THIS Height a ministering Angel might select: For from the summit of BLACK COMв (dread name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen
That British ground commands: - low dusky tracts, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian Hills
To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The hoary Peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde ;- Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Gigantic Mountains rough with crags; beneath, Right at the imperial Station's western base, Main Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched
Far into silent regions blue and pale;- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle
That, as we left the Plain, before our sight Stood like a lofty Mount, uplifting slowly, (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Its habitable shores; but now appears
A dwindled object, and submits to lie
At the Spectator's feet. -Yon azure Ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there
Do we behold the frame of Erin's Coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd swain (Like the bright confines of another world)
Not doubtfully perceived. Look homeward now! In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
The spectacle, how pure! Of Nature's works,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A revelation infinite it seems;
Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power.
(I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days which cannot die; When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door, With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, A nutting-crook in hand, and turn'd my steps Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame.
Motley accoutrement of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, — and, in
More ragged than need was. Among the woods, And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation, but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin scene! · A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blessed With sudden happiness beyond all hope.- Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on and I saw the sparkling foam,
For ever, And with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage; and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, Even then, when from the bower I turned away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees and the intruding sky. - Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch for there is a spirit in the woods.
« PreviousContinue » |