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LINES,

Composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour.

FIVE years have pass'd; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain springs
With a sweet inland murmur.*— Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

Which on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard tufts,
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
Among the woods and copses, nor disturb
The wild green landscape. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem,
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire
The hermit sits alone.

Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye :
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensation sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,

*The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above Tintern.

With tranquil restoration :-feelings too
Of unremember'd pleasure; such, perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence,
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremember'd acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world

Is lighten'd; - that serene and blessèd mood,
In which th' affections gently lead us on, -
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood,
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

If this

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

O sylvan Wye! Thou wand'rer through the woods,
How often has my spirit turn'd to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguish'd thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,

And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

The picture of the mind revives again :

While here I stand, not only with the sense

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food

For future years. And so I dare to hope,

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides

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And follow me where I shall lead'.
The other took him at his word;
But did not like the deed.

It was a spot, which you may see
If ever you to Langdale go:

Into a chasm a mighty block

come on,

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock : The gulf is deep below;

And in a basin black and small

Receives a lofty waterfall.

VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft
The challenger began his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gain'd
The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan
Again! - his heart within him dies
His pulse is stopp'd, his breath is lost,
He totters, pale as any ghost,
And, looking down, he spies

A lamb, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful rent.

VII.

The lamb had slipp'd into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The cataract had borne him down

Into the gulf profound.

His dam had seen him when he fell,

She saw him down the torrent borne ;

And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound.

VIII.

When he had learnt what thing it was,
That sent this rueful cry, I ween,
The boy recover'd heart, and told
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferr'd their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid;
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books,
By chance had thither stray'd;
And there the helpless lamb he found,
By those huge rocks encompass'd round.

IX.

He drew it gently from the pool,

And brought it forth into the light :

The shepherds met him with his charge,

An unexpected sight!

Into their arms the lamb they took,

Said they, 'He's neither maim'd nor scarr'd'.

Then up the steep ascent they hied,

And placed him at his mother's side;

And gently did the Bard

Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid,

And bade them better mind their trade.

TO H. C.

Six years old.

O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou fairy voyager ! that dost float

In such clear water, that thy boat
May rather seem

And these my exhortations! nor, perchance,

If I should be where I 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 serviee: 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.

ON THE NAMING OF PLACES.

Advertisement.

By persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects, many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little incidents have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give some sort of record to such incidents, or renew the gratification of such feelings, names have been given to places by the author and some of his friends, and the following poems written in consequence.

I.

IT was an April morning: fresh and clear
The rivulet, delighting in its strength,

Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied

Was soften'd down into a vernal tone.

The spirit of enjoyment and desire,

And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.

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