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Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees;
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away:

Without thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health !

'BELOVED VALE!' I said, 'when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down; to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one.'
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears;
Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none.
By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd,
To see the trees, which I had thought so tall,
Mere dwarfs; the brooks so narrow, fields so small,
A juggler's balls old Time about him toss'd;
I look'd, I stared, I smiled, I laugh'd; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

TO LIBERTY.

Composed in the valley, near Dover, on the day of
Landing.

Dear fellow-traveller, here we are once more!
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells, those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing,— and the roar

Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore,-
All, all are English. Oft have I lookèd round
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.

Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,

My country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear companion at my side.

September, 1802.

INLAND, within a hollow vale, I stood;

And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,
The coast of France- the coast of France how near !
Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.

I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood

Was like a lake, or river bright and fair,

A span of waters; yet what power was there!
What mightiness for evil and for good!
Even so doth God protect us if we be

Virtuous and wise. Winds blow and waters roll,
Strength to the brave, and power, and deity,
Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree
Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul
Only the nations shall be great and free.

Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation 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 fought'st 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, O 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!

Written in London, September, 1802. O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, oppress'd To think that now our life is only dress'd For show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, Or groom! We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest : The wealthiest man among us is the best : No grandeur now, in Nature or in book, Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore : Plain living and high thinking are no more : The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.

London, 1802.

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men :
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gain'd
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The Trees' tall summits wither'd at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!

SONNETS.

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