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Now lead, now follow : the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dasn,-
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark, To thee I gave my early youth,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock ; And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, In social silence now, and now t’unlock Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its The treasured heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears
That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain th' enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims, ro vex the severish slumbers of the mind :
Tinged yellow with the rich departing light; The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind. And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears, But me thy gentle hand will lead
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale! At morning through th' accustom'd mead; Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, And in the sultry summer's heat
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine, Will build me up a mossy seat;
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, And when the gust of autumn crowds Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, While west winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd: Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon. Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the
mount, The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To some lone mansion, in some woody dale, To thee I dedicate the whole !
Where smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss And while within myself I trace
Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss! The greatness of some suture race, Aloof with hermit eye I scan
Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, The present works of present man
The hill of knowledge I essay'd to trace;
To glad and fertilize the subject plains;
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod,
Where inspiration, his diviner strains
Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age, COMPOSED IN 1796.
And bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage! A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled, O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime; Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;
And from the stirring world uplifted high, Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; (Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, And ’mid the summer torrent's gentle dash To quiet musings shall attune the mind, Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash;
And oft the melancholy theme supply,) Beneath wbose boughs, by those still sounds be- There, while the prospect through the gazing guiled,
eye Calm pensiveness might muse herself to sleep; Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame, That rustling on the bushy clist above,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
As neighbouring fountains image, each the Made meek inquiry for her wandering lamb.
whole : Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to Then, when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth, climb,
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, E’en while the bosom ached with loneliness- Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. How more than sweet, if some dear friend should They whom I love shall love thee. Honour'd bless
youth ! Th’adventurous toil, and up the path sublime Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!
LINES TO W. L., ESQ.,
SONNET. WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC. COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR
HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF TRE BIRTS WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues, And I have many friends who hold me dear;
OF A SON, SEPTEMBER 20, 1796. L-methinks, I would not often hear OĚT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
Which makes the present (while the flash doth All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
last) For which my miserable brethren weep!
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, But should uncomforted misfortunes steep Mix'd with such feelings, as perplex the soul My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
Self-question'd in her sleep; and some have said* And if at death's dread moment I should lie
We lived ere yet this robe of flesh we wore. With no beloved face at my bed-side,
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
If heavy looks shall tell me thou art dead, Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel- (As sometimes, through excess of bope, I fear,) guide,
I think that I should struggle to believe Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died ! Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve;
Didst scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick
While we wept idly o'er thy little bier! ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FOR
WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND
TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE HENCE that fantastic wantonness of wo
NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME. O youth to partial fortune vainly dear!
CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first To plunder'd want's half-shelter'd hovel go,
I scann'd that face of feeble infancy: Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst Moan haply in a dying mother's ear:
All I had been, and all my child might be! Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood
But when I saw it on its mother's arm, O’er the rank churchyard with sere elm leaves
And hanging at her bosom (she the while strew'd,
Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile,) Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part Then I was thrill’d and melted, and most warm
Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs Iinpress'd a father's kiss: and all beguiled The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, thy heart
I seem'd to see an angel form appearGroans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,
'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild ! Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)
So for the mother's sake the child was dear, What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal! And dearer was the mother for the child.
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd, All effortless thou leave life's commonweal A prey to tyrants, murderers of mankind.
THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE HYMN.
COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A
CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY.
SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.
DORMI, Jesu! Mater ridet,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
Blande, veni, somnule.
DEAR native brook! wild streamlet of the west !
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy, and what mournful hours, since last
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
way, Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs :
Ah! that once more I were a careless child !
Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling,
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
Come, soft slumber, balmily!
* Ην που ημων η ψυχη πριν εν τωδε τω ανθρωπινω ειδει γενεσθαι. .
Plat. in Phædon.
Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
May gaze with stifled breath, And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.
E'en thus a lovely rose I view'd
In summer-swelling pride ; Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude
Peep'd at the rose's side.
It chanced, I pass'd again that way
In autumn's latest hour, And wondering saw the selfsame spray
Rich with the selfsame flower.
She listen'd to the tale divine,
And closer still the babe she press'd;
The milk rush'd faster to her breast:
Thou mother of the Prince of peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
O why should this thy soul elate ?
And is not war a youthful king,
A stately hero clad in mail ?
Him earth's majestic monarchs hail
Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name, Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud,
Another and the same!
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
Its balmy lips the infant blest Relaxing from its mother's breast, How sweet it heaves the happy sigh Of innocent satiety !
“ Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state ! I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child !
And such my infant's latest sigh! O tell, rude stone! the passer by, That here the pretty babe doth lie, Death sang to sleep with lullaby.
* A botanical mistake. The plant which the poet hen describes is called the hart's tongue,
“A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finish'd vase,
He kills the sire and starves the son ; Retreating slow, with meditative pause, The husband kills, and from her board
She form’d with restless hands unconsciously! Steals all his widow's toil had won ; Blank accident! nothing's anomaly ! Plunders God's world of beauty ; rends away If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears,
The counter-weights !--Thy laughter and thy tears “Then wisely is my soul elate,
Mean but themselves, each fittest to create, That strife should vanish, battle cease:
And to repay the other! Why rejoices I'm poor and of a low estate,
Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? The mother of the Prince of peace.
Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood, Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices, Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of peace is born!"
Image of image, ghost of ghostly elf,
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?
Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun! IMITATED FROM STOLBERG.
Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none :
Thy being's being is a contradiction.
IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK VERSE Him his loving mother prest;
Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound, “ Vouchsafe him health, O God, and give
Where “sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant The child, thy servant, still to live !"
bed But God has destined to do more Through him, than through an armed power.
O hurbly press that consecrated ground! God gave him reverence of laws,
For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain! Yet stirring blood in freedom's cause
And there his spirit most delights to rove: A spirit to his rocks akin,
Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain, The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein!
And the sore wounds of ill-requited love. To nature and to holy writ
Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide, Alone did God the boy commit:
And loads the west wind with its soft perfume, Where Aash'd and roar'd the torrent, oft His manhood blossom’d: till the faithless pride His soul found wings, and soar'd aloft! Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb. The straining oar and chamois chase
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue! Had form'd his limbs to strength and grace: Where'er with wilder'd steps she wander'd pale On wave and wind the boy would toss,
Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view, Was great, nor knew how great he was !
Still Edmund's voice accused her in each gale. He knew not that his chosen hand, Made strong by God, his native land
With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms, Would rescue from the shameful yoke
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined: Of slavery-the which he broke!
Nor all that sured her faith from Edmund's arms
Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.
Some tearful maid, perchance, or blooming youth
May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
That riches cannot pay for love or truth.
ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY.
THE VISIT OF THE GODS:
IMITATED FROM SCHILLER.
IF dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief Aash for aye, we fare As summer gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
Be life itself, and not its task and tent,
O man! thou vessel, purposeless, unmeant,
Surplus of nature's dread activity,
NEVER, believe me,
Lo! Phæbus the glorious descends from his throne! | return to his room, found, to his no small surprise They advance, they float in, the Olympians all! and mortification, that though he still retained some With divinities fills my
vague and dim recollection of the general purport Terrestrial hall!
of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight
or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had How shall I yield you
passed away like the images on the surface of a Due entertainment,
stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! Celestial choir ?
without the after restoration of the latter. Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of up
Then all the charm buoyance
Is broken-all that phantom-world go fair Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joy- Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each misshapes the other. Stay a while, ance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre !
Poor youth! who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon Ha! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my The visions will return! And lo, he stays, soul!
And soon the fragments dimof lovely forms
Come trembling back, anite, and now once more () give me the nectar!
The pool hecomes a mirror.
Yet, from the still surviving recollections in his
mind, the author has frequently purposed to finish Pour out for the poet,
for himself what had been originally, as it were, Hebe! pour free!
given to him. Eapepov adıov aow: but the to-morQuicken his eyes with celestial dew,
row is yet to come. That Styx the detested no more he may view, As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a And like one of us gods may conceit him to be!
fragment of a very different character, describing Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! lo pæan, I cry!
with equal fidelity the dream of pain and disease. The wine of th’immortals
--Note to the first edition, 1816.)
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round : [The following fragment is here published at And here were gardens bright with sinudus rills, the request of a poet of great and deserved celebrity, Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree; and, as far as the author's own opinions are con
And here were forests ancient as the hills, cerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, than on
Infolding sunny spots of greenery. the ground of any supposed poetic merits.
In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then But 0 that deep romantic chasm which slanted in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor con- A savage place ! as holy and enchanted fines of Somerset and Devonsbire. In consequence As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been pre- By woman wailing for her demon lover! scribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seethhis chair at the moment that he was reading the
ing, following sentence, or words of the same substance, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, in Purchas's « Pilgrimage:”
:"_“Here the Khan A mighty fountain momently was forced : Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst garden thereunto ; and thus ten miles of fertile Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, ground were enclosed with a wall.” The author or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever at least of the external senses, during which time It flung up momently the sacred river. he has the most vivid confidence that he could not Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion, have composed less than from two to three hun- Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, dred lines; if that indeed can be called composition Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, in which all the images rose up before him as things And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: with a parallel production of the correspondent And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far expressions, without any sensation, or conscious-Ancestral voices prophesying war! ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole,
The shadow of the dome of pleasure and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and Floated midway on the waves ; eagerly wrote down the lines that are here pre- Where was heard the mingled measure served. At this moments he was unfortunately From the fountain and the caves. called out by a person on business from Porlock, It was a miracle of rare device, and detained by him above an hour, and on his A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !