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"How pleasant," then he said, "it were The wind, the tempest roaring high,

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2 In this beautiful stanza, the author seemed to him that in the course and proxpresses the enthusiastic gladness with gress of this event all the ancient holdings hich he had himself hailed the French of oppression and wrong were to disapCevolution of 1789, which he confidently pear, and a golden age of universal peace egarded as the dawn of a new era of free-to succeed.

om and happiness in the world. It

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Earth wants not beauty that may scorn
A likening to frail flowers;
Yea, to the stars, if they were born
For seasons and for hours.

For I have left my Father's roof,
In terror of the Czar."

No answer did the Matron give,
No second look she cast,
But hung upon the Fugitive,
Embracing and embraced.

She led the Lady to a seat
Beside the glimmering fire,
Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,

Prevented each desire:

The cricket chirp'd, the house-dog dozed,
And on that simple bed,

Where she in childhood had reposed,
Now rests her weary head.

When she, whose couch had been the sod,
Whose curtain, pine or thorn,
Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,
Who comforts the forlorn;

While over her the Matron bent

Sleep seal'd her eyes, and stole

Feeling from limbs with travel spent,
And trouble from the soul.

Refresh'd, the Wanderer rose at morn,
And soon again was dight
In those unworthy vestments worn
Through long and perilous flight;
And "O beloved Nurse," she said,

"My thanks with silent tears
Have unto Heaven and you been paid:
Now listen to my fears!

Have you forgot" (and here she smiled)
"The babbling flatteries

Through Moscow's gates, with gold un-You lavish'd on me when a child
Stepp'd One at dead of night, [barr'd, Disporting round your knees?
Whom such high beauty could not guard | I was your lambkin, and your bird,
From meditated blight;

By stealth she pass'd, and fled as fast
As doth the hunted fawn,

Nor stopp'd, till in the dappling East
Appear'd unwelcome dawn.

Seven days she lurk'd in brake and field,

Seven nights her course renew'd,
Sustain'd by what her scrip might yield,

Or berries of the wood;
At length in darkness travelling on,
When lowly doors were shut,
The haven of her hope she won,
Her Foster-mother's hut.

"To put your love to dangerous proof I come," said she, "from far;

Your star, your gem, your flower; Light words, that were more lightly heard In many a cloudless hour!

The blossom you so fondly praised

Is come to bitter fruit;

A mighty One upon me gazed;

I spurn'd his lawless suit,

And must be hidden from his wrath:
You, Foster-father dear,
Will guide me in my forward path;
I may not tarry here!

3 Prevented in the old sense of antici pated. The usage is frequent in Shakespeare, as also in the Bible and PrayerBook.

THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.

17

annot bring to utter woe

Your proved fidelity.”.

The bold good Man his labour sped At nature's pure command;

Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,

or you we both would die."

ay, nay, I come with semblance feign'd

and cheek embrown'd by art; t, being inwardly unstain'd,

With courage will depart."

While, in a hollow nook,

She moulds her sight-eluding den Above a murmuring brook.

His task accomplish'd to his mind, The twain ere break of day

ut whither would you, could you, flee? Creep forth, and through the forest wind

A poor Man's counsel take;

e Holy Virgin gives to me

A thought for your dear sake:

st, shielded by our Lady's grace, And soon shall you be led rth to a safe abiding-place, Where never foot doth tread."

PART II.

E dwelling of this faithful pair n a straggling village stood,r One who breathed unquiet air A dangerous neighbourhood; t wide around lay forest ground Vith thickets rough and blind; d pine-trees made a heavy shade mpervious to the wind.

d there, sequester'd from the sight, Vas spread a treacherous swamp, which the noonday Sun shed light As from a lonely lamp;

ad midway in th' unsafe morass A single Island rose

firm dry ground, with healthful grass Adorn'd, and shady boughs,

e Woodman knew-for such the craft

This Russian vassal plied

at never fowler's gun, nor shaft Of archer, there was tried: sanctuary seem'd the spot From all intrusion free;

d there he plann'd an artful Cot For perfect secrecy.

ith earnest pains uncheck'd by dread Of Power's far-stretching hand,

Their solitary way;

Few words they speak, nor dare to slack Their pace from mile to mile,

Till they have cross'd the quaking marsh, And reach'd the lonely Isle.

The Sun above the pine-trees show'd
A bright and cheerful face;
And Ina look'd for her abode,

The promised hiding-place:

She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen,

Nor roof, nor window; -all seem'd wild As it had ever been.

Advancing, you might guess an hour, The front with such nice care

Is mask'd, "if house it be 5 or bower,"
But in they enter'd are:

As shaggy as were wall and roof
With branches intertwined,
So smooth was all within, air-proof,
And delicately lined:

And hearth was there, and maple dish,
And cups in seemly rows,
And couch,-all ready to a wish

For nurture or repose;

And Heaven doth to her virtue grant
That here she may abide

In solitude, with every want
By cautious love supplied.

No queen, before a shouting crowd,
Led on in bridal state,

E'er struggled with a heart so proud,
Entering her palace gate;
Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,
No saintly anchoress
E'er took possession of her cell
With deeper thankfulness.

5 Some obscurity here, perhaps; but the word if is construed with guess, and is equivalent to whether; the sense thus

1 The meaning probably is, "Whither being, "you might guess an hour whether

"Father of all, upon Thy care

And mercy am I thrown;

Upon her Island desolate;

And words, not breathed in vain,

Be Thou my safeguard!" such her prayer Might tell what intercourse she found,

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To one mute Presence, above all, Her soothed affections clung,

The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, A picture on the cabin wall

Diffused through form and face, Resolves devotedly serene;

That monumental grace

Of Faith, which doth all passions tame
That Reason should control;
And shows in the untrembling frame
A statue of the soul.

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Yet, when above the forest glooms

The white swans southward pass'd, High as the pitch of their swift plumes

Her fancy rode the blast;

And bore her toward the fields of France, Her Father's native land,

To mingle in the rustic dance,

The happiest of the band!

6 It may be well to note that bay and laurel mean the same thing. Wordsworth probably had in mind a passage of The Faerie Queene, i. 1, 9: "The laurell, meed Of those beloved fields she oft of mightie conquerours and poets sage."

Had heard her Father tell,

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