used to string, 
 Whose silent notes have marr'd so long 
 The music of the angels' song.
 
 103 
 
 dTtft{» ®av. 
 
 O'er the void and formless earth 
 
 In darkness lay the deep, 
 When came the Eternal Spirit forth 
 
 And stirr'd its silent sleep : 
 He moved amid the unshapen gloom, 
 And through the mighty waters' womb 
 
 The thrill of life did creep. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Yet no sign of change it gave 
 
 Till God the bidding spoke ; 
 Then straight within the heaving wave 
 
 The hidden power awoke ; 
 And ocean teem'd with living things, 
 And heaven was swept with myriad wings 
 
 That from the waters broke.
 
 104 FIFTH DAYS 
 
 III. 
 
 Blessed creatures, first on vou 
 
 The benediction came, 
 Which still on souls all bright with dew, 
 
 Celestial rests the same, 
 That of baptismal waters born, 
 The benison of this fifth morn, 
 
 By holy birth-right claim. 
 
 IV. 
 
 From that mystic deep arisen, 
 
 Up, Christian Spirit, fly, 
 As rose from out their watery prison 
 
 The creatures of the sky ; 
 On this his rising-day prepare 
 To meet thy Saviour in the air, 
 
 And seek thy home on high ! 
 
 v. 
 He into the heavens is gone ; 
 
 And should'st thou here below 
 Round old delights be lingering on, 
 
 Thou canst not yet forego ?
 
 HYMN. 105 
 
 O child of an immortal birth, 
 
 Inheritor of more than earth, 
 
 Thy better portion know. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here awhile contented be 
 
 In quietness to glide, 
 Like the mute creatures of the sea, 
 
 On through the opposing tide ; 
 Move upward still, though fast and strong 
 The world's dark waters foam along 
 
 The torrent of their pride : 
 
 VII. 
 
 Through the stream, 'twixt earth and heaven, 
 
 Thy steady course be bent ; 
 While day by day shall strength be given 
 
 To stem its swift descent : 
 And think that still with wings of love 
 The Eternal Spirit broods above 
 
 The troublous element.
 
 106 
 
 Jjtrtfo I3ai). 
 
 Last of creation's days ; 
 
 Last of the days of woe 
 Which He, to whom be endless praise, 
 
 Endured for us below. 
 Most sad, most sacred time, 
 
 Now let me watch and pray, 
 And muse upon thy theme sublime, 
 
 Thou wondrous day. 
 
 ii. 
 
 To-dav from Adam's side 
 
 Our mother Eve was made, 
 His beautiful and virgin bride 
 
 While he in sleep was laid : 
 To-day from Jesus' side 
 
 The Church his spouse arose, 
 Her life receiving from the tide 
 
 That as He slumbers flows.
 
 SIXTH DAY'S HYMN. 
 
 The water and the blood, 
 
 That still, as first, flow on, 
 When 'neath the Cross recording stood 
 
 Thvself, Saint John. 
 
 107
 
 108 
 
 ^cbcntj) Sag ! . 
 
 Sabbath of the saints of old, 
 
 Day of mysteries manifold, 
 
 By the great Creator blest, 
 
 Type of His eternal rest ; 
 
 I with thoughts of Thee would seek 
 
 To sanctify the closing week. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Resting from His work, the Lord 
 Spake to-day the hallowing word ; 
 
 1 " Christus est magnum illud Sabbatum et perpetuum, 
 cujus figura erat parvum Sabbatum, quod inserviebat usque 
 ad ipsius adventum." — Epiphan. Hseres. 30. 
 
 " Veniens autem Dominus noster, Sabbatum nostrum et 
 requies nostra, attulit nobis requiem Sabbati sui." — Origen, in 
 Matth. Tract. 29. p. 1G4. 
 
 " En tibi Christum, 
 lnfelix Judaea, Deum, qui Sabbata solvens 
 Teri-ae, mortales seterna in Sabbata sumpsit." 
 
 Prudentius, in Apotheosi.
 
 SEVENTH DAY'S HYMN. 109 
 
 And, His wondrous labours done, 
 
 Now the everlasting Son 
 
 Gave to heaven and earth the sign 
 
 Of a wonder more divine 
 
 in. 
 
 Resting from His work, to-day 
 In the tomb the Saviour lay, 
 His sacred form from head to feet 
 Swathed in the winding-sheet, 
 Lying in the rock alone 
 Hid behind the sealed stone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All that seventh day long, I ween, 
 Mournful watch'd the Magdalene, 
 Rising early, resting late, 
 By the sepulchre to wait, 
 In the holy garden glade 
 Where her buried Lord was laid.
 
 110 SEVENTH DAY'S 
 
 So as closed the Sabbath night 
 In Goshen watch'd the Israelite, 
 Staff in hand, in pilgrim guise, 
 By the slaughter'd sacrifice, 
 Waiting till the midnight cry 
 Signal gave that God was nigh : 
 
 VI. 
 
 So with Thee till life shall end 
 I would solemn vigil spend ; 
 Let me hew Thee, Lord, a shrine 
 In this rocky heart of mine, 
 Where in pure embalmed cell 
 None but Thou mayst ever dwell. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Myrrh and spices I will bring, 
 
 My poor affection's offering, 
 
 Close the door from sight and sound 
 
 Of the busy world around, 
 
 And in patient watch remain 
 
 Till my Lord appear again.
 
 HYMN. Ill 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Still with Thee their Sabbath keep 
 They who 'neath the altar sleep ; 
 Scarce a day perchance doth seem 
 The time of their unbodied dream, 
 'Twixt their rest from labours past 
 And their waking at the last. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then the new creation done, 
 Shall be Thy endless rest begun : 
 Jesu, keep me safe from sin, 
 That I with them may enter in, 
 And, danger past and toil at end, 
 To thy resting-place ascend. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 BERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.
 
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