Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538595" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Monody, Written At Matlock</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views,<br>Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks<br>Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks;<br>Once more I court the long neglected Muse,<br>As erst when by the mossy brink and falls<br>Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the side<br>Of Clysdale's cliffs, where first her voice she tried,<br>I strayed a pensive boy. Since then, the thralls<br>That wait life's upland road have chilled her breast,<br>And much, as much they might, her wing depressed. <br>Wan Indolence, resigned, her deadening hand<br>Laid on her heart, and Fancy her cold wand<br>Dropped at the frown of fortune; yet once more<br>I call her, and once more her converse sweet,<br>'Mid the still limits of this wild retreat,<br>I woo;--if yet delightful as of yore<br>My heart she may revisit, nor deny<br>The soothing aid of some sweet melody!<br>I hail the rugged scene that bursts around;<br>I mark the wreathed roots, the saplings gray, <br>That bend o'er the dark Derwent's wandering way;<br>I mark its stream with peace-persuading sound,<br>That steals beneath the fading foliage pale,<br>Or, at the foot of frowning crags upreared,<br>Complains like one forsaken and unheard.<br>To me, it seems to tell the pensive tale<br>Of spring-time, and the summer days all flown;<br>And while sad autumn's voice ev'n now I hear<br>Along the umbrage of the high-wood moan,<br>At intervals, whose shivering leaves fall sere; <br>Whilst o'er the group of pendant groves I view<br>The slowly-spreading tints of pining hue,<br>I think of poor Humanity's brief day,<br>How fast its blossoms fade, its summers speed away!<br>When first young Hope, a golden-tressed boy,<br>Most musical his early madrigal<br>Sings to the whispering waters as they fall,<br>Breathing fresh airs of fragrance and of joy,<br>The wild woods gently wave, the morning sheds<br>Her rising radiance on the mountain heads, <br>Strewed with green isles appears old ocean's reign,<br>And seen at distance rays of resting light<br>Silver the farthest promontory's height:<br>Then hushed is the long murmur of the main,<br>Whilst silent o'er the slowly-crisping tides,<br>Bound to some beaming spot, the bark of pleasure glides.<br>Alas! the scenes that smile in light arrayed<br>But catch the sense, and then in darkness fade.<br>We, poor adventurers, of peace bereft,<br>Look back on the green hills that late we left, <br>Or turn, with beating breast and anxious eye,<br>To some faint hope that glimmering meets our sight<br>(Like the lone watch-tower in the storm of night),<br>Then on the dismal waste are driv'n despairing by!<br>Meantime, amid the landscape cold and mute,<br>Hope, sweet enchanter, sighing drops his lute:<br>So sad decay and mortal change succeeds,<br>And o'er the silent scene Time, like a giant, speeds!<br>Yet the bleak cliffs that lift their heads so high<br>(Around whose beetling crags, with ceaseless coil, <br>And still-returning flight, the ravens toil)<br>Heed not the changeful seasons as they fly,<br>Nor spring, nor autumn: they their hoary brow<br>Uprear, and ages past, as in this now,<br>The same deep trenches unsubdued have worn,<br>The same majestic frown, and looks of lofty scorn.<br>So Fortitude, a mailed warrior old,<br>Appears; he lifts his scar-intrenched crest;<br>The tempest gathers round his dauntless breast;<br>He hears far off the storm of havoc rolled; <br>The feeble fall around: their sound is past;<br>Their sun is set, their place no more is known;<br>Like the wan leaves before the winter's blast<br>They perish:--He, unshaken and alone<br>Remains, his brow a sterner shade assumes,<br>By age ennobled, whilst the hurricane,<br>That raves resistless o'er the ravaged plain,<br>But shakes unfelt his helmet's quivering plume.<br>And so yon sovereign of the scene I mark<br>Above the woods rear his majestic head, <br>That soon all shattered at his feet shall shed<br>Their short-lived beauties: he the winter dark<br>Regardless, and the wasteful time that flies,<br>Rejoicing in his lonely might, defies.<br>Thee, wandering in the deep and craggy dell,<br>Sequestered stream, with other thoughts I view:<br>Thou dost in solitude thy course pursue,<br>As thou hadst bid life's busy scenes farewell,<br>Yet making still such music as might cheer<br>The weary passenger that journeys near. <br>Such are the songs of Peace in Virtue's shade;<br>Unheard of Folly, or the vacant train<br>That pipe and dance upon the noontide plain,<br>Till in the dust together they are laid!<br>But not unheard of Him, who sits sublime<br>Above the clouds of this tempestuous clime,<br>Its stir and strife; to whom more grateful rise<br>The humble incense, and the still small voice<br>Of those that on their pensive way rejoice,<br>Than shouts of thousands echoing to the skies; <br>Than songs of conquest pealing round the car<br>Of hard Ambition, or the Fiend of War,<br>Sated with slaughter. Nor may I, sweet stream,<br>From thy wild banks and still retreats depart,<br>Where now I meditate my casual theme,<br>Without some mild improvement on my heart<br>Poured sad, yet pleasing! so may I forget<br>The crosses and the cares that sometimes fret<br>Life's smoothest channel, and each wish prevent <br>That mars the silent current of content!<br>In such a spot, amidst these rugged views,<br>The pensive poet in his drooping age<br>Might wish to place his reed-roofed hermitage;<br>Where much on life's vain shadows he might muse.<br>If fortune smiled not on his early way,<br>If he were doomed to mourn a faithless friend,<br>Here he might rest, and when his hairs were gray,<br>Behold in peace the parting day descend.<br>If a hard world his errors scanned severe,<br>When late the earth received his mouldering clay, <br>Perhaps some loved companion, wandering near,<br>Plucking the gray moss from the stone, might say:<br>Him I remember, in our careless days,<br>Vacant and glad, till many a loss severe<br>First hung his placid eyelids with a tear;<br>Yet on such visions ardent would he gaze,<br>As the Muse loved, that oft would smile and die,<br>Like the faint bow that leaves the weeping sky;<br>His heart unguarded, yet it proudly beat<br>Against hard wrong, or coward cold deceit;-- <br>Nor passed he e'er without a sigh the cell<br>Where wretchedness and her pale children dwell.<br>He never wished to win the world's cold ear,<br>Nor, prized by those he loved, its blame could fear;<br>Its praise he left to those who, at their will,<br>The ingenious strain of torturing art could trill!<br>Content, as random fancies might inspire,<br>If his weak reed, at times, or plaintive lyre,<br>He touched with desultory hand, and drew<br>Some softened tones, to Nature not untrue. <br>The leaves, O Derwent! on thy bosom still<br>Oft with the gust now fall--the season pale<br>Hath smote with hand unseen the silent vale,<br>And slowly steals the verdure from the hill;<br>So the fair scene departs, yet wears a while<br>The lingering traces of its beauteous smile:<br>But we who by thy margin stray, or climb<br>The cliff's aerial height, or join the song<br>Of hope and gladness amidst yonder throng,<br>Losing the brief and fleeting hours of time, <br>Reck not how age, even thus, with icy hand,<br>Hangs o'er us;--how, as with a wizard's wand,<br>Youth blooming like the spring, and roseate mirth,<br>To slow and sere consumption he shall change,<br>And with invisible mutation strange,<br>Withered and wasted send them to the earth;<br>Whilst hushed, and by the mace of ruin rent,<br>Sinks the forsaken hall of merriment!<br>Bright bursts the sun upon the shaggy scene!<br>The aged rocks their glittering summits gray <br>Hang beautiful amid the beams of day;<br>And all the woods, with slowly-fading green,<br>Yet smiling wave:--severer thoughts, away!<br>The night is distant, and the lovely day<br>Looks on us yet;--the sound of mirthful cheer<br>From yonder dome comes pleasant to mine ear.<br>From rock to rock reverberated swells,<br>Hark,--the glad music of the village bells!<br>On the crag's naked point the heifer lows,<br>And wide below the brightening landscape glows! <br>Though brief the time and short our course to run,<br>Derwent! amid the scenes that deck thy side,<br>Ere yet the parting paths of life divide,<br>Let us rejoice, seeking what may be won<br>From the laborious day, or fortune's frown:<br>Here may we, ere the sun of life goes down,<br>A while regardless of the morrow, dwell; <br>Then to our destined roads, and speed us well!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538595" data-title="Monody, Written At Matlock de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views,
Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks
Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks;
Once more I court the long neglected Muse,
As erst when by the mossy brink and falls
Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the s..."></div>
</div>
</div>