My frame hath often trembled with delight Of yon pure waters, from their aery height, The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all! XX. Innocuous as a firstling of a flock, XXI. WHENCE that low voice?-A whisper from the heart, That told of days long past when here I And smother'd joys into new being start. As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall On gales that breathe too gently to recal Aught of the fading year's inclemency! XXII. A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time, Came to this hidden pool, whose depths surpass In crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass ; And, gazing, saw that rose, which from the prime Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound: Untouched memento of her hapless doom! XXIII. THE old inventive Poets, had they seen, plains, The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferr'd to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken; a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, year, Poured on the fleece - encumbered flock, invites To laving currents, for prelusive rites Duly performed before the Dales-men shear Their panting charge. The distant mountains hear, Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites Clamour of boys with innocent despites fear. Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange | Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous,keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green, Poured down the hills, a choral multitude! Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains; Meanwhile, if Duddon's spotless breast receive Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise: XXIV. MID-NOON is past;-upon the sultry mead If we advance unstrengthen'd by repose, Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose, Loose Idless to forego her wily mask. XXV. METHINKS 'twere no unprecedented feat O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat! distaste They taught me random cares and truant That shield from mischief and preserve from Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise XXVII. reins. I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest, Of heroes fall'n, or struggling to advance, Of victory, that struck through heart and Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains, And lightened o'er the pallid countenance. Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie Mingles, and lurking consciousness of In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn, Languish the flowers; the waters seem to The passing Winds memorial tribute pay; The Torrents ehaunt their praise, inspiring waste wrong; Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to please. XXVI. RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued, unseen; Through tangled woods, impending rocks scorn Of power usurp'd, with proclamation high, XXIX. Wno swerves from innocence, who makes Of that serene companion-a good name, remorse. | And oft-times he, who, yielding to the force Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, | The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast From chosen comrade turns, or faithful Where all his unambitious functions fail. And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be free, The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance, to advance like Thee, Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity! XXXIII. I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.-Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; | Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky; ward bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy. more Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard to recline, From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine; Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Sooth'd by the unseen River's gentle roar. XXXI. NoT hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep XXXII. BUT here no cannon thunders to the gale; power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go, Thro' love, thro' hope, and faith's transcendant dower, We feel that we are greater than we know. MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. I. NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room; And Hermits are contented with their Cells; And Students with their pensive Citadels: Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove-bells: In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find short solace there, as I have found. II. O GENTLE Sleep! do they belong to thee, A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove III. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous IV. health! XI. GREAT Men have been among us; hands These Moralists could act and comprehend: But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange, Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! XII. COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS. August, 1802. FAIR Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Shouldst be my Country's emblem; and shouldst wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory! I, with many a fear THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, OF SWITZERLAND. Two Voices are there: one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou foughtst against Him; but hast vainly striven; Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: Then cleave, oh cleave to that which still is left! For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be That mountain-floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee! Among Men who do not love her, linger here. XIII. September, 1802. O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, Or groom! We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: |