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That slept so calmly while the nightly dew Innocuous as a firstling of a flock, Moisten'd each fleece, beneath the twinkling And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky,
Shalt change thy temper; and, with many These couch'd ʼmid that lone Camp on Hard
a shock knot's height, Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Whose Guardians bent the knee to Jove and Dance like a Bacchanal from rock to rock,
Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high! These near that mystic Round of Druid frame, Tardily sinking by its proper weight Deep into patient Earth, from whose smooth
XXI. breast it came!
WHENCE that low voice?-A whisper from XVIII.
That told of days long past when here I Sacred Religion, mother of form and fear,
roved Dread Arbitress of mutable respect,
With friends and kindred tenderly beloved; New rites ordaining when the 'old are Some who had early mandates to depart,
Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart Or cease to please the fickle worshipper;
By Duddon's side; once more do we unite, If one strong wish may be embosomed here, Once more beneath the kind Earth's tranquil Mother of Love! for this deep vale, protect
light; Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright And smother'd joys into new being start.
From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall Gifted to purge the vapoary atmosphere
Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory; That seeks to stifle it;-as in those days
Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and When this low Pile a Gospel-Teacher knew,
free Whose good works formed an endless retinue: As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall Such Priest as Chaucer sang in fervent lays; On gales that breathe too gently to recal Such as the heaven-taught skill of Herbert Aught of the fading year's inclemency!
drew; And tender Goldsmith crown'd with deathless praise !
A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time,
Came to this hidden pool, whose depths My frame hath often trembled with delight in crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass;
surpass When hope presented some far-distant good, That seemed from heaven descending, like And, gazing, saw that rose, which from
the prime the flood of yon pure waters, from their aery height, of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound:
Derives its name, reflected as the chime Hurrying with lordly Duddon to unite; Who, 'mid a world of images imprest
The starry treasure from the blue profound On the calm depth of his transparent breast,
She long'd to ravish;-shall she plunge, or
climb Appears to cherish most that Torrent white, The humid precipice, and seize the guest The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all! And seldom hath ear listen'd to a tune
Of April, smiling high in upper air ? More lulling than the bury hum of Noon,
Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare Swoln by that voice— whose murmur musical
To prompt the thought?-Upon the steep
rock's breast Announces to the thirsty fields a boon Dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall. Untouched memento of her hapless doom!
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom,
XXIII. The old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Sad thoughts, avaunt!- the fervour of the Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flow'ry
Poured on the fleece - encumbered flock, The still repose, the liquid lapse serene,
invites Transferr'd to bowers imperishably green, To laving currents, for prelusive rites Jad beautified Elysium ! But these chains Duly performed before the Dales-men shrar Will soon be broken;-a rough course Their panting charge. The distant mountains remains,
hear, Kough as the past; where Thou, of placid Icar and repeat, the turmoil that unites
Clamour of boys with innocent despites
of barking dogs, and bleatinge from strange Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous,keen,
Green as the sult-sea billows, white and green, Meanwhile, if Duddon's spotless breast receive Poured down the hills, a choral multitude! Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise Nor have I tracked their course for scanty Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive
gains ; Such wrong ; nor need we blame the licensed They tanght me random cares and truant joys
joys, Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise : That shield from mischief and preserve from Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.
stains Vague minds, while men are growing out
Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise
XXVII. If we advance unstrengthend by repose, Farewell the solace of the vagrant reed. I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest, This Nook, with woodbine hung and strag- Crowded together under rustling trees,
gling weed, Brushed by the current of the water-breeze; Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose, And for their sakes, and love of all that rent, Half grot, half arbour, proffers to enclose On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest; Body and mind, from molestation freed, For all the startled scaly tribes that slink In narrow compass--narrow as itself: Into his coverts, and each fearless link Or if the Fancy, too industrious Elf, Of dancing insects forged upon his breast; Be loth that we should breathe awhile exempt for these, and hopes and recollections worn From new incitements friendly to our task, Close to the vital seat of human clay; There wants not stealthy prospect, that may Glad meetings--tender partings--that upstay
The drooping mind of absence, by rows Loose Idless to forego her wily mask.
sworn In bis pure presence near the trysting thorn;
I thanked the Leader of my onward way.
No record tells of lance opposed to lance, The One for whom my heart shall ever beat Horse charging horse 'mid these retired With tenderest love; -or, if a safer seat
domains; Atween his downy wings be furnished, there Nor that their turf drank purple from the Would lodge her, and the cherish'd burden
Of heroes fall’n, or struggling to advance, O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat!
Till doubtful combat issiled in a trance Rough ways my steps have trod; too rough of victory, that struck through heart and and long
reins, For her companionship; hered wells soft ease: Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains, With sweets which she partakes not some And lightened o'er the pallid countenance.
Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie Mingles, and lurking consciousness of wrong; In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn, Languish the flowers; the waters seem to The passing Winds memorial tribute pay;
The Torrents ehaunt their praise, inspiring Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease
scorn to please.
of power usurp’d, - with proclamation high,
And glad acknowledgment of lawful sway. XXVI.
XXIX. Return, Content! for fondly I pursued, Even when a child, the Streams- unheard, Wno swerves from innocence, who makes unseen;
divorce Through tangled woods, impending rocks of that serene companion--a good name,
Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame, Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed With doubt, with fear, and haply with The sullen reservoirs whence their bold
And oft-times he, who, yielding to the force of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast From chosen comrade turns, or faithful Where all his unambitious functions fail.
And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be In vain shall rue the broken intercourse.
free, Not so with such as loosely wear the chain The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, That binds them,pleasantRiver! to thy side:— And each tumultuous working left behind Through the rough copse wheel Thou with At seemly distance, to advance like Thee,
hasty stride, Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm mind I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain, And soul, to mingle with Eternity ! Sure, when the separation has been tried, That we, who part in love, shall meet again.
I thought of Thee, my partner and my gaide,
As being past away.–Vain sympathies ! The Kirk of Ulpha to the Pilgrim's eye For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, Is welcome as a Star, that doth present I see what was, and is, and will abide; Its shining forehead through the peaceful Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever rent
glide ; Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky; The Form remains, the Function never dies; Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high Whileue, the brave,the mighty, and the wise, O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent; We Men, who in our morn of youth defied Or the Indian tree whose branches, down- The elements, must vanish ;- be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have Take root again, a boundless canopy.
power How sweet were leisure! could it yield no To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go, Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard Thro' love, thro' hope, and faith's transcendto recline,
ant dower, From pastoral graves extracting thoughts We feel that we are greater than we know.
And Hermits are contented with their Cells; And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands And Students with their pensive Citadels : Held ;--but in radiant progress tow'rd the Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom,
Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep
bloom, Sink, and forget their nature;—now expands High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove-bells: Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep! In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Beneath an ampler sky a region wide Ourselves, no prison is : and hence to me, Is opened round him ;-hamlets, towers, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: And blue-topp'd hills, behold him from afar; Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied,
must be) Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs, who have felt the weight of too much With Commerce freighted or triumphant
liberty, War. Should find short solace there, as I have
found. XXXII. But here no cannon thunders to the gale;
II. Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast A crimson splendour; lowly is the mast O GENTLE Sleep! do they belong to thee, That rises here, and humbly spread the sail; These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love While less disturbed than in the narrow Vale To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove, Through which with strange vicissitudes A Captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, 0 Sleep! thou art to me
A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove The Winds that will be howling at all hours Upon a fretful rivulet, now above, And are up-gathered now like sleeping Now on the water vexed with mockery.
flowers; I have no pain that calls for patience, no; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; Hence am I cross and peevish as a child : It moves us not-Great God! I'd rather be And pleas'd by fits to have thee for my foe, A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; Yet ever willing to be reconciled :
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, O gentle Creature! do not use me so, Have glimpses that would make me less But once and deeply let me be beguiled.
forlorn : Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea ;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. III.
TO THE MEMORY OP RAISLEY CALVERT.
A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by,
Calvert! it must not be unheard by them I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Who may respect my name that I to thee Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodics Ow'd many years of early liberty. Must hear, first utter'dfroin my orchard-trees; This care thine when sickness did And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry.
condeinn Even thus last night, and two nights more, Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and
I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: That I, if frugal and severe, might stray So do not let me wear to-night away:
Where'er I liked ; and finally array Without Thee what is all the morning's My temples with the Muse’s diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth, Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays
Of higher mood, which now I meditate,
To think how much of this will be thy praise.
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee,
VII. Sleep! And thou hast had thy store of tenderest I criev'd for Buonaparte, with a vain
names; The very sweetest words that fancy frames
And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires When thankfulness of heart is strong and And knowledge such as He could never gain?
To genuine greatness but from just desires
deep! Dear bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep The Governor who must be wise and good,
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train In rich reward all suffering; balm that tames And temper with the sternness of the brain All anguish; saint that evil thoughts and
Thoughts motherly,and meek as womanhood. Takest away, and into souls dost creep,
Wisdom doth live with children round her Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
knees: I surely not a man ungently made, Call thee worst Tyrant by which 'Flesh is Man holds with week-day man in the hourly crost?
walk Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown,
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees Mere Slave of them who never for thee By which true Sway doth mount; this is
the stalk pray'd, Still last to come where thou art wanted
True Power doth grow on; and her rights most!
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. Getting and spending, we lay waste our
Touksiint, the most unhappy Man of Men! Little we see in Nature that is ours; Whether the all-cheering Sun be free to shed We have given our hearts away, a sordid His beams around thee, or thou rest thy head
Pillowed in some dark dungeon's noisome den, This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 10 miserable chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do
XI. thou Wear rather in thy bonds a chearful brow: Great Men have been among us; hands Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,
that penn'd Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind And tongues that utter'd wisdom, better none: Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, The later Sydney, Marvel, Harrington,
and skies ;
Young Vane, and others who callid Milton There's not a breathing of the common wind
Friend. That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; These Moralists could act and comprehend : Thy friends are exultations, agonies, They knew how genuine glory was put on; And love, and Man's unconquerable mind. Taught us how rightfully a nation shone
In splendor: what strength was, that would
not bend IX. But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis
Hath brought forth no such souls as we had COMPOSED IN TAB VALLEY, NEAR DOVER.
then On the Day of landing.
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single Volume paramount, no code, Dear fellow-traveller! here we
No master-spirit, no determined road;
But equally a want of Books and Men! The Cock that crows, the smoke that curls,
that sound Of bells, those Boys that in yon meadow
XII. ground In white-sleev'd shirts are playing, and the COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS. Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore,
August, 1802. All, all are English. Oft have I look'd round Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, With joy in Kent's green vales; but never
Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass, On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest,
to sink Thought for another moment. Thou art free My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the Conspicuons to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Shouldst be my Country's emblem; and
grass Of England once again, and hear and see,
shouldst wink, With such a dear Companion at my side.
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners,
drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. X.
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
Onc life, one glory! I, with many a fear BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among Men who do not love her, linger here.
Two Voices are there: one is of the Sea,
look Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. For shew; mean handywork of craftsman, Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:
cook, Then cleave, oh cleave to that which still Or groom! We must run glittering like a is left!
brook For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best: That mountain-floods should thunder as No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expence, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, This is idolatry; and these we adore: And neither awful Voice be heard by thee! Plain living and high thinking are no more :