25 MAY 1850, Page 14

Beneath the solemn shadow he doth sleep Of his own

mountains ! closed the poet's eves To all earth's beauty—wood, and lake, and skies, And golden mists that up the rallies creep. Sweet Duddon's stream and Rydal's gezasy steep,

The "snow-white lamb," his eottege-ausidews prize,

The cuckoo's note, and flowers, in which his wise

And gentle mind found "thoughts for tears too deep,"—

These, Wordsworth! thou has left ; but oh, on these, And the deep Emmen sympathies that flaw Link'd with their beauty, an immortal train, Thy benediction nests; and as the breeze

Sweeping the cloud-eapp'd hills is beard below, Descends to us a rich unifying strain r

R. M. 11..