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Poem by William Wordsworth

Tynwald Hill

ONCE on the top of Tynwalds formal mound
(Still marked with green turf circles narrowing
Stage above stage) would sit this islands king,
The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned;
While, compassing the little mount around,
Degrees and orders stood, each under each;
Now, like to things within fates easiest reach,
The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found.
Off with yon cloud, old Snafell! that thine eye
Over three realms may take its widest range;
And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange
Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy,
If the whole state must suffer mortal change,
Like Monas miniature of sovereignty.

William Wordsworth

Poem Theme: Isle of Man (England)

William Wordsworth's other poems:
  1. Processions
  2. Inside of Kings College Chapel, Cambridge: Continued
  3. The Brownie
  4. Monastery of Old Bangor
  5. The River Duddon (WHENCE that low voice?)

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