Shall be a mansion for all lovely Of suffering hath been thoroughly 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 fortified That after many wanderings, many ОH, 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. [From The Excursion.] THE PROP OF FAITH. ONE adequate support For the calamities of mortal life Exists - one only- an assured belief That the procession of our fate, however Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being Of infinite benevolence and power, Whose everlasting purposes embrace All accidents, converting them to good. The darts of anguish fix not where the seat [From The Excursion.] UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. many are the poets that are sown And go to the grave unthought of. Strongest minds Are often those of whom the noisy world hears least. [From The Excursion.] THE DEAF DALESMAN. ALMOST at the root Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare And slender stem, while here I sit at eve, Oft stretches towards me, like a long straight path Traced faintly in the greensward; there beneath A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies, From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul; And this deep mountain valley was to him Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn Did never rouse this cottager from sleep With startling summons; nor for his delight The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him Murmured the laboring bee. When stormy winds Were working the broad bosom of the lake Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves, Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags, The agitated scene before his eye Was silent as a picture: evermore Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved; Yet, by the solace of his own pure thoughts Upheld, he duteously pursued the round Of rural labors; the steep mountainside Ascended, with his staff and faithful dog; The plough he guided, and the scythe he swayed; And the ripe corn before his sickle fell Among the jocund reapers. For himself, All watchful and industrious as he was, He wrought not; neither flock nor field he owned; No wish for wealth had place within his mind; Nor husband's love, nor father's hope or care. Though born a younger brother, need was none That from the floor of his paternal home He should depart to plant himself anew ; And when, mature in manhood, he beheld His parents laid in earth, no loss ensued Of rights to him; but he remained well pleased, By the pure bond of independent love, An inmate of a second family, Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight That pressed upon his brother's house, for books Were ready comrades whom he could not tire, Of whose society the blameless man Was never satiate. Their familiar voice, Even to old age, with unabated charm Beguiled his leisure hours, refreshed his thoughts; Beyond its natural elevation, raised His introverted spirit, and bestowed Upon his life an outward dignity Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night, But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Black misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal nature There, healthy as a shepherd-boy, Shalt show us how divine a thing Did tremble like a guilty thing sur-Thy thoughts and feelings shall not prised! But for those first affections, Which, be they what they may, cherish-and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence: truths that wake, To perish never; die, Nor leave thee when gray hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave; But an old age serene and bright, THE DAFFODILS. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud Which neither listlessness, nor mad When all at once I saw a crowd, endeavor, Nor man nor boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Hence, in a season of calm weather, Which brought us hither; And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. TO A YOUNG LADY, A host of golden daffodils; Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, The waves beside them danced, but Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: In such a jocund company: I gazed and gazed, but little thought WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED For taking lonG What wealth the show to me had WALKS IN THE COUNTRY. DEAR child of nature, let them There is a nest in a green dale, brought. For oft when on my couch I lie, And dances with the daffodils. |