We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.5

"they are of the sky,

And from our earthly memory fade away."

THOSE words were utter'd as in pensive mood
We turn'd, departing from that solemn sight;
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily woo'd!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;

Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
Th' immortal mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

SEPTEMBER, 1815.

WHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,
With ripening harvest prodigally fair,

In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields

Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
For me, who under kindlier laws belong

To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
Announce a season potent to renew,.

'Mid frost and snow, th' instinctive joys of song,
And nobler cares than listless Summer knew.

NOVEMBER 1.

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
The effluence from yon distant mountain's head,
Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,
Shines like another sun,- on mortal sight

Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread,

5 Composed October 4th, 1802, after a journey over the Hambleton Hills, on a day memorable to me, the day of my marriage. The horizon commanded by those hills is most magnificent. — Author's Notes.

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.

If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head,--
Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight
Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,
Unswept, unstain'd? Nor shall th' aërial Powers
Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure,
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,
Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring
Has fill❜d the laughing vales with welcome flowers.

COMPOSED DURING A STORM.

ONE who was suffering tumult in his soul
Yet fail'd to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth,- his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;

While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,

And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the Sun were not. He raised his eye

Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc,-shield of Tranquillity;

Invisible, unlook'd-for minister

Of providential goodness ever nigh!

LONE Flower, hemm'd in with snows and white as they,
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend

Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,

Like an unbidden guest. Though, day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay
The rising Sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

TO LADY BEAUMONT.

LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;

powers

And shrubs, to hang upon the warm alcove
And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove
The dream, to time and Nature's blended
I gave this paradise for winter hours,-
A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove.
Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,
Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom
Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
Be gracious as the music and the bloom
And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.

THERE is a pleasure in poetic pains

Which only Poets know;-'twas rightly said:
Whom could the Muses else allure to tread

Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains?
When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains,

How oft the malice of one luckless word
Pursues th' Enthusiast to the social board,
Haunts him belated on the silent plains!
Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear,
At last, of hindrance and obscurity,

Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn;
Bright, speckless, as a softly-moulded tear
The moment it has left the virgin's eye,
Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn.

THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said,
"Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!"
Forthwith that little cloud, in ether spread
And penetrated all with tender light,
She cast away, and show'd her fulgent head
Uncover'd; dazzling the Beholder's sight,
As if to vindicate her beauty's right,
Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagéd.
Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside,
Went floating from her, darkening as it went;
And a huge mass, to bury or to hide,
Approach'd this glory of the firmament;
Who meekly yields, and is obscured,-content
With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

WHEN haughty expectations prostrate lie,
And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.

Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring
Mature release, in fair society

Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try;
Like these frail snow-drops that together cling,
And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing
Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by.
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand
Th' Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate;
And so the bright immortal Theban band,
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

HAIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!
Not dull art thou as undiscerning Night;
But studious only to remove from sight
Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient Power!
Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lour,
To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower
Look'd ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen
The self-same Vision which we now behold,

At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth;
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;
The flood, the stars, a spectacle as old

As the beginning of the Heavens and Earth!

WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky,
"How silently, and with how wan a face!"
Where art thou? thou so often seen on high
Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race!
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase,
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I
The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be:
And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven,
Should sally forth, to keep thee company,

Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven;
But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given,
Queen both for beauty and for majesty.

EVEN as a dragon's eye that feels the stress

૧૧

188888

78

WORDSWORTH.

Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,
So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recess
Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless:
The lake below reflects it not; the sky
Muffled in clouds, affords no company
To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.
Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing
Which sends so far its melancholy light,
Perhaps are seated in domestic ring
A gay society with faces bright,

Conversing, reading, laughing;- or they sing,
While hearts and voices in the song unite.

THE stars are mansions built by Nature's hand,
And, haply, there the spirits of the blest
Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest;
Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand,
A habitation marvellously plann'd,
For life to occupy in love and rest;
All that we see is dome, or vault, or nest,
Or fortress, rear'd at Nature's sage command.
Glad thought for every season! but the Spring
Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart,
'Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring;
And while the youthful year's prolific art-
Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower-was fashioning
Abodes where self-disturbance hath no part.

DESPONDING Father! mark this alter'd bough,
So beautiful of late, with sunshine warm'd,
Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now,
Its blossoms shrivell'd, and its fruit, if form'd,
Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow
Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay
As false to expectation. Nor fret thou
At like unlovely process in the May
Of human life: a Stripling's graces blow,
Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall
(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow
Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call:
In all men, sinful is it to be slow

To hope,-in Parents, sinful above all.

BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;