Thou art to me but as a wave

Of the wild sea: and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighborhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder brother I would be,

Thy father, any thing to thee.

Now thanks to heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place;
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompense.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our memory, feel that she hath eyes:
Then why should I be loath to stir ?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.

Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old
As fair before me shall behold
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall ;
And Thee, the spirit of them all!

Wordsworth.

0

BLAAVIN.

I.

WONDERFUL mountain of Blaavin,
How oft since our parting hour

You have roared with the wintry torrents,
You have gloomed through the thunder-shower!
But by this time the lichens are creeping
Gray-green o'er your rocks and your stones,
And each hot afternoon is steeping
Your bulk in its sultriest bronze.
O sweet is the spring wind, Blaavin,
When it loosens your torrents' flow,
When with one little touch of a sunny hand
It unclasps your cloak of snow.

O sweet is the spring wind, Blaavin,
And sweet it was to me!

For before the bell of the snowdrop
Or the pink of the apple-tree,

Long before your first spring torrent
Came down with a flash and a whirl,
In the breast of its happy mother
There nestled my little girl.
O Blaavin, rocky Blaavin,

It was with the strangest start

That I felt, at the little querulous cry,

The new pulse awake in my heart;

A pulse that will live and beat, Blaavin,

Till, standing round my bed,

While the chirrup of birds is heard out in the dawn, The watchers whisper, He's dead!

Ɔ another heart is mine, Blaavin,
Sin' this time seven year,

For Life is brighter by a charm,
Death darker by a fear.
O Blaavin, rocky Blaavin,
How I long to be with you again,
To see lashed gulf and gully
Smoke white in the windy rain,
To see in the scarlet sunrise

The mist-wreaths perish with heat,
The wet rock slide with a trickling gleam
Right down to the cataract's feet;
While towards the crimson islands,

Where the sea-birds flutter and skirl,

A cormorant flaps o'er a sleek ocean floor Of tremulous mother-of-pearl.

II.

Ah me! as wearily I tread

The winding hill-road mute and slow,
Each rock and rill are to my heart
So conscious of the long-ago.
My passion with its fulness ached,
I filled this region with my love,
Ye listened to me, barrier crags,
Thou heard'st me singing, blue above.
O never can I know again

The sweetness of that happy dream,
But thou remember'st, iron crag,
And thou remember'st, falling stream
O look not so on me, ye rocks.

The past is past, and let it be ;
Thy music, ever falling stream,
Brings more of pain than joy to me.
O cloud, high dozing on the peak,
O tarn, that gleams so far below,

O distant ocean, blue and sleek,

On which the white sails come and go,

Ye look the same; thou sound'st the same,
Thou ever falling, falling stream, -

Ye are the changeless dial-face
And I the passing beam.

III.

As adown the long glen I hurried,
With the torrent from fall to fall,
The invisible spirit of Blaavin
Seemed ever on me to call.

As I passed the red lake fringed with rushes
A duck burst away from its breast,

And before the bright circles and wrinkles
Had subsided again into rest,

At a clear open turn of the roadway

My passion went up in a cry,

For the wonderful mountain of Blaavin
Was bearing his huge bulk on high,

Each precipice keen and purple

Against the yellow sky.

Alexander Smith.

ONE

JOANNA'S ROCK.

NE summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.

– 'Twas that delightful season when the broom,
Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,
Along the copses runs in veins of gold.

Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;
And when we came in front of that tall rock

That eastward looks, I there stopped short, and stood
Tracing the lofty barrier with my eye

From base to summit; such delight I found
To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower,
That intermixture of delicious hues,

Along so vast a surface, all at once,

In one impression, by connecting force
Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart.

When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again;
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag
Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar,
And the tall steep of Silver-how, sent forth
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone;
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky

Carried the Lady's voice, old Skiddaw blew

His speaking-trumpet ; — back out of the clouds