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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8824.txt b/8824.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d601f35 --- /dev/null +++ b/8824.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3325 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems In Two Volumes, Vol. 2, by William Wordsworth + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems In Two Volumes, Vol. 2 + +Author: William Wordsworth + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8824] +[This file was first posted on August 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. 2 *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + + +POEMS, IN TWO VOLUMES, + +VOL. II. + +BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, + +AUTHOR OF _THE LYRICAL BALLADS_. + + + + + + + + + Posterius graviore sono tibi Musa loquetur + Nostra: dabunt cum securos mihi tempora fructus. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +POEMS WRITTEN DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND. + +1. _Rob Roy's Grave_ +2. _The solitary Reaper_ +3. _Stepping Westward_ +4. _Glen-Almain, or the Narrow Glen_ +5. _The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband_ +6. _To a Highland Girl_ +7. _Sonnet_ +8. _Address to the Sons of Burns after visiting + their Father's Grave, Aug. 14th, 1803_ +9. _Yarrow unvisited_ + +MOODS OF MY OWN MIND. + +1. _To a Butterfly_ +2. +3. +4. +5. _Written in March while resting on the + Bridge at the Foot of Brother's Water_ +6. _The small Celandine_ +7. +8. +9. _The Sparrow's Nest_ +10. _Gipsies_ +11. _To the Cuckoo_ +12. _To a Butterfly_ +13. + +THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY. + +_The Blind Highland Boy +The Green Linnet +To a Young Lady, who had been reproached +for taking long Walks in the Country +By their floating Mill, &c +Star-gazers +Power of Music +To the Daisy +To the same Flower +Incident, characteristic of a favourite Dog, +which belonged to a Friend of the Author +Tribute to the Memory of the same Dog_ + +_Sonnet +Sonnet +Sonnet +Sonnet to Thomas Clarkson +Once in a lonely Hamlet, &c +Foresight, or the Charge of a Child to his +younger Companion +A Complaint +I am not One, &c +Yes! full surely 'twas the Echo, &c +To the Spade of a Friend +Song, at the Feast of Brougham Castle +Lines, composed at Grasmere +Elegaic Stanzas +Ode +Notes_ + + +POEMS _WRITTEN DURING A TOUR_ IN SCOTLAND. + +_ROB ROY's GRAVE_. + + The History of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his Grave + is near the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those small + Pin-fold-like Burial-grounds, of neglected and desolate + appearance, which the Traveller meets with in the + Highlands of Scotland. + + + A famous Man is Robin Hood, + The English Ballad-singer's joy! + And Scotland has a Thief as good, + An Outlaw of as daring mood, + She has her brave ROB ROY! + Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, + And let us chaunt a passing Stave + In honour of that Hero brave! + + Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart, + And wondrous length and strength of arm: 10 + Nor craved he more to quell his Foes, + Or keep his Friends from harm. + + Yet was Rob Roy as _wise_ as brave; + Forgive me if the phrase be strong;-- + Poet worthy of Rob Roy + Must scorn a timid song. + + Say, then, that he was wise as brave; + As wise in thought as bold in deed: + For in the principles of things + _He_ sought his moral creed. 20 + + Said generous Rob, "What need of Books? + Burn all the Statutes and their shelves: + They stir us up against our Kind; + And worse, against Ourselves." + + "We have a passion, make a law, + Too false to guide us or controul! + And for the law itself we fight + In bitterness of soul." + + "And, puzzled, blinded thus, we lose + Distinctions that are plain and few: 30 + These find I graven on my heart: + _That_ tells me what to do." + + "The Creatures see of flood and field, + And those that travel on the wind! + With them no strife can last; they live + In peace, and peace of mind." + + "For why?--because the good old Rule + Sufficeth them, the simple Plan, + That they should take who have the power, + And they should keep who can." 40 + + "A lesson which is quickly learn'd, + A signal this which all can see! + Thus nothing here provokes the Strong + To wanton cruelty." + + "All freakishness of mind is check'd; + He tam'd, who foolishly aspires; + While to the measure of his might + Each fashions his desires." + + "All Kinds, and Creatures, stand and fall + By strength of prowess or of wit: 50 + Tis God's appointment who must sway, + And who is to submit." + + "Since then," said Robin, "right is plain, + And longest life is but a day; + To have my ends, maintain my rights, + I'll take the shortest way." + + And thus among these rocks he liv'd, + Through summer's heat and winter's snow: + The Eagle, he was Lord above, + And Rob was Lord below. 60 + + So was it--_would_, at least, have been + But through untowardness of fate: + For Polity was then too strong; + He came an age too late, + + Or shall we say an age too soon? + For, were the bold Man living _now_, + How might he flourish in his pride, + With buds on every bough! + + Then rents and Factors, rights of chace, + Sheriffs, and Lairds and their domains 70 + Would all have seem'd but paltry things, + Not worth a moment's pains. + + Rob Roy had never linger'd here, + To these few meagre Vales confin'd; + But thought how wide the world, the times + How fairly to his mind! + + And to his Sword he would have said, + "Do Thou my sovereign will enact + From land to land through half the earth! + Judge thou of law and fact!" 80 + + "Tis fit that we should do our part; + Becoming, that mankind should learn + That we are not to be surpass'd + In fatherly concern." + + "Of old things all are over old, + Of good things none are good enough:-- + We'll shew that we can help to frame + A world of other stuff." + + "I, too, will have my Kings that take + From me the sign of life and death: 90 + Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds, + Obedient to my breath." + + And, if the word had been fulfill'd, + As _might_ have been, then, thought of joy! + France would have had her present Boast; + And we our brave Rob Roy! + + Oh! say not so; compare them not; + I would not wrong thee, Champion brave! + Would wrong thee no where; least of all + Here standing by thy Grave. 100 + + For Thou, although with some wild thoughts, + Wild Chieftain of a Savage Clan! + Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love + The _liberty_ of Man. + + And, had it been thy lot to live + With us who now behold the light, + Thou would'st have nobly stirr'd thyself, + And battled for the Right. + + For Robin was the poor Man's stay + The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand; 110 + And all the oppress'd, who wanted strength, + Had Robin's to command. + + Bear witness many a pensive sigh + Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays + Alone upon Loch Veol's Heights, + And by Loch Lomond's Braes! + + And, far and near, through vale and hill, + Are faces that attest the same; + And kindle, like a fire new stirr'd, + At sound of ROB ROY's name. 120 + + + + + +2. _THE SOLITARY REAPER_. + + + Behold her, single in the field, + Yon solitary Highland Lass! + Reaping and singing by herself; + Stop here, or gently pass! + Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, + And sings a melancholy strain; + O listen! for the Vale profound + Is overflowing with the sound. + + No Nightingale did ever chaunt + So sweetly to reposing bands 10 + Of Travellers in some shady haunt, + Among Arabian Sands: + No sweeter voice was ever heard + In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, + Breaking the silence of the seas + Among the farthest Hebrides. + + Will no one tell me what she sings? + Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow + For old, unhappy, far-off things, + And battles long ago: 20 + Or is it some more humble lay, + Familiar matter of today? + Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, + That has been, and may be again! + + Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sung + As if her song could have no ending; + I saw her singing at her work, + And o'er the sickle bending; + I listen'd till I had my fill; + And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 + The music in my heart I bore, + Long after it was heard no more. + + + + +3. _STEPPING WESTWARD_. + + While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of + Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sun-set, in our + road to a Hut where in the course of our Tour we had + been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, + in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, + two well dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by + way of greeting, "What you are stepping westward?" + + + _"What you are stepping westward?"--"Yea_." + --'Twould be a wildish destiny, + If we, who thus together roam + In a strange Land, and far from home, + Were in this place the guests of Chance: + Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, + Though home or shelter he had none, + With such a Sky to lead him on? + + The dewy ground was dark and cold; + Behind, all gloomy to behold; 10 + And stepping westward seem'd to be + A kind of _heavenly_ destiny; + I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound + Of something without place or bound; + And seem'd to give me spiritual right + To travel through that region bright. + + The voice was soft, and she who spake + Was walking by her native Lake: + The salutation had to me + The very sound of courtesy: 20 + It's power was felt; and while my eye + Was fixed upon the glowing sky, + The echo of the voice enwrought + A human sweetness with the thought + Of travelling through the world that lay + Before me in my endless way. + + + + +4. _GLEN-ALMAIN_, + or the NARROW GLEN + + + In this still place, remote from men, + Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN; + In this still place, where murmurs on + But one meek Streamlet, only one: + He sang of battles, and the breath + Of stormy war, and violent death; + And should, methinks, when all was past, + Have rightfully been laid at last + Where rocks were sudely heap'd, and rent + As by a spirit turbulent; 10 + Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, + And every thing unreconciled; + In some complaining, dim retreat, + For fear and melancholy meet; + But this is calm; there cannot be + A more entire tranquillity. + + Does then the Bard sleep here indeed? + Or is it but a groundless creed? + What matters it? I blame them not + Whose Fancy in this lonely Spot 20 + Was moved; and in this way express'd + Their notion of its perfect rest. + A Convent, even a hermit's Cell + Would break the silence of this Dell: + It is not quiet, is not ease; + But something deeper far than these: + The separation that is here + Is of the grave; and of austere + And happy feelings of the dead: + And, therefore, was it rightly said 30 + That Ossian, last of all his race! + Lies buried in this lonely place. + + + + +5. _THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND_. + + + At Jedborough we went into private Lodgings for a few + days; and the following Verses were called forth by + the character, and domestic situation, of our Hostess. + + + Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers! + And call a train of laughing Hours; + And bid them dance, and bid them sing; + And Thou, too, mingle in the Ring! + Take to thy heart a new delight; + If not, make merry in despite! + For there is one who scorns thy power. + --But dance! for under Jedborough Tower + There liveth in the prime of glee, + A Woman, whose years are seventy-three, 10 + And She will dance and sing with thee! + + Nay! start not at that Figure--there! + Him who is rooted to his chair! + Look at him--look again! for He + Hath long been of thy Family. + With legs that move not, if they can, + And useless arms, a Trunk of Man, + He sits, and with a vacant eye; + A Sight to make a Stranger sigh! + Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom: 20 + His world is in this single room: + Is this a place for mirth and cheer? + Can merry-making enter here? + + The joyous Woman is the Mate + Of Him in that forlorn estate! + He breathes a subterraneous damp, + But bright as Vesper shines her lamp: + He is as mute as Jedborough Tower; + She jocund as it was of yore, + With all its bravery on; in times, 30 + When, all alive with merry chimes, + Upon a sun-bright morn of May, + It rouz'd the Vale to Holiday. + + I praise thee, Matron! and thy due + Is praise; heroic praise, and true! + With admiration I behold + Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: + Thy looks, thy gestures, all present + The picture of a life well-spent: + This do I see; and something more; 40 + A strength unthought of heretofore! + Delighted am I for thy sake; + And yet a higher joy partake. + Our Human-nature throws away + It's second Twilight, and looks gay: + A Land of promise and of pride + Unfolding, wide as life is wide. + + Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclos'd + Within himself, as seems; compos'd; + To fear of loss, and hope of gain, 50 + The strife of happiness and pain, + Utterly dead! yet, in the guise + Of little Infants, when their eyes + Begin to follow to and fro + The persons that before them go, + He tracks her motions, quick or slow. + Her buoyant Spirit can prevail + Where common cheerfulness would fail: + She strikes upon him with the heat + Of July Suns; he feels it sweet; 60 + An animal delight though dim! + 'Tis all that now remains for him! + + I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er; + The more I look'd I wonder'd more: + When suddenly I seem'd to espy + A trouble in her strong black eye; + A remnant of uneasy light, + A flash of something over-bright! + And soon she made this matter plain; + And told me, in a thoughtful strain, 70 + That she had borne a heavy yoke, + Been stricken by a twofold stroke; + Ill health of body; and had pin'd + Beneath worse ailments of the mind. + + So be it! but let praise ascend + To Him who is our Lord and Friend! + Who from disease and suffering + Hath call'd for thee a second Spring; + Repaid thee for that sore distress + By no untimely joyousness; 80 + Which makes of thine a blissful state; + And cheers thy melancholy Mate! + + + + + +6. _TO A HIGHLAND GIRL_. + +(At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond.) + + + Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower + Of beauty is thy earthly dower! + Twice seven consenting years have shed + Their utmost bounty on thy head: + And these gray Rocks; this household Lawn; + These Trees, a veil just half withdrawn; + This fall of water, that doth make + A murmur near the silent Lake; + This little Bay, a quiet Road + That holds in shelter thy Abode; 10 + In truth together ye do seem + Like something fashion'd in a dream; + + Such Forms as from their covert peep + When earthly cares are laid asleep! + Yet, dream and vision as thou art, + I bless thee with a human heart: + God shield thee to thy latest years! + I neither know thee nor thy peers; + And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. + + With earnest feeling I shall pray 20 + For thee when I am far away: + For never saw I mien, or face, + In which more plainly I could trace + Benignity and home-bred sense + Ripening in perfect innocence. + Here, scatter'd like a random seed, + Remote from men, Thou dost not need + The embarrass'd look of shy distress, + And maidenly shamefacedness: + + Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 30 + The freedom of a Mountaineer. + A face with gladness overspread! + Sweet looks, by human kindness bred! + And seemliness complete, that sways + Thy courtesies, about thee plays; + With no restraint, but such as springs + From quick and eager visitings + Of thoughts, that lie beyond the reach + Of thy few words of English speech: + A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife 40 + That gives thy gestures grace and life! + So have I, not unmov'd in mind, + Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, + Thus beating up against the wind. + + What hand but would a garland cull + For thee who art so beautiful? + O happy pleasure! here to dwell + Beside thee in some heathy dell; + Adopt your homely ways and dress, + A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! 50 + But I could frame a wish for thee + More like a grave reality: + Thou art to me but as a wave + Of the wild sea; and I would have + Some claim upon thee, if I could, + Though but of common neighbourhood. + What joy to hear thee, and to see! + Thy elder Brother I would be, + Thy Father, any thing to thee! + + Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace 60 + Hath led me to this lonely place. + Joy have I had; and going hence + I bear away my recompence. + In spots like these it is we prize + Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: + Then, why should I be loth to stir? + I feel this place was made for her; + To give new pleasure like the past, + Continued long as life shall last. + Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, 70 + Sweet Highland Girl! from Thee to part; + For I, methinks, till I grow old, + As fair before me shall behold, + As I do now, the Cabin small, + The Lake, the Bay, the Waterfall; + And Thee, the Spirit of them all! + + + + + +7. _SONNET_. + (Composed at ---- Castle.) + + + Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord! + Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, + And love of havoc (for with such disease + Fame taxes him) that he could send forth word + To level with the dust a noble horde, + A brotherhood of venerable Trees, + Leaving an ancient Dome, and Towers like these, + Beggared and outraged!--Many hearts deplor'd + The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain + The Traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze + On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed: + For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks and bays, + And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, + And the green silent pastures, yet remain. + + + + +8. ADDRESS _TO THE SONS OF BURNS_ + after visiting their Father's Grave (August 14th, 1803.) + + + Ye now are panting up life's hill! + 'Tis twilight time of good and ill, + And more than common strength and skill + Must ye display + If ye would give the better will + Its lawful sway. + + Strong bodied if ye be to bear + Intemperance with less harm, beware! + But if your Father's wit ye share, + Then, then indeed, 10 + Ye Sons of Burns! for watchful care + There will be need. + + For honest men delight will take + To shew you favor for his sake, + Will flatter you; and Fool and Rake + Your steps pursue: + And of your Father's name will make + A snare for you. + + Let no mean hope your souls enslave; + Be independent, generous, brave! 20 + Your Father such example gave, + And such revere! + But be admonish'd by his Grave, + And think, and fear! + + + + + +9. _YARROW UNVISITED_. + + (See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the + Banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad + of Hamilton, beginning: + "Busk ye, busk ye my bonny, bonny Bride, + Busk ye, busk ye my winsome Marrow!"--) + + + From Stirling Castle we had seen + The mazy Forth unravell'd; + Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, + And with the Tweed had travell'd; + And, when we came to Clovenford, + Then said my '_winsome Marrow_', + "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, + And see the Braes of Yarrow." + + "Let Yarrow Folk, _frae_ Selkirk Town, + Who have been buying, selling, 10 + Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, + Each Maiden to her Dwelling! + On Yarrow's Banks let herons feed, + Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! + But we will downwards with the Tweed, + Nor turn aside to Yarrow." + + "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, + Both lying right before us; + And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed + The Lintwhites sing in chorus; 20 + There's pleasant Tiviot Dale, a land + Made blithe with plough and harrow; + Why throw away a needful day + To go in search of Yarrow?" + + "What's Yarrow but a River bare + That glides the dark hills under? + There are a thousand such elsewhere + As worthy of your wonder." + --Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn; + My True-love sigh'd for sorrow; 30 + And look'd me in the face, to think + I thus could speak of Yarrow! + + "Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, + And sweet is Yarrow flowing! + Fair hangs the apple frae the rock [1], + But we will leave it growing. + O'er hilly path, and open Strath, + We'll wander Scotland thorough; + But, though so near, we will not turn + Into the Dale of Yarrow." 40 + + [Footnote 1: See Hamilton's Ballad as above.] + + "Let Beeves and home-bred Kine partake + The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; + The Swan on still St. Mary's Lake + Float double, Swan and Shadow! + We will not see them; will not go, + Today, nor yet tomorrow; + Enough if in our hearts we know, + There's such a place as Yarrow." + + "Be Yarrow Stream unseen, unknown! + It must, or we shall rue it: 50 + We have a vision of our own; + Ah! why should we undo it? + The treasured dreams of times long past + We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! + For when we're there although 'tis fair + 'Twill be another Yarrow!" + + "If Care with freezing years should come, + And wandering seem but folly, + Should we be loth to stir from home, + And yet be melancholy; 60 + Should life be dull, and spirits low, + 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow + That earth has something yet to show, + The bonny Holms of Yarrow!" + + + + + + +MOODS OF MY OWN MIND. + + + + +1. _TO A BUTTERFLY_. + + + Stay near me--do not take thy flight! + A little longer stay in sight! + Much converse do I find in Thee, + Historian of my Infancy! + Float near me; do not yet depart! + Dead times revive in thee: + Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! + A solemn image to my heart, + My Father's Family! + + Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, + The time, when in our childish plays + My sister Emmeline and I + Together chaced the Butterfly! + A very hunter did I rush + Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs + I follow'd on from brake to bush; + But She, God love her! feared to brush + The dust from off its wings. + + + + + +2. + + + The Sun has long been set: + The Stars are out by twos and threes; + The little Birds are piping yet + Among the bushes and trees; + There's a Cuckoo, and one or two thrushes; + And a noise of wind that rushes, + With a noise of water that gushes; + And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry + Fills all the hollow of the sky! + + Who would go "parading" 10 + In London, and "masquerading," + On such a night of June? + With that beautiful soft half-moon, + And all these innocent blisses, + On such a night as this is! + + + + + +3. + + + O Nightingale! thou surely art + A Creature of a fiery heart-- + These notes of thine they pierce, and pierce; + Tumultuous harmony and fierce! + Thou sing'st as if the God of wine + Had help'd thee to a Valentine; + A song in mockery and despite + Of shades, and dews, and silent Night, + And steady bliss, and all the Loves + Now sleeping in these peaceful groves! 10 + + I heard a Stockdove sing or say + His homely tale, this very day. + His voice was buried among trees, + Yet to be come at by the breeze: + He did not cease; but coo'd--and coo'd; + And somewhat pensively he woo'd: + He sang of love with quiet blending, + Slow to begin, and never ending; + Of serious faith, and inward glee; + That was the Song, the Song for me! 20 + + + + + +4. + + + My heart leaps up when I behold + A Rainbow in the sky: + So was it when my life began; + So is it now I am a Man; + So be it when I shall grow old, + Or let me die! + The Child is Father of the Man; + And I could wish my days to be + Bound each to each by natural piety. + + + + + +5. _WRITTEN IN MARCH_, + While resting on the Bridge at the Foot of Brother's Water. + + + The cook is crowing, + The stream is flowing, + The small birds twitter, + The lake doth glitter, + The green field sleeps in the sun; + The oldest and youngest + Are at work with the strongest; + The cattle are grazing, + Their heads never raising; + There are forty feeding like one! 10 + Like an army defeated + The Snow hath retreated, + And now doth fare ill + On the top of the bare hill; + The Plough-boy is whooping--anon--anon: + There's joy in the mountains; + There's life in the fountains; + Small clouds are sailing, + Blue sky prevailing; + The rain is over and gone! 20 + + + + + + +6. _THE SMALL CELANDINE_. + Common Pilewort. + + There is a Flower, the Lesser Celandine, + That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain; + And, the first moment that the sun may shine, + Bright as the sun itself, 'tis out again! + + When hailstones have been falling swarm on swarm, + Or blasts the green field and the trees distress'd, + Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm, + In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest. + + But lately, one rough day, this Flower I pass'd, + And recognized it, though an alter'd Form, 10 + Now standing forth an offering to the Blast, + And buffetted at will by Rain and Storm, + + I stopp'd, and said with inly muttered voice, + "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold: + This neither is its courage nor its choice, + But its necessity in being old." + + The sunshine may not bless it, nor the dew; + It cannot help itself in its decay; + Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue. + And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. 20 + + To be a Prodigal's Favorite--then, worse truth, + A Miser's Pensioner--behold our lot! + O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth + Age might but take the things Youth needed not! + + + + + + +7. + + + I wandered lonely as a Cloud + That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills, + When all at once I saw a crowd + A host of dancing Daffodills; + Along the Lake, beneath the trees, + Ten thousand dancing in the breeze. + + The waves beside them danced, but they + Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:-- + A Poet could not but be gay + In such a laughing company: 10 + I gaz'd--and gaz'd--but little thought + What wealth the shew to me had brought: + + For oft when on my couch I lie + In vacant or in pensive mood, + They flash upon that inward eye + Which is the bliss of solitude, + And then my heart with pleasure fills, + And dances with the Daffodils. + + + + + +8. + + + Who fancied what a pretty sight + This Rock would be if edged around + With living Snowdrops? circlet bright! + How glorious to this Orchard ground! + Who loved the little Rock, and set + Upon its Head this Coronet? + + Was it the humour of a Child? + Or rather of some love-sick Maid, + Whose brows, the day that she was styled + The Shepherd Queen, were thus arrayed? + Of Man mature, or Matron sage? + Or old Man toying with his age? + + I ask'd--'twas whisper'd, The device + To each or all might well belong. + It is the Spirit of Paradise + That prompts such work, a Spirit strong, + That gives to all the self-same bent + Where life is wise and innocent. + + + + + +9. _THE SPARROW'S NEST_. + + + Look, five blue eggs are gleaming there! + Few visions have I seen more fair, + Nor many prospects of delight + More pleasing than that simple sight! + I started seeming to espy + The home and shelter'd bed, + The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by + My Father's House, in wet or dry, + My Sister Emmeline and I + Together visited. 10 + + She look'd at it as if she fear'd it; + Still wishing, dreading to be near it: + Such heart was in her, being then + A little Prattler among men. + The Blessing of my later years + Was with me when a Boy; + She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; + And humble cares, and delicate fears; + A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; + And love, and thought, and joy. 20 + + + + +10. _GIPSIES_. + + + Yet are they here?--the same unbroken knot + Of human Beings, in the self-same spot! + Men, Women, Children, yea the frame + Of the whole Spectacle the same! + Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light: + Now deep and red, the colouring of night; + That on their Gipsy-faces falls, + Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. + --Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I + Have been a Traveller under open sky, 10 + Much witnessing of change and chear, + Yet as I left I find them here! + + The weary Sun betook himself to rest. + --Then issued Vesper from the fulgent West, + Outshining like a visible God + The glorious path in which he trod. + And now, ascending, after one dark hour, + And one night's diminution of her power, + Behold the mighty Moon! this way + She looks as if at them--but they 20 + Regard not her:--oh better wrong and strife, + Better vain deeds or evil than such life! + The silent Heavens have goings on; + The stars have tasks--but these have none. + + + + + +11. _TO THE CUCKOO_. + + + O blithe New-comer! I have heard, + I hear thee and rejoice: + O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, + Or but a wandering Voice? + + While I am lying on the grass, + I hear thy restless shout: + From hill to hill it seems to pass, + About, and all about! + + To me, no Babbler with a tale + Of sunshine and of flowers, 10 + Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale + Of visionary hours. + + Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring! + Even yet thou art to me + No Bird; but an invisible Thing, + A voice, a mystery. + + The same whom in my School-boy days + I listen'd to; that Cry + Which made me look a thousand ways; + In bush, and tree, and sky. 20 + + To seek thee did I often rove + Through woods and on the green; + And thou wert still a hope, a love; + Still long'd for, never seen! + + And I can listen to thee yet; + Can lie upon the plain. + And listen, till I do beget + That golden time again. + + O blessed Bird! the earth we pace + Again appears to be 30 + An unsubstantial, faery place; + That is fit home for Thee! + + + + + +12. _TO A BUTTERFLY_. + + + I've watch'd you now a full half hour, + Self-pois'd upon that yellow flower; + And, little Butterfly! indeed + I know not if you sleep, or feed. + How motionless! not frozen seas + More motionless! and then + What joy awaits you, when the breeze + Hath found you out among the trees, + And calls you forth again! + + This plot of Orchard-ground is ours; 10 + My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; + Stop here whenever you are weary, + And rest as in a sanctuary! + Come often to us, fear no wrong; + Sit near us on the bough! + We'll talk of sunshine and of song; + And summer days, when we were young, + Sweet childish days, that were as long + As twenty days are now! + + + + + +13. + + + It is no Spirit who from Heaven hath flown, + And is descending on his embassy; + Nor Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to espy! + 'Tis Hesperus--there he stands with glittering crown, + First admonition that the sun is down! + For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by; + A few are near him still--and now the sky, + He hath it to himself--'tis all his own. + O most ambitious Star! an inquest wrought + Within me when I recognised thy light; + A moment I was startled at the sight: + And, while I gazed, there came to me a thought + That I might step beyond my natural race + As thou seem'st now to do; might one day trace + Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above, + My Soul, an Apparition in the place, + Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove! + + + + + +THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY; WITH _OTHER POEMS_. + + + + +_THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY_. + (A Tale told by the Fire-side.) + + + Now we are tired of boisterous joy, + We've romp'd enough, my little Boy! + Jane hangs her head upon my breast, + And you shall bring your Stool and rest, + This corner is your own. + + There! take your seat, and let me see + That you can listen quietly; + And as I promised I will tell + That strange adventure which befel + A poor blind Highland Boy. 10 + + A _Highland_ Boy!--why call him so? + Because, my Darlings, ye must know, + In land where many a mountain towers, + Far higher hills than these of ours! + He from his birth had liv'd. + + He ne'er had seen one earthly sight; + The sun, the day; the stars, the night; + Or tree, or butterfly, or flower, + Or fish in stream, or bird in bower, + Or woman, man, or child. 20 + + And yet he neither drooped nor pined, + Nor had a melancholy mind; + For God took pity on the Boy, + And was his friend; and gave him joy + Of which we nothing know. + + His Mother, too, no doubt, above + Her other Children him did love: + For, was she here, or was she there, + She thought of him with constant care, + And more than Mother's love. 30 + + And proud she was of heart, when clad + In crimson stockings, tartan plaid, + And bonnet with a feather gay, + To Kirk he on the sabbath day + Went hand in hand with her. + + A Dog, too, had he; not for need, + But one to play with and to feed; + Which would have led him, if bereft + Of company or friends, and left + Without a better guide. 40 + + And then the bagpipes he could blow; + And thus from house to house would go, + And all were pleas'd to hear and see; + For none made sweeter melody + Than did the poor blind Boy. + + Yet he had many a restless dream; + Both when he heard the Eagles scream, + And when he heard the torrents roar, + And heard the water beat the shore + Near which their Cottage stood. 50 + + Beside a lake their Cottage stood, + Not small like ours, a peaceful flood; + But one of mighty size, and strange; + That, rough or smooth, is full of change, + And stirring in its bed. + + For to this Lake, by night and day, + The great Sea-water finds its way + Through long, long windings of the hills; + And drinks up all the pretty rills + And rivers large and strong: 60 + + Then hurries back the road it came-- + Returns, on errand still the same; + This did it when the earth was new; + And this for evermore will do, + As long as earth shall last. + + And, with the coming of the Tide, + Come Boats and Ships, that sweetly ride, + Between the woods and lofty rocks; + And to the Shepherds with their Flocks + Bring tales of distant Lands. 70 + + And of those tales, whate'er they were, + The blind Boy always had his share; + Whether of mighty Towns, or Vales + With warmer suns and softer gales, + Or wonders of the Deep. + + Yet more it pleased him, more it stirr'd, + When from the water-side he heard + The shouting, and the jolly cheers, + The bustle of the mariners + In stillness or in storm. 80 + + But what do his desires avail? + For He must never handle sail; + Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float + In Sailor's ship or Fisher's boat + Upon the rocking waves. + + His Mother often thought, and said, + What sin would be upon her head + If she should suffer this: "My Son, + Whate'er you do, leave this undone; + The danger is so great." 90 + + Thus lived he by Loch Levin's side + Still sounding with the sounding tide, + And heard the billows leap and dance, + Without a shadow of mischance, + Till he was ten years old. + + When one day (and now mark me well, + You soon shall know how this befel) + He's in a vessel of his own, + On the swift water hurrying down + Towards the mighty Sea. 100 + + In such a vessel ne'er before + Did human Creature leave the shore: + If this or that way he should stir, + Woe to the poor blind Mariner! + For death will be his doom. + + Strong is the current; but be mild, + Ye waves, and spare the helpless Child! + If ye in anger fret or chafe, + A Bee-hive would be ship as safe + As that in which he sails. 110 + + But say, what was it? Thought of fear! + Well may ye tremble when ye hear! + --A Household Tub, like one of those + Which women use to wash their clothes, + This carried the blind Boy. + + Close to the water he had found + This Vessel, push'd it from dry ground, + Went into it; and, without dread, + Following the fancies in his head, + He paddled up and down. 120 + + A while he stood upon his feet; + He felt the motion--took his seat; + And dallied thus, till from the shore + The tide retreating more and more + Had suck'd, and suck'd him in. + + And there he is in face of Heaven! + How rapidly the Child is driven! + The fourth part of a mile I ween + He thus had gone, ere he was seen + By any human eye. 130 + + But when he was first seen, oh me! + What shrieking and what misery! + For many saw; among the rest + His Mother, she who loved him best, + She saw her poor blind Boy. + + But for the Child, the sightless Boy, + It is the triumph of his joy! + The bravest Traveller in balloon, + Mounting as if to reach the moon, + Was never half so bless'd. 140 + + And let him, let him go his way, + Alone, and innocent, and gay! + For, if good Angels love to wait + On the forlorn unfortunate, + This Child will take no harm. + + But now the passionate lament, + Which from the crowd on shore was sent, + The cries which broke from old and young + In Gaelic, or the English tongue, + Are stifled--all is still. 150 + + And quickly with a silent crew + A Boat is ready to pursue; + And from the shore their course they take, + And swiftly down the running Lake + They follow the blind Boy. + + With sound the least that can be made + They follow, more and more afraid, + More cautious as they draw more near; + But in his darkness he can hear, + And guesses their intent. 160 + + "_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--then did he cry + "_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--most eagerly; + Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, + And what he meant was, "Keep away, + And leave me to myself!" + + Alas! and when he felt their hands-- + You've often heard of magic Wands, + That with a motion overthrow + A palace of the proudest shew, + Or melt it into air. 170 + + So all his dreams, that inward light + With which his soul had shone so bright, + All vanish'd;--'twas a heartfelt cross + To him, a heavy, bitter loss, + As he had ever known. + + But hark! a gratulating voice + With which the very hills rejoice: + 'Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly + Had watch'd the event, and now can see + That he is safe at last. 180 + + And then, when he was brought to land, + Full sure they were a happy band, + Which gathering round did on the banks + Of that great Water give God thanks, + And welcom'd the poor Child. + + And in the general joy of heart + The blind Boy's little Dog took part; + He leapt about, and oft did kiss + His master's hands in sign of bliss, + With sound like lamentation. 190 + + But most of all, his Mother dear, + She who had fainted with her fear, + Rejoiced when waking she espies + The Child; when she can trust her eyes, + And touches the blind Boy. + + She led him home, and wept amain, + When he was in the house again: + Tears flow'd in torrents from her eyes, + She could not blame him, or chastise: + She was too happy far. 200 + + Thus, after he had fondly braved + The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved; + And, though his fancies had been wild, + Yet he was pleased, and reconciled + To live in peace on shore. + + + + + +_THE GREEN LINNET_. + + + The May is come again:--how sweet + To sit upon my Orchard-seat! + And Birds and Flowers once more to greet, + My last year's Friends together: + My thoughts they all by turns employ; + A whispering Leaf is now my joy, + And then a Bird will be the toy + That doth my fancy tether. + + One have I mark'd, the happiest Guest + In all this covert of the blest: 10 + Hail to Thee, far above the rest + In joy of voice and pinion, + Thou, Linnet! in thy green array, + Presiding Spirit here to-day, + Dost lead the revels of the May, + And this is thy dominion. + + While Birds, and Butterflies, and Flowers + Make all one Band of Paramours, + Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, + Art sole in thy employment; 20 + A Life, a Presence like the Air, + Scattering thy gladness without care, + Too bless'd with any one to pair, + Thyself thy own enjoyment. + + Upon yon tuft of hazel trees, + That twinkle to the gusty breeze, + Behold him perch'd in ecstasies, + Yet seeming still to hover; + There! where the flutter of his wings + Upon his back and body flings 30 + Shadows and sunny glimmerings, + That cover him all over. + + While thus before my eyes he gleams, + A Brother of the Leaves he seems; + When in a moment forth he teems + His little song in gushes: + As if it pleas'd him to disdain + And mock the Form which he did feign, + While he was dancing with the train + Of Leaves among the bushes. 40 + + + + + +_TO A YOUNG LADY_, + Who had been reproached for taking long + Walks in the Country. + + + Dear Child of Nature, let them rail! + --There is a nest in a green dale, + A harbour and a hold, + Where thou a Wife and Friend, shalt see + Thy own delightful days, and be + A light to young and old. + + There, healthy as a Shepherd-boy, + As if thy heritage were joy, + And pleasure were thy trade, + Thou, while thy Babes around thee cling, + Shalt shew us how divine a thing + A Woman may be made. + + Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, + Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh, + A melancholy slave + But an old age, alive and bright, + And lovely as a Lapland night, + Shall lead thee to thy grave. + "--_Pleasure is spread through the earth + In stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find_." + + + + + * * * * * + + + By their floating Mill, + Which lies dead and still, + Behold yon Prisoners three! + The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames; + The Platform is small, but there's room for them all; + And they're dancing merrily. + + From the shore come the notes + To their Mill where it floats, + To their House and their Mill tether'd fast; + To the small wooden isle where their work to beguile 10 + They from morning to even take whatever is given;-- + And many a blithe day they have past. + + In sight of the Spires + All alive with the fires + Of the Sun going down to his rest, + In the broad open eye of the solitary sky, + They dance,--there are three, as jocund as free, + While they dance on the calm river's breast. + + Man and Maidens wheel, + They themselves make the Reel, 20 + And their Music's a prey which they seize; + It plays not for them,--what matter! 'tis their's; + And if they had care it has scattered their cares, + While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!" + + They dance not for me, + Yet mine is their glee! + Thus pleasure is spread through the earth + In stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find; + Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind, + Moves all nature to gladness and mirth. 30 + + The Showers of the Spring + Rouze the Birds and they sing; + If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight, + Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss, + Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his Brother; + They are happy, for that is their right! + + + + + +_STAR GAZERS_. + + + What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by; + A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: + Long is it as a Barber's Poll, or Mast of little Boat, + Some little Pleasure-Skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float. + + The Show-man chuses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square; + And he's as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; + Calm, though impatient is the Crowd; Each is ready with the fee, + And envies him that's looking--what an insight must it be! + + Yet, Show-man, where can lie the cause? Shall thy Implement have + blame, + A Boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? 10 + Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? + Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is this resplendent Vault? + + Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here? + Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear? + The silver Moon with all her Vales, and Hills of mightiest fame, + Do they betray us when they're seen? and are they but a name? + + Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong, + And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong? + Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had, + And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad? 20 + + Or must we be constrain'd to think that these Spectators rude, + Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, + Have souls which never yet have ris'n, and therefore prostrate lie? + No, no, this cannot be--Men thirst for power and majesty! + + Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ + Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, + That doth reject all shew of pride, admits no outward sign, + Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine! + + Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry & pore + Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: 30 + One after One they take their turns, nor have I one espied + That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. + + + + + + +_POWER OF MUSIC_. + + + An Orpheus! An Orpheus!--yes, Faith may grow bold, + And take to herself all the wonders of old;-- + Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same, + In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name. + + His station is there;--and he works on the crowd, + He sways them with harmony merry and loud; + He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim-- + Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him! + + What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! + The weary have life and the hungry have bliss; 10 + The mourner is cheared, and the anxious have rest; + And the guilt-burthened Soul is no longer opprest. + + As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, + So he where he stands is a center of light; + It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-faced Jack, + And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back. + + That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste-- + What matter! he's caught--and his time runs to waste-- + The News-man is stopped, though he stops on the fret, + And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's in the net! 20 + + The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore; + The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;-- + If a Thief could be here he might pilfer at ease; + She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees! + + He stands, back'd by the Wall;--he abates not his din; + His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in, + From the Old and the Young, from the Poorest; and there! + The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare. + + O blest are the Hearers and proud be the Hand + Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a Band; 30 + I am glad for him, blind as he is!--all the while + If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile. + + That tall Man, a Giant in bulk and in height, + Not an inch of his body is free from delight; + Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he! + The music stirs in him like wind through a tree. + + There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower + That long has lean'd forward, leans hour after hour!-- + Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound, + While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. 40 + + Now, Coaches and Chariots, roar on like a stream; + Here are twenty souls happy as Souls in a dream: + They are deaf to your murmurs--they care not for you, + Nor what ye are flying, or what ye pursue! + + + + + +_TO THE DAISY_. + The two following Poems were overflowings of the mind in + composing the one which stands first in the first Volume. + + + With little here to do or see + Of things that in the great world be, + Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee, + For thou art worthy, + Thou unassuming Common-place + Of Nature, with that homely face, + And yet with something of a grace, + Which Love makes for thee! + + + + + Oft do I sit by thee at ease, + And weave a web of similies, 10 + Loose types of Things through all degrees, + Thoughts of thy raising: + And many a fond and idle name + I give to thee, for praise or blame, + As is the humour of the game, + While I am gazing. + + A Nun demure of lowly port, + Or sprightly Maiden of Love's Court, + In thy simplicity the sport + Of all temptations; 20 + A Queen in crown of rubies drest, + A Starveling in a scanty vest, + Are all, as seem to suit thee best, + Thy appellations. + + A little Cyclops, with one eye + Staring to threaten and defy, + That thought comes next--and instantly + The freak is over, + The shape will vanish, and behold! + A silver Shield with boss of gold, 30 + That spreads itself, some Faery bold + In fight to cover. + + I see thee glittering from afar;-- + And then thou art a pretty Star, + Not quite so fair as many are + In heaven above thee! + Yet, like a star, with glittering crest, + Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;-- + May peace come never to his nest, + Who shall reprove thee! 40 + + Sweet Flower! for by that name at last, + When all my reveries are past, + I call thee, and to that cleave fast, + Sweet silent Creature! + That breath'st with me in sun and air, + Do thou, as thou art wont, repair + My heart with gladness, and a share + Of thy meek nature! + + + + + +_TO THE SAME FLOWER_. + + + Bright Flower, whose home is every where! + A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care, + And all the long year through the heir + Of joy or sorrow, + Methinks that there abides in thee + Some concord with humanity, + Given to no other Flower I see + The forest thorough! + + Is it that Man is soon deprest? + A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest, 10 + Does little on his memory rest, + Or on his reason, + And Thou would'st teach him how to find + A shelter under every wind. + A hope for times that are unkind + And every season? + + Thou wander'st the wide world about, + Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt, + With friends to greet thee, or without, + Yet pleased and willing; 20 + Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, + And all things suffering from all, + Thy function apostolical + In peace fulfilling. + + + + + +_INCIDENT_, + Characteristic of a favourite Dog, which belonged + to a Friend of the Author. + + + On his morning rounds the Master + Goes to learn how all things fare; + Searches pasture after pasture, + Sheep and Cattle eyes with care; + And, for silence or for talk, + He hath Comrades in his walk; + Four Dogs, each pair of different breed, + Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. + + See, a Hare before him started! + --Off they fly in earnest chace; 10 + Every Dog is eager-hearted, + All the four are in the race! + And the Hare whom they pursue + Hath an instinct what to do; + Her hope is near: no turn she makes; + But, like an arrow, to the River takes. + + Deep the River was, and crusted + Thinly by a one night's frost; + But the nimble Hare hath trusted + To the ice, and safely crost; 20 + She hath crost, and without heed + All are following at full speed, + When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, + Breaks--and the Greyhound, DART, is over head! + + Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW-- + See them cleaving to the sport! + Music has no heart to follow, + Little Music, she stops short. + She hath neither wish nor heart. + Her's is now another part: 30 + A loving Creature she, and brave! + And doth her best her struggling Friend to save. + + From the brink her paws she stretches, + Very hands as you would say! + And afflicting moans she fetches, + As he breaks the ice away. + For herself she hath no fears, + Him alone she sees and hears, + Makes efforts and complainings; nor gives o'er + Until her Fellow sunk, and reappear'd no more. 40 + + + + + +_TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG_. + + + Lie here sequester'd:--be this little mound + For ever thine, and be it holy ground! + Lie here, without a record of thy worth, + Beneath the covering of the common earth! + It is not from unwillingness to praise, + Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise; + More thou deserv'st; but _this_ Man gives to Man, + Brother to Brother, _this_ is all we can. + Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear + Shall find thee through all changes of the year: 10 + This Oak points out thy grave; the silent Tree + Will gladly stand a monument of thee. + + I pray'd for thee, and that thy end were past; + And willingly have laid thee here at last: + For thou hadst liv'd, till every thing that chears + In thee had yielded to the weight of years; + Extreme old age had wasted thee away, + And left thee but a glimmering of the day; + Thy ears were deaf; and feeble were thy knees,-- + saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, 20 + Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, + And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. + It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed; + Both Man and Woman wept when Thou wert dead; + Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, + Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share; + But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, + Found scarcely any where in like degree! + + For love, that comes to all; the holy sense, + Best gift of God, in thee was most intense; 30 + A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, + A tender sympathy, which did thee bind + Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: + Yea, for thy Fellow-brutes in thee we saw + The soul of Love, Love's intellectual law:-- + Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame; + Our tears from passion and from reason came, + And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name! + + + + + +_SONNET_. + +ADMONITION, + (Intended more particularly for the Perusal of those who may have + happened to be enamoured of some beautiful Place of Retreat, in + the Country of the Lakes.) + + + Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! + --The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook + Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, + Its own small pasture, almost its own sky! + But covet not th' Abode--oh! do not sigh, + As many do, repining while they look, + Sighing a wish to tear from Nature's Book + This blissful leaf, with worst impiety. + Think what the home would be if it were thine, + Even thine, though few thy wants!--Roof, window, door, + The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, + The roses to the porch which they entwine: + Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day + On which it should be touch'd, would melt, and melt away! + + + + + + +_SONNET_. + + ... "_gives to airy nothing + A local habitation and a name_." + + Though narrow be that Old Man's cares, and near + The poor Old Man is greater than he seems: + For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams; + An ample sovereignty of eye and ear. + Rich are his walks with supernatural chear; + The region of his inner spirit teems + With vital sounds, and monitory gleams + Of high astonishment and pleasing fear. + He the seven birds hath seen that never part, + Seen the SEVEN WHISTLERS in their nightly rounds, + And counted them: and oftentimes will start-- + For overhead are sweeping GABRIEL'S HOUNDS, + Doom'd, with their impious Lord, the flying Hart + To chase for ever, on aerial grounds. + + + + + +_SONNET_. + +A PROPHECY. + Feb. 1807. + + + High deeds, O Germans, are to come from you! + Thus in your Books the record shall be found, + "A Watchword was pronounced, a potent sound, + ARMINIUS!--all the people quaked like dew + Stirr'd by the breeze--they rose, a Nation, true, + True to itself--the mighty Germany, + She of the Danube and the Northern sea, + She rose,--and off at once the yoke she threw. + All power was given her in the dreadful trance-- + Those new-born Kings she wither'd like a flame." + --Woe to them all! but heaviest woe and shame + To that Bavarian, who did first advance + His banner in accursed league with France, + First open Traitor to her sacred name! + + + + + + +_SONNET_, + TO THOMAS CLARKSON, + On the final passing of the Bill for the Abolition of the Slave + Trade, March, 1807. + + + Clarkson! it was an obstinate Hill to climb; + How toilsome, nay how dire it was, by Thee + Is known,--by none, perhaps, so feelingly; + But Thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime, + Didst first lead forth this pilgrimage sublime, + Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat, + Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat, + First roused thee.--O true yoke-fellow of Time + With unabating effort, see, the palm + Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn! + The bloody Writing is for ever torn, + And Thou henceforth shalt have a good Man's calm, + A great Man's happiness; thy zeal shall find + Repose at length, firm Friend of human kind! + + + + + * * * * * + + + Once in a lonely Hamlet I sojourn'd + In which a Lady driv'n from France did dwell; + The big and lesser griefs, with which she mourn'd, + In friendship she to me would often tell. + + This Lady, dwelling upon English ground, + Where she was childless, daily did repair + To a poor neighbouring Cottage; as I found, + For sake of a young Child whose home was there. + + Once did I see her clasp the Child about, + And take it to herself; and I, next day, 10 + Wish'd in my native tongue to fashion out + Such things as she unto this Child might say: + And thus, from what I knew, had heard, and guess'd, + My song the workings of her heart express'd. + + "Dear Babe, thou Daughter of another, + One moment let me be thy Mother! + An Infant's face and looks are thine; + And sure a Mother's heart is mine: + Thy own dear Mother's far away, + At labour in the harvest-field: 20 + Thy little Sister is at play;-- + What warmth, what comfort would it yield + To my poor heart, if Thou wouldst be + One little hour a child to me!" + + "Across the waters I am come, + And I have left a Babe at home: + A long, long way of land and sea! + Come to me--I'm no enemy: + I am the same who at thy side + Sate yesterday, and made a nest 30 + For thee, sweet Baby!--thou hast tried. + Thou know'st, the pillow of my breast: + Good, good art thou; alas! to me + Far more than I can be to thee." + + "Here little Darling dost thou lie; + An Infant Thou, a Mother I! + Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears; + Mine art thou--spite of these my tears. + Alas! before I left the spot, + My Baby and its dwelling-place; 40 + The Nurse said to me, 'Tears should not + Be shed upon an Infant's face, + It was unlucky'--no, no, no; + No truth is in them who say so!" + + "My own dear Little-one will sigh, + Sweet Babe! and they will let him die. + 'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom, + And you may see his hour is come.' + Oh! had he but thy chearful smiles, + Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay, 50 + Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles, + And countenance like a summer's day, + They would have hopes of him--and then + I should behold his face again!" + + "'Tis gone--forgotten--let me do + My best--there was a smile or two, + I can remember them, I see + The smiles, worth all the world to me. + Dear Baby! I must lay thee down; + Thou troublest me with strange alarms; 60 + Smiles hast Thou, sweet ones of thy own; + I cannot keep thee in my arms, + For they confound me: as it is, + I have forgot those smiles of his." + + "Oh! how I love thee! we will stay + Together here this one half day. + My Sister's Child, who bears my name, + From France across the Ocean came; + She with her Mother cross'd the sea; + The Babe and Mother near me dwell: 70 + My Darling, she is not to me + What thou art! though I love her well: + Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here; + Never was any Child more dear!" + + "--I cannot help it--ill intent + I've none, my pretty Innocent! + I weep--I know they do thee wrong, + These tears--and my poor idle tongue. + Oh what a kiss was that! my cheek + How cold it is! but thou art good; 80 + Thine eyes are on me--they would speak, + I think, to help me if they could. + Blessings upon that quiet face, + My heart again is in its place!" + + "While thou art mine, my little Love, + This cannot be a sorrowful grove; + Contentment, hope, and Mother's glee. + I seem to find them all in thee: + Here's grass to play with, here are flowers; + I'll call thee by my Darling's name; 90 + Thou hast, I think, a look of ours, + Thy features seem to me the same; + His little Sister thou shalt be; + And, when once more my home I see, + I'll tell him many tales of Thee." + + + + + +_FORESIGHT_. + Or the Charge of a Child to his younger Companion. + + + That is work which I am rueing-- + Do as Charles and I are doing! + Strawberry-blossoms, one and all, + We must spare them--here are many: + Look at it--the Flower is small, + Small and low, though fair as any: + Do not touch it! summers two + I am older, Anne, than you. + + Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne! + Pull as many as you can. 10 + --Here are Daisies, take your fill; + Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower: + Of the lofty Daffodil + Make your bed, and make your bower; + Fill your lap, and fill your bosom; + Only spare the Strawberry-blossom! + + Primroses, the Spring may love them-- + Summer knows but little of them: + Violets, do what they will, + Wither'd on the ground must lie; 20 + Daisies will be daisies still; + Daisies they must live and die: + Fill your lap, and fill your bosom, + Only spare the Strawberry-blossom! + + + + + +_A COMPLAINT_. + + + There is a change--and I am poor; + Your Love hath been, nor long ago, + A Fountain at my fond Heart's door, + Whose only business was to flow; + And flow it did; not taking heed + Of its own bounty, or my need. + + What happy moments did I count! + Bless'd was I then all bliss above! + Now, for this consecrated Fount + Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, + What have I? shall I dare to tell? + A comfortless, and hidden WELL. + + A Well of love--it may be deep-- + I trust it is, and never dry: + What matter? if the Waters sleep + In silence and obscurity. + --Such change, and at the very door + Of my fond Heart, hath made me poor. + + + + + * * * * * + + + I am not One who much or oft delight + To season my fireside with personal talk, + About Friends, who live within an easy walk, + Or Neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight: + And, for my chance-acquaintance, Ladies bright, + Sons, Mothers, Maidens withering on the stalk, + These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk + Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. + Better than such discourse doth silence long, + Long, barren silence, square with my desire; 10 + To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, + By my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire, + And listen to the flapping of the flame, + Or kettle, whispering its faint undersong. + + "Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see, + And with a living pleasure we describe; + And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe + The languid mind into activity. + Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee, + Are foster'd by the comment and the gibe." 20 + Even be it so: yet still among your tribe, + Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me! + Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies + More justly balanced; partly at their feet, + And part far from them:--sweetest melodies + Are those that are by distance made more sweet; + Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes + He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet! + + Wings have we, and as far as we can go + We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood, 30 + Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood + Which with the lofty sanctifies the low: + Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, + Are a substantial world, both pure and good: + Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, + Our pastime and our happiness will grow. + There do I find a never-failing store + Of personal themes, and such as I love best; + Matter wherein right voluble I am: + Two will I mention, dearer than the rest; 40 + The gentle Lady, married to the Moor; + And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. + + Nor can I not believe but that hereby + Great gains are mine: for thus I live remote + From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, + Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. + Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I + Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: + And thus from day to day my little Boat + Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 50 + Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, + Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares, + The Poets, who on earth have made us Heirs + Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! + Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, + Then gladly would I end my mortal days. + + + + + * * * * * + + + Yes! full surely 'twas the Echo, + Solitary, clear, profound, + Answering to Thee, shouting Cuckoo! + Giving to thee Sound for Sound. + + Whence the Voice? from air or earth? + This the Cuckoo cannot tell; + But a startling sound had birth, + As the Bird must know full well; + + Like the voice through earth and sky + By the restless Cuckoo sent; 10 + Like her ordinary cry, + Like--but oh how different! + + Hears not also mortal Life? + Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! + Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife, + Voices of two different Natures? + + Have not We too? Yes we have + Answers, and we know not whence; + Echoes from beyond the grave, + Recogniz'd intelligence? 20 + + Such within ourselves we hear + Oft-times, ours though sent from far; + Listen, ponder, hold them dear; + For of God, of God they are! + + + + + +_TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND_, (AN AGRICULTURIST.) + Composed while we were labouring together in his Pleasure-Ground. + + + Spade! with which Wilkinson hath till'd his Lands, + And shap'd these pleasant walks by Emont's side, + Thou art a tool of honour in my hands; + I press thee through the yielding soil with pride. + + Rare Master has it been thy lot to know; + Long hast Thou serv'd a Man to reason true; + Whose life combines the best of high and low, + The toiling many and the resting few; + + Health, quiet, meekness, ardour, hope secure, + And industry of body and of mind; 10 + And elegant enjoyments, that are pure + As Nature is; too pure to be refined. + + Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing + In concord with his River murmuring by; + Or in some silent field, while timid Spring + Is yet uncheer'd by other minstrelsy. + + Who shall inherit Thee when Death hath laid + Low in the darksome Cell thine own dear Lord? + That Man will have a trophy, humble, Spade! + More noble than the noblest Warrior's sword. 20 + + If he be One that feels, with skill to part + False praise from true, or greater from the less, + Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart, + Thou monument of peaceful happiness! + + With Thee he will not dread a toilsome day, + His powerful Servant, his inspiring Mate! + And, when thou art past service, worn away, + Thee a surviving soul shall consecrate. + + His thrift thy uselessness will never scorn; + An _Heir-loom_ in his cottage wilt thou be:-- 30 + High will he hang thee up, and will adorn + His rustic chimney with the last of Thee! + + + + + + +_SONG_, AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE, + Upon the RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, the SHEPHERD, + to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors. + + + High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate. + And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.-- + The words of ancient time I thus translate, + A festal Strain that hath been silent long. + + From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower, + The Red Rose is a gladsome Flower. + Her thirty years of Winter past; + The Red Rose is revived at last; + + She lifts her head for endless spring, + For everlasting blossoming! 10 + Both Roses flourish, Red and White. + In love and sisterly delight + The two that were at strife are blended, + And all old sorrows now are ended.-- + Joy! joy to both! but most to her + Who is the Flower of Lancaster! + Behold her how She smiles to day + On this great throng, this bright array! + Fair greeting doth she send to all + From every corner of the Hall; 20 + But, chiefly, from above the Board + Where sits in state our rightful Lord, + A Clifford to his own restored. + + They came with banner, spear, and shield; + And it was proved in Bosworth-field. + Not long the Avenger was withstood, + Earth help'd him with the cry of blood: + St. George was for us, and the might + Of blessed Angels crown'd the right. + Loud voice the Land hath utter'd forth, 30 + We loudest in the faithful North: + Our Fields rejoice, our Mountains ring, + Our Streams proclaim a welcoming; + Our Strong-abodes and Castles see + The glory of their loyalty. + How glad is Skipton at this hour + Though she is but a lonely Tower! + Silent, deserted of her best, + Without an Inmate or a Guest, + Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page, or Groom; 40 + We have them at the Feast of Brough'm. + How glad Pendragon though the sleep + Of years be on her!--She shall reap + A taste of this great pleasure, viewing + As in a dream her own renewing. + Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem + Beside her little humble Stream; + And she that keepeth watch and ward + Her statelier Eden's course to guard; + They both are happy at this hour, 50 + Though each is but a lonely Tower:-- + But here is perfect joy and pride + For one fair House by Emont's side, + This day distinguished without peer + To see her Master and to cheer; + Him, and his Lady Mother dear. + + Oh! it was a time forlorn + When the Fatherless was born-- + Give her wings that she may fly, + Or she sees her Infant die! 60 + Swords that are with slaughter wild + Hunt the Mother and the Child. + Who will take them from the light? + --Yonder is a Man in sight-- + Yonder is a House--but where? + No, they must not enter there. + To the Caves, and to the Brooks, + To the Clouds of Heaven she looks; + She is speechless, but her eyes + Pray in ghostly agonies. 70 + Blissful Mary, Mother mild, + Maid and Mother undefiled, + Save a Mother and her Child! + + Now Who is he that bounds with joy + On Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy? + No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass + Light as the wind along the grass. + Can this be He who hither came + In secret, like a smothered flame? + O'er whom such thankful tears were shed 80 + For shelter, and a poor Man's bread? + God loves the Child; and God hath will'd + That those dear words should be fulfill'd, + The Lady's words, when forc'd away, + The last she to her Babe did say, + "My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest + I may not be; but rest thee, rest, + For lowly Shepherd's life is best!" + + Alas! when evil men are strong + No life is good, no pleasure long. 90 + The Boy must part from Mosedale's Groves, + And leave Blencathara's rugged Coves, + And quit the Flowers that Summer brings + To Glenderamakin's lofty springs; + Must vanish, and his careless cheer + Be turned to heaviness and fear. + --Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! + Hear it, good Man, old in days! + Thou Tree of covert and of rest + For this young Bird that is distrest, 100 + Among thy branches safe he lay, + And he was free to sport and play, + When Falcons were abroad for prey. + + A recreant Harp, that sings of fear + And heaviness in Clifford's ear! + I said, when evil Men are strong, + No life is good, no pleasure long, + A weak and cowardly untruth! + Our Clifford was a happy Youth, + And thankful through a weary time, 110 + That brought him up to manhood's prime. + --Again he wanders forth at will, + And tends a Flock from hill to hill: + His garb is humble; ne'er was seen + Such garb with such a noble mien; + Among the Shepherd-grooms no Mate + Hath he, a Child of strength and state! + Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee, + And a chearful company, + That learn'd of him submissive ways; 120 + And comforted his private days. + To his side the Fallow-deer + Came, and rested without fear; + The Eagle, Lord of land and sea, + Stoop'd down to pay him fealty; + And both the undying Fish that swim + Through Bowscale-Tarn did wait on him, + The pair were Servants of his eye + In their immortality, + They moved about in open sight, 130 + To and fro, for his delight. + He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt + On the Mountains visitant; + He hath kenn'd them taking wing: + And the Caves where Faeries sing + He hath entered; and been told + By Voices how Men liv'd of old. + Among the Heavens his eye can see + Face of thing that is to be; + And, if Men report him right, 140 + He can whisper words of might. + --Now another day is come, + Fitter hope, and nobler doom: + He hath thrown aside his Crook, + And hath buried deep his Book; + Armour rusting in his Halls + On the blood of Clifford calls;-- + + "Quell the Scot," exclaims the Lance, + "Bear me to the heart of France, + Is the longing of the Shield-- 150 + Tell thy name, thou trembling Field; + Field of death, where'er thou be, + Groan thou with our victory! + Happy day, and mighty hour, + When our Shepherd, in his power, + Mail'd and hors'd, with lance and sword, + To his Ancestors restored, + Like a reappearing Star, + Like a glory from afar, + First shall head the Flock of War!" 160 + + Alas! the fervent Harper did not know + That for a tranquil Soul the Lay was framed, + Who, long compell'd in humble walks to go, + Was softened into feeling, sooth'd, and tamed. + Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie, + His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, + The silence that is in the starry sky, + The sleep that is among the lonely hills. + + In him the savage Virtue of the Race, + Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead: 170 + Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place + The wisdom which adversity had bred. + + Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth; + The Shepherd Lord was honour'd more and more: + And, ages after he was laid in earth, + "The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore. + + + + + + +_LINES_, + Composed at GRASMERE, during a walk, one Evening, after + a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper + that the dissolution of MR. FOX was hourly expected. + + + Loud is the Vale! the Voice is up + With which she speaks when storms are gone, + A mighty Unison of streams! + Of all her Voices, One! + + Loud is the Vale;--this inland Depth + In peace is roaring like the Sea; + Yon Star upon the mountain-top + Is listening quietly. + + Sad was I, ev'n to pain depress'd, + Importunate and heavy load! 10 + The Comforter hath found me here, + Upon this lonely road; + + And many thousands now are sad, + Wait the fulfilment of their fear; + For He must die who is their Stay, + Their Glory disappear. + + A Power is passing from the earth + To breathless Nature's dark abyss; + But when the Mighty pass away + What is it more than this, 20 + + That Man, who is from God sent forth, + Doth yet again to God return?-- + Such ebb and flow must ever be, + Then wherefore should we mourn? + + + + + + +_ELEGIAC STANZAS_, + Suggested by a Picture of PEELE CASTLE, in a Storm, + _painted_ BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. + + + I was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! + Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: + I saw thee every day; and all the while + Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. + + So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! + So like, so very like, was day to day! + Whene'er I look'd, thy Image still was there; + It trembled, but it never pass'd away. + + How perfect was the calm! it seem'd no sleep; + No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10 + I could have fancied that the mighty Deep + Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. + + Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, + To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, + The light that never was, on sea or land, + The consecration, and the Poet's dream; + + I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile! + Amid a world how different from this! + Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; + On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss: 20 + + Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house, a mine + Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven:-- + Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine + The very sweetest had to thee been given. + + A Picture had it been of lasting ease, + Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; + No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, + Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. + + Such, in the fond delusion of my heart, + Such Picture would I at that time have made: 30 + And seen the soul of truth in every part; + A faith, a trust, that could not be betray'd. + + So once it would have been,--'tis so no more; + I have submitted to a new controul: + A power is gone, which nothing can restore; + A deep distress hath humaniz'd my Soul. + + Not for a moment could I now behold + A smiling sea and be what I have been: + The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; + This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 + + Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, + If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, + This Work of thine I blame not, but commend; + This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. + + Oh 'tis a passionate Work!--yet wise and well; + Well chosen is the spirit that is here; + That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, + This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! + + And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, + I love to see the look with which it braves, 50 + Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, + The light'ning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. + + Farewell, farewell the Heart that lives alone, + Hous'd in a dream, at distance from the Kind! + Such happiness, wherever it be known, + Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. + + But welcome fortitude, and patient chear, + And frequent sights of what is to be born! + Such sights, or worse, as are before me here.-- + Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 + + + + + + +ODE. + + _Paulo majora canamus_. + + +_ODE_. + + + There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, + The earth, and every common sight, + To me did seem + Apparell'd in celestial light, + The glory and the freshness of a dream. + It is not now as it has been of yore;-- + Turn wheresoe'er I may, + By night or day, + The things which I have seen I now can see no more. + + The Rainbow comes and goes, 10 + And lovely is the Rose, + The Moon doth with delight + Look round her when the heavens are bare; + Waters on a starry night + Are beautiful and fair; + The sunshine is a glorious birth; + But yet I know, where'er I go, + That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. + + Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, + And while the young Lambs bound 20 + As to the tabor's sound, + To me alone there came a thought of grief: + A timely utterance gave that thought relief, + And I again am strong. + The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, + No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; + I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, + The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, + + And all the earth is gay, + Land and sea 30 + Give themselves up to jollity, + And with the heart of May + Doth every Beast keep holiday, + Thou Child of Joy + Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd Boy! + + Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call + Ye to each other make; I see + The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; + My heart is at your festival, + My head hath its coronal, 40 + The fullness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all. + Oh evil day! if I were sullen + While the Earth herself is adorning, + This sweet May-morning, + And the Children are pulling, + On every side, + In a thousand vallies far and wide, + Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, + And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm:-- + I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 50 + --But there's a Tree, of many one, + A single Field which I have look'd upon, + Both of them speak of something that is gone: + The Pansy at my feet + Doth the same tale repeat: + Whither is fled the visionary gleam? + Where is it now, the glory and the dream? + + Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: + The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, + Hath had elsewhere its setting, 60 + And cometh from afar: + Not in entire forgetfulness, + And not in utter nakedness, + But trailing clouds of glory do we come + From God, who is our home; + Heaven lies about us in our infancy! + Shades of the prison-house begin to close + Upon the growing Boy, + But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, + He sees it in his joy; 70 + The Youth, who daily farther from the East + Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, + And by the vision splendid + Is on his way attended; + At length the Man perceives it die away, + And fade into the light of common day. + + Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; + Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, + And, even with something of a Mother's mind, + And no unworthy aim, 80 + The homely Nurse doth all she can + To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, + Forget the glories he hath known, + And that imperial palace whence he came. + + Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, + A four year's Darling of a pigmy size! + See, where mid work of his own hand he lies, + Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses, + With light upon him from his Father's eyes! + See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 90 + Some fragment from his dream of human life, + Shap'd by himself with newly-learned art; + A wedding or a festival, + A mourning or a funeral; + And this hath now his heart, + And unto this he frames his song: + Then will he fit his tongue + To dialogues of business, love, or strife; + + But it will not be long + Ere this be thrown aside, 100 + And with new joy and pride + The little Actor cons another part, + Filling from time to time his "humourous stage" + With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, + That Life brings with her in her Equipage; + As if his whole vocation + Were endless imitation. + + Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie + Thy Soul's immensity; + Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 110 + Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, + That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, + Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,-- + Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! + On whom those truths do rest, + Which we are toiling all our lives to find; + Thou, over whom thy Immortality + + Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, + A Presence which is not to be put by; + To whom the grave 120 + Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight + Of day or the warm light, + A place of thought where we in waiting lie; + Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might + Of untam'd pleasures, on thy Being's height, + Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke + The Years to bring the inevitable yoke, + Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? + Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, + And custom lie upon thee with a weight, 130 + Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! + + O joy! that in our embers + Is something that doth live, + That nature yet remembers + What was so fugitive! + + The thought of our past years in me doth breed + Perpetual benedictions: not indeed + For that which is most worthy to be blest; + Delight and liberty, the simple creed + Of Childhood, whether fluttering or at rest, 140 + With new-born hope for ever in his breast:-- + Not for these I raise + The song of thanks and praise; + But for those obstinate questionings + Of sense and outward things, + Fallings from us, vanishings; + Blank misgivings of a Creature + Moving about in worlds not realiz'd, + High instincts, before which our mortal Nature + Did tremble like a guilty Thing surpriz'd: 150 + But for those first affections, + Those shadowy recollections, + Which, be they what they may, + Are yet the fountain light of all our day, + Are yet a master light of all our seeing; + Uphold us, cherish us, and make + Our noisy years seem moments in the being + Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, + To perish never; + Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 160 + Nor Man nor Boy, + Nor all that is at enmity with joy, + Can utterly abolish or destroy! + Hence, in a season of calm weather, + Though inland far we be, + Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea + Which brought us hither, + Can in a moment travel thither, + And see the Children sport upon the shore, + And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 170 + + Then, sing ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! + And let the young Lambs bound + As to the tabor's sound! + We in thought will join your throng, + Ye that pipe and ye that play, + Ye that through your hearts to day + Feel the gladness of the May! + What though the radiance which was once so bright + Be now for ever taken from my sight, + Though nothing can bring back the hour 180 + Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; + We will grieve not, rather find + Strength in what remains behind, + In the primal sympathy + Which having been must ever be, + In the soothing thoughts that spring + Out of human suffering, + In the faith that looks through death, + In years that bring the philosophic mind. + + And oh ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 190 + Think not of any severing of our loves! + Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; + I only have relinquish'd one delight + To live beneath your more habitual sway. + I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, + Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; + The innocent brightness of a new-born Day + Is lovely yet; + The Clouds that gather round the setting sun + Do take a sober colouring from an eye 200 + That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; + Another race hath been, and other palms are won. + Thanks to the human heart by which we live, + Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, + To me the meanest flower that blows can give + Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. + + + + + + +_NOTES to the SECOND VOLUME_. + + +_NOTES_. + + +NOTE I. + +PAGE 4 (177); line 2.--"And wondrous length and strength of arm." +The people of the neighbourhood of Loch Ketterine, in order to prove +the extraordinary length of their Hero's arm, tell you that +"he could garter his Tartan Stockings below the knee when standing +upright." According to their account he was a tremendous Swordsman; +after having sought all occasions of proving his prowess, he was +never conquered but once, and this not till he was an Old Man. + + +NOTE II. + +PAGE 11 (185).--_The solitary Reaper_. This Poem was suggested by a +beautiful sentence in a MS Tour in Scotland written by a Friend, the +last line being taken from it _verbatim_. + + +NOTE III. + +PAGE 65 (239).--THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY. The incident upon which +this Poem is founded was related to me by an eye witness. + + +NOTE IV. + +PAGE 106 (280); line 10.--"Seen the Seven Whistlers, &c." Both these +superstitions are prevalent in the midland Counties of England: that +of "Gabriel's Hounds" appears to be very general over Europe; being +the same as the one upon which the German Poet, Burger, has founded +his Ballad of the Wild Huntsman. + + +NOTE V. + +PAGE 128 (302).--_Song, at the Feast of Brougham Castle_. Henry Lord +Clifford, &c. &c., who is the subject of this Poem, was the son of +John, Lord Clifford, who was slain at Towton Field, which John, Lord +Clifford, as is known to the Reader of English History, was the +person who after the battle of Wakefield slew, in the pursuit, the +young Earl of Rutland, Son of the Duke of York who had fallen in the +battle, "in part of revenge" (say the Authors of the History of +Cumberland and Westmorland); "for the Earl's Father had slain his." +A deed which worthily blemished the author (saith Speed); But who, as +he adds, "dare promise any thing temperate of himself in the heat of +martial fury? chiefly, when it was resolved not to leave any branch +of the York line standing; for so one maketh this Lord to speak." +This, no doubt, I would observe by the bye, was an action +sufficiently in the vindictive spirit of the times, and yet not +altogether so bad as represented; for the Earl was no child, as +some writers would have him, but able to bear arms, being sixteen or +seventeen years of age, as is evident from this (say the Memoirs of +the Countess of Pembroke, who was laudably anxious to wipe away, as +far as could be, this stigma from the illustrious name to which she +was born); that he was the next Child to King Edward the Fourth, +which his mother had by Richard Duke of York, and that King was then +eighteen years of age: and for the small distance betwixt her +Children, see Austin Vincent in his book of Nobility, page 622, +where he writes of them all. It may further be observed, that Lord +Clifford, who was then himself only twenty-five years of age, had +been a leading Man and Commander, two or three years together in the +Army of Lancaster, before this time; and, therefore, would be less +likely to think that the Earl of Rutland might be entitled to mercy +from his youth.--But, independent of this act, at best a cruel and +savage one, the Family of Clifford had done enough to draw upon them +the vehement hatred of the House of York: so that after the Battle +of Towton there was no hope for them but in flight and concealment. +Henry, the subject of the Poem, was deprived of his estate and +honours during the space of twenty-four years; all which time he +lived as a shepherd in Yorkshire, or in Cumberland, where the estate +of his Father-in-law (Sir Lancelot Threlkeld) lay. He was restored +to his estate and honours in the first year of Henry the Seventh. It +is recorded that, "when called to parliament, he behaved nobly and +wisely; but otherwise came seldom to London or the Court; and rather +delighted to live in the country, where he repaired several of his +Castles, which had gone to decay during the late troubles." Thus far +is chiefly collected from Nicholson and Burn; and I can add, from my +own knowledge, that there is a tradition current in the village of +Threlkeld and its neighbourhood, his principal retreat, that, in the +course of his shepherd life, he had acquired great astronomical +knowledge. I cannot conclude this note without adding a word upon +the subject of those numerous and noble feudal Edifices, spoken of +in the Poem, the ruins of some of which are, at this day, so great an +ornament to that interesting country. The Cliffords had always been +distinguished for an honorable pride in these Castles; and we have +seen that after the wars of York and Lancaster they were rebuilt; in +the civil Wars of Charles the First, they were again laid waste, and +again restored almost to their former magnificence by the celebrated +Lady Anne Clifford, Countess of Pembroke, &c. &c. Not more than 25 +years after this was done, when the Estates of Clifford had passed +into the family of Tufton, three of these Castles, namely Brough, +Brougham, and Pendragon, were demolished, and the timber and other +materials sold by Thomas Earl of Thanet. We will hope that, when +this order was issued, the Earl had not consulted the text of Isaiah, +58th Chap. 12th Verse, to which the inscription placed over the +gate of Pendragon Castle, by the Countess of Pembroke (I believe his +Grandmother) at the time she repaired that structure, refers the +reader. "_And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste +places; thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations, and +thou shalt be called the repairer of the breach_, _the restorer of +paths to dwell in_." The Earl of Thanet, the present possessor of +the Estates, with a due respect for the memory of his ancestors, and +a proper sense of the value and beauty of these remains of antiquity, +has (I am told) given orders that they shall be preserved from all +depredations. + + +NOTE VI. + +PAGE 130 (304); line 2.--"Earth helped him with the cry of blood." +This line is from The Battle of Bosworth Field by Sir John Beaumont +(Brother to the Dramatist), whose poems are written with so much +spirit, elegance, and harmony, that it is supposed, as the Book is +very scarce, a new edition of it would be acceptable to Scholars and +Men of taste, and, accordingly, it is in contemplation to give one. + + +NOTE VII. + +PAGE 135 (309); line 15.-- + + "And both the undying Fish that swim + Through Bowscale-Tarn," &c. + +It is imagined by the people of the Country that there are two +immortal Fish, Inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains +not far from Threlkeld.--Blencathara, mentioned before, is the old +and proper name of the mountain vulgarly called Saddle-back. + + +NOTE VIII. + +PAGE 136 (310); lines 17 and 18.-- + + "Armour rusting in his Halls + On the blood of Clifford calls." + +The martial character of the Cliffords is well known to the readers +of English History; but it may not be improper here to say, by way of +comment on these lines and what follows, that, besides several +others who perished in the same manner, the four immediate +Progenitors of the person in whose hearing this is supposed to be +spoken, all died in the Field. + + +NOTE IX. + +PAGE 140 (314).-- + + "Importunate and heavy load!" + + * * * * * + + _'Importuna e grave salma_.' + --MICHAEL ANGELO. + + + + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. 2 *** + +This file should be named 8824.txt or 8824.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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