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rey; Nor left him at his later day. And hence, when he, with spear and shield, Rode full of years to Flodden-field, His eye could see the hidden spring, 285 And how the current was to flow; The fatal end of Scotland's King, And all that hopeless overthrow. But not in wars did he delight, _This_ Clifford wished for worthier might; 290 Nor in broad pomp, or courtly state; Him his own thoughts did elevate,-- Most happy in the shy recess Of Barden's lowly[26] quietness.[U] And choice of studious friends had he 295 Of Bolton's dear fraternity; Who, standing on this old church tower, In many a calm propitious hour, Perused, with him, the starry sky; Or, in their cells, with him did pry 300 For other lore,--by keen desire Urged to close toil with chemic fire;[27] In quest belike of transmutations Rich as the mine's most bright creations.[28] But they and their good works are fled, 305 And all is now disquieted-- And peace is none, for living or dead! Ah, pensive Scholar, think not so, But look again at the radiant Doe! What quiet watch she seems to keep, 310 Alone, beside that grassy heap! Why mention other thoughts unmeet For vision so composed and sweet? While stand the people in a ring, Gazing, doubting, questioning; 315 Yea, many overcome in spite Of recollections clear and bright; Which yet do unto some impart An undisturbed repose of heart. And all the assembly own a law 320 Of orderly respect and awe; But see--they vanish one by one, And last, the Doe herself is gone. Harp! we have been full long beguiled By vague thoughts, lured by fancies wild;[29] 325 To which, with no reluctant strings, Thou hast attuned thy murmurings; And now before this Pile we stand In solitude, and utter peace: But, Harp! thy murmurs may not cease-- 330 A Spirit, with his angelic wings, In soft and breeze-like visitings, Has touched thee--and a Spirit's hand:[30] A voice is with us--a command To chant, in strains of heavenly glory, 335 A tale of tears, a mortal story!
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