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INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL,

CAMBRIDGE.

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense,
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned-
Albeit labouring for a scanty band
Of white-robed Scholars only—this immense

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And glorious Work of fine intelligence !
Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more ;
So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells

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Lingering, and wandering on as loth to die;
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL Minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky !
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

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[To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain, ("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.]

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Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine :
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

WHY ART THOU SILENT? IS THY LOVE A

PLANT.

[TO A DISTANT FRIEND.]

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair ?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?

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Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant-
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.

Speak—though this soft warm heart, once free to

hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

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Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine-
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may

know !

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The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motion of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

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The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

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And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell."

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Thus Nature spake—The work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

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WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802.

O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,

Or groom !- We must run glittering like a brook 5
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest :
The wealthiest man among us is the best :
No grandeur now in nature or in book

Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry : and these we adore :
Plain living and high thinking are no more:

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The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.

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