Stranger! mark this lovely scene, When the evening sets serene, And starting o'er the silent wood, The last pale sunshine streaks the flood, And the water gushing near...
With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings, Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings: And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow, And lifts intent his time-denoting toe;...
Call the strange spirit that abides unseen In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes, And bid his dim hand lead thee through these scenes That burst immense around! By mountains, glens,...
Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar!...
Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start, As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white Above the wave, once more my beating heart...
Shouts, and the noise of war! Far o'er the land hath been my flight, O'er many a forest dark as night, O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds,...
When I lie musing on my bed alone, And listen to the wintry waterfall;[1] And many moments that are past and gone, Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall;
A poor old soldier shall not lie unknown, Without a verse, and this recording stone. 'Twas his in youth o'er distant lands to stray, Danger and death companions of his way....
Oh! they shall ne'er forget thee, they who knew Thy soul benevolent, sincere, and true; The poor thy kindness cheered, thy bounty fed, Whom age left shivering in its dreariest shed;...
Lay down thy pilgrim staff upon this heap, And till the morning of redemption sleep, Old wayfarer of earth! From youth to age, Long, but not weary, was thy pilgrimage,...
Christian! for none who scorns that holy name Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame; Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear, And think what God-given powers lie silenced here:...
Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend, Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, The lonely, battlement, the farthest hill And wood, I think of those who have no friend;...
Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form, Those looks with feeling and with nature warm; The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide, Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside;...
How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display;...
How clear a strife of light and shade is spread! The face how touched with nature's loveliest red! The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek! The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek!...
Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray, To mark the rustics on the market-day. Beneath the branches winds the long white road; Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode;...
Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray, And to the sunny seabeach let us stray. What orient hues proclaim the master's hand! How light the wave upon the half-wet sand!...
Fountain, that sparklest through the shady place, Making a soft, sad murmur o'er the stones That strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest Should haply wander near, with slow disease...
Up, up, into the vast extended space, Thou art ascending in thy majesty, Beautiful moon, the queen of the pale sky! But what is that which gathers on thy face, A dark mysterious shade, eclipsing, slow,...