(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.-I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.-That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense 3 For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A
presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I

still

A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,- both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make
Knowing that Nature never did betrav
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege

Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing
thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance-
If I should be where 1 no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these
gleams

Of past existence-wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
1798.

XXVII.

IT is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown,
And is descending on his embassy;
Nor Traveller gone from earth the heavens to
espy!

'Tis Hesperus-there he stands with glittering

crown,

First admonition that the sun is down!
For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by;
A few are near him still-and now the sky,
He hath it to himself-'tis all his own.
O most ambitious Star! an inquest wrought
Within me when I recognised thy light;
A moment I was startled at the sight:
And, while I gazed, there came to me a though
That I might step beyond my natural race
As thou seem'st now to do; might one day trace
Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength
above,

My Soul, an Apparition in the place,
Tread there with steps that no one shall reprove!
1803.

Upon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,

But to be young was very heaven!-Oh! times
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The attraction of a country in romance!
When Reason seemed the most to assert her
rights,

When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress-to assist the work
Which then was going forward in her name!
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,
The beauty wore of promise, that which sets
(As at some moment might not be unfelt
Among the bowers of paradise itself)
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
What temper at the prospect did not wake
To happiness unthought of? The inert
Were roused, and lively natures rapt away !
They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,
The playfellows of fancy, who had made
All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength
Their ministers,-who in lordly wise had stirred
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
And dealt with whatsoever they found there
As if they had within some lurking right
To wield it-they, too, who, of gentle mood,
Had watched all gentle motions, and to these
Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more
mild,

And in the region of their peaceful selves;-
Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty
Did both find, helpers to their heart's desire,
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish;
Were called upon to exercise their skill,
Not in Utopia, subterranean fields,

Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where!
But in the very world which is the world
Of all of us,--the place where in the end
We find our happiness, or not at all!
1805.

XXIX.

YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,

Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound!
Unsolicited reply

To a babbling wanderer sent;
Like her ordinary cry,

Like-but oh, how different!
Hears not also mortal Life?

Hear not we, unthinking Creatures!
Slaves of folly, love, or strife-
Voices of two different natures?

Have not we too?-yes, we have

Answers, and we know not whence: Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognised intelligence! Such rebounds our inward ear Catches sometimes from afarListen, ponder, hold them dear; For of God,-of God they are. 1806.

XXX.

TO A SKY-LARK.

ETHEREAL minstrel pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?

Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music
still!

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood:
A privacy of glorious light is thine:
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine:
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam:
True to the kindred points of Heaven and
Home!

r825.

XXXI. LAODAMIA.

"WITH Sacrifice before the rising morn Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired. And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required: Celestial pity I again implore:

Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!" So speaking, and by fervent love endowed With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, Her countenance brightens-and her eye expands;

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;

And she expects the issue in repose.

O terror! what hath she perceived?—O joy! What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?

Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
It is if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
And a God leads him, winged Mercury!
Mild Hermes spake-and touched her with his
wand

That calms all fear: "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,

Laodamía that at Jove's command
Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:
He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space:
Accept the gift, behold him face to face!'
Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord
to clasp:

Again that consummation she essayed:
But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp
As often as that eager grasp was made..
The Phantom parts- but parts to re-unite,
And re-assume his place before her sight.

Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past: Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys

Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains:
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.
Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
A fervent, not ungovernable, love.
Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn-"
"Ah, wherefore?-Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And Æson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.
The Gods to us are merciful-and they
Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's

breast.

But if thou goest, I follow-" "Peace!" he said,

She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered:

The ghastly colour from his lips had fled :
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,
Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away-no strife to heal-

That privilege by virtue "Ill," said he,
"The end of man's existence I discerned,
Who from ignoble games and revelry
Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight.
While tears were thy best pastime, day and
night;

And while my youthful peers before my eyes
(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
By martial sports,-or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains and kings in council were detained;
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.
The wished-for wind was given:-I then re-
volved

The oracle, upon the silent sea;

That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,-
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan
sand.

Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,-
The paths which we had trod-these fountains.
flowers:

My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.
But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,
'Behold they tremble !-haughty their array
Yet of their number no one dares to die'?
In soul I swept the indignity away:
Old frailties then recurred :-but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.
And Thou, though strong in love, art all too
weak

In reason, in self-government too slow;
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
The invisible world with thee hath sympathised:
Be thy affections raised and solemnised.
Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend-
Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end;
For this the passion to excess was driven-
That self might be annulled: her bondage

Lords of the visionary eye whose lid,
Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall!
Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement
Obeys a mystical intent!

Your Minister would brush away
The spots that to my soul adhere;
But should she labour night and day,
They will not, cannot disappear;

Whence angry perturbations,-and that look
Which no Philosophy can brook!

VI.

Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built
Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;
Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt,
Pursue thee with their deadly aim!

O matchless perfidy! portentous lust

Of monstrous crime-that horror-striking blade,

Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid
The noble Syracusan low in dust!
Shudder'd the walls-the marble city wept-
And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh;
But in calm peace the appointed Victim slept,
As he had fallen in magnanimity;

Of spirit too capacious to require

That Destiny her course should change; too just

To his own native greatness to desire

That wretched boon, days lengthened oy mis

WITHIN the mind strong fancies work,
A deep delight the bosom thrills,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills:

Where, save the rugged road, we find
No appanage of human kind,
Nor hint of man; if stone or rock
Seem not his handy-work to mock
By something cognizably shaped;
Mockery-or model roughly hewn,
And left as if by earthquake strewn,
Or from the Flood escaped:
Altars for Druid service fit:
(But where no fire was ever lit,
Unless the glow-worm to the skies
Thence offer nightly sacrifice)
Wrinkled Egyptian monument:

Green moss-grown tower or hoary tent:
Tents of a camp that never shall be razed-
On which four thousand years have gazed!

11.

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes ! Ye snow-white lambs that trip

Imprisoned 'mid the formal props Of restless ownership!

Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall
To feed the insatiate Prodigal!
Lawns, houses, chattels, groves and fields,
All that the fertile valley shields ;
Wages of folly-baits of crime,
Of life's uneasy game the stake,
Playthings that keep the eyes awake
Of drowsy, dotard Time ;-

O care! O guilt !-O vales and plains,
Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains,
A Genius dwells, that can subdue
At once all memory of You,-

Most potent when mists veil the sky,
Mists that distort and magnify;

While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping

List to those shriller notes-that march
Perchance was on the blast,

When, through this Height's inverted arch,
Rome's earliest legion passed!

-They saw, adventurously impelled,
And older eyes than theirs beheld,
This block-and yon, whose church-like frame
Gives to this savage Pass its name.
Aspiring Road that lov'st to hide
Thy daring in a vapoury bourn,
Not seldom may the hour return
When thou shalt be my guide:
And I (as all men may find cause,
When life is at a weary pause,
And they have panted up the hill
Of duty with reluctant will)

Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of constraint;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
That choice lacked courage to bestow !

IV.

My Soul was grateful for delight
That wore a threatening brow;
A veil is lifted-can she slight
The scene that opens now?
Though habitation none appear,
The greenness tells, man must be there;
The shelter-that the perspective
Is of the clime in which we live :
Where Toil pursues his daily round:
Where Pity sheds sweet tears-and Love,
In woodbine bower or birchen grove,
Inflicts his tender wound.

-Who comes not hither ne'er shall know
How beautiful the world below;
Nor can he guess how lightly leaps
The brook adown the rocky steeps.
Farewell, thou desolate Domain!
Hope, pointing to the cultured plain,
Carols like a shepherd-boy:
And who is she?-Can that be Joy!
Who, with a sunbeam for her guide,
Smoothly skims the meadows wide:
While Faith, from yonder opening cloud,
To hill and vale proclaims aloud,
"Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked
dare,

Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!" 1817.