I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, The waves beside them danced; but they In such a jocund company: I gazed-and gazed-but little thought For oft, when on my couch I lie And then my heart with pleasure fills, heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail: And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: to waste; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret: And the half-breathless Lamplighter-he's in the net! 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, backed 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. 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; Have souls which never yet have risen, 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 show 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 and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: One after One they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. 1806. The Show-man chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square: And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands 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 ? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? XVI. WRITTEN IN MARCH, WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER. THE Cock is crowing, The green field sleeps in the sun; Are at work with the strongest ; Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy 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! 1801. And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy Shade upon the sunshine lying Faint and somewhat pensively; And downward Image gaily vying With its upright living tree Mid silver clouds, and openings of blue sky Or watch, with mutual teaching, In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps Dr note (translucent summer's happiest chance!) XVIII. BEGGARS. SHE had a tall man's height or more; And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. Her skin was of Egyptian brown: Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles. Advancing, forth she stretched her hand And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature Said I, "not half an hour ago Your Mother has had alms of mine." "That cannot be," one answered-" she is dead:" I looked reproof-they saw-but neither hung his head. "She has been dead, Sir, many a day.""Hush, boys! you're telling me a lie; It was your Mother, as I say!" And, in the twinkling of an eye, "Come! come !" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew! 1802. XIX. SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING, COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER. WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys? And implements of frolic mirth; More fresh, more bright, than princes wear; What good or evil have they seen They met me in a genial hour, As with the breath of one sweet flower,- Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, Since parting Innocence bequeathed Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky-the brooks ran clear; 1817. XX. GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Of human Beings, in the self-same spot! Men, women, children, yea the frame Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. -Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone, while I Have been a traveller under open sky, Much witnessing of change and cheer, The glorious path in which he trod. 1807. XXI. RUTH. WHEN Ruth was left half-desolate, Beneath her father's roof, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay; She grew to woman's height. There came a Youth from Georgia's shoreA military casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest; He brought them from the Cherokees; And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung: But no he spake the English tongue, And bore a soldier's name; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his check In finest tones the Youth could speak: The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, He was a lovely Youth! I guess And, when he chose to sport and play, Among the Indians he had fought, Such tales as told to any maid He told of girls-a happy rout! To gather strawberries all day long; When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change With budding, fading, faded flowers He told of the magnolia, spread -Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam To set the hills on fire. The Youth of green savannahs spake, Of islands, that together lie "How pleasant," then he said, "it were In sunshine or in shade To wander with an easy mind; And build a household fire, and find A home in every glade! What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee So passed in quiet bliss, And all the while," said he, "to know On such an earth as this !" And then he sometimes interwove Sweet Ruth and could you go with me Or run, my own adopted bride, Beloved Ruth!"-no more he said. She thought again-and did agree And drive the flying deer. "And now, as fitting is and right, We in the church our faith will plight, Even so they did; and I may say Through dream and vision did she sink, And green savannahs, she should share But, as you have before been told, So beautiful, through savage lands The wind, the tempest roaring high, For him, a Youth to whom was given Whatever in those climes he found A kindred impulse, seemed allied Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween For passions, linked to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share But ill he lived, much evil saw, A Man who without self-control And yet he with no feigned delight Sometimes, most earnestly, he said, "O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; Before me shone a glorious world— I looked upon those hills and plains, No more of this; for now, by thee, My soul from darkness is released, Full soon that better mind was gone; Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, But, when they thither came, the Youth God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had, And there, with many a doleful song Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, -They all were with her in her cell; When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, But of the Vagrant none took thought; Among the fields she breathed again : The engines of her pain, the tools The vernal leaves-she loved them still; A Barn her winter bed supplies: She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, An innocent life, yet far astray! And Ruth will, long before her day, Be broken down and old: Sore aches she needs must have! but less NA 7485 |