Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle, Repine as if his hour were come too late? Not unprotected in her mouldering state, Antiquity salutes him with a smile, 'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 5 And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate, Far as she may, primeval Nature's style. Fair Land! by Time's parental love made free, By Social Order's watchful arms embraced; 10 With unexampled union meet in thee, For eye and mind, the present and the past; With golden prospect for futurity, If that be reverenced which ought to last.[795] FOOTNOTES: [795] 1845. If what is rightly reverenced may last. 1835. III "THEY CALLED THEE MERRY ENGLAND, IN OLD TIME" They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND, in old time; A happy people won for thee that name With envy heard in many a distant clime; And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same Endearing title, a responsive chime 5 To the heart's fond belief; though some there are Whose sterner judgments deem that world a snare For inattentive Fancy, like the lime Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, This face of rural beauty be a mask 10 For discontent, and poverty, and crime; These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will? Forbid it, Heaven!-and[796] MERRY ENGLAND still Shall[797] be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme! FOOTNOTES: [796] 1837. ... that ... 1835. [797] 1837. May.... 1835. IV TO THE RIVER GRETA, NEAR KESWICK Greta, what fearful listening! when huge stones Rumble along thy bed, block after block: Or, whirling with reiterated shock, Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans: But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans[798] 5 Heard on his rueful margin[799]) thence wert named The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed, And the habitual murmur that atones For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10 Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling, The concert, for the happy, then may vie With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony: To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons. Compare _The Prelude_, book i. l. 269 (vol. iii. p. 140):-- "Was it for this That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, And, from his alder shades and rocky falls, And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice That flowed along my dreams? * * * * * Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts To more than infant softness." ED. FOOTNOTES: