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I The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo!That instant, startled by the shock,The Buzzard mounted from the rockDeliberate and slow:Lord of the air, he took his flight;Oh! could he on that woeful nightHave lent his wing, my Brother dear,For one poor moment's space to Thee,And all who struggled with the Sea,When safety was so near. II Thus in the weakness of my heartI spoke … [Read more...] about Elegiac Stanzas In Memory Of My Brother, John Commander Of The E. I. Company’s Ship The Earl Of Abergavenny In Which He Perished By Calamitous Shipwreck, Feb.6, 1805, By: William Wordsworth

O for a dirge! But why complain?Ask rather a triumphal strainWhen Fermor's race is run;A garland of immortal boughsTo twine around the Christian's brows,Whose glorious work is done. We pay a high and holy debt;No tears of passionate regretShall stain this votive lay;Ill-worthy, Beaumont! were the griefThat flings itself on wild reliefWhen Saints have passed away. Sad … [Read more...] about Elegiac Stanzas – Addressed To Sir G.H.B. Upon The Death Of His Sister-In-Law, By: William Wordsworth

Lulled by the sound of pastoral bells,Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go,From the dread summit of the QueenOf mountains, through a deep ravine,Where, in her holy chapel, dwells"Our Lady of the Snow." The sky was blue, the air was mild;Free were the streams and green the bowers;As if, to rough assaults unknown,The genial spot had 'ever' shownA countenance that as sweetly … [Read more...] about Elegiac Stanzas, By: William Wordsworth

With copious eulogy in prose or rhymeGraven on the tomb we struggle against Time,Alas, how feebly! but our feelings riseAnd still we struggle when a good man dies:Such offering Beaumont dreaded and forbade,A spirit meek in self-abasement clad.Yet 'here' at least, though few have numbered daysThat shunned so modestly the light of praiseHis graceful manners, and the temperate … [Read more...] about Elegiac Musings – In The Grounds Of Coleorton Hall, The Seat Of The Late Sir G.H. Beaumont, Bart., By: William Wordsworth

But liberty, and triumphs on the Main,And laureled armies, not to be withstoodWhat serve they? if, on transitory goodIntent, and sedulous of abject gain,The State (ah, surely not preserved in vain!)Forbear to shape due channels which the FloodOf sacred truth may enter, till it broodO'er the wide realm, as o'er the Egyptian plainThe all-sustaining Nile. No more, the timeIs … [Read more...] about Ecclesiastical Sonnets – Part III. – XXXVIII – New Churches, By: William Wordsworth