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But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love, -
THE VISIONARY HOPE.
San lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he would— For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams So the love-stricken visionary deems) Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-side bower' Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
The HAPPY HUSBAND. A fraGMENT.
Orr, oft methinks, the while with Thee
A promise and a mystery,
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep! A feeling that upbraids the heart With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep' Nor bless I not the keener sense And unalarming turbulence
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
And into tenderness soon dying,
A more precipitated vein
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self—a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!
RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.
How warm this woodland wild Recess!
Swells up, then sinks with fain caress,
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.
No voice as yet had made the air
That sense of promise every where?
As when a mother doth explore
As whom I long had loved before—
You stood before me like a thought,
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE, AFTER LONG ABSENCE,
UNDER stroNG MEdical Recoxixie NDATION NOT TO
God be with thee, gladsome Ocean' How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion, And men rejoicing on thy shore.
Dissuading spake the mild Physician,
But my soul fulfill'd her mission,
Fashion's pining sons and daughters, That seek the crowd they seem to fly,
Trembling they approach thy waters; And what cares Nature, if they die?
Me a thousand hopes and pleasures,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures,
Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking), -
Silent adorations, making
O ye hopes, that stir within me,
God is with me, God is in me!
THE COMPOSITION OF A Kiss.
Cupid, if storying legends' tell aright,
On thy bald awful head, 0 sovran Blanc:
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing—there As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven'
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest' not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstacy' Awake, Voice of sweet song ' Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale : 0 struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth : Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shatter'd and the same for ever: Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye Ice-falls' ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain– Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents' silent cataracts' Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full Moon Who hade the Sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at vour feet?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing ye meadow-streams with bladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds: And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, Aud in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
! stood on Brocken's sovran height, and saw
* The highest mountain in the Hartz, and indeed in North Gerwasy. * —— — — — when I have saved From some high eminence on goodly vales, And cots and villages embower'd below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Aluid the scenes to fair, nor one small spot where my tired mind might rest, and call it hone. Soutury's Hymn to the Penates.
My native land! Fill'd with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Floated away, like a departing dream, Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who framed Mankind to be one mighty Family, Himself our Father, and the World our Home.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
"| And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour
The EOLIAN HARP. composed At clev EdoN, soviefsetshire.
My pensive Sara! thy soft check reclined
And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
And thus, my love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That trenible into thought, as o'er them sweeps, Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All? o
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts Din and unhallow'd dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek daughter in the family of Christ! Well hast thou said and holily dispraised These shapings of the unregenerate mind; Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of him, The Incomprehensible! save when with awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels; Who with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable Man, Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!
REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT.
Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest rose
was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.
But the time, when first From that low dell, steep up the stony Mount I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top, Oh! what a goodly scene! Here the bleak Mount, The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep; Grey clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields, And River, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowd, Now winding bright and full, with naked banks; And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey and the Wood, And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire; The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Ocean– It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought,
Had built him there a Temple: the whole World
Seem'd imaged in its vast circumference, No wish profaned my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! It was a luxury-to be!
Ah! quiet dell; dear cot, and mount sublime! I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled, That I should dream away the entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart With feelings all too delicate for use? Sweet is the tear that from some toward's eye Drops on the check of One he lifts from Earth : And He that works me good with unmoved face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My Benefactor, not my Brother Man! Yet even this, this cold beneficence Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou scann'st The Sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe: Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies: I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ.
Yet oft, when after honourable toil
To me th' Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed A different fortune and more different mind— Me from the spot where first I sprang to light Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix'd Its first domestic loves; and hence through life Chasing chance-started Friendships. A brief while Some have preserved me from Life's pelting ills; But, like a tree with leaves of fechle stem, If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once Dropp'd the collected shower; and some most false, False and fair foliaged as the Manchineel, Have tempted me to slumber in their shade Een mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps, Mix'd their own venom with the rain from Heaven, That I woke poison'd' But, all praise to Him Who gives us all things, more have yielded me Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend, Beneath th' impervious covert of one Oak, I've raised a lowly shed, and know the names Of Husband and of Father; nor unhearing Of that divine and nightly-whispering Woice, which from my childhood to maturer years
Spake to me of predestinated wreaths, Bright with no fading colours!
At mine own home and birth-place: chiefly then,
Loved as a brother, as a son revered thee!
Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours, When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind, Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times, Cope with the tempest's swell!
These various strains, Which I have framed in many a various mood, Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance will strike discordant on thy milder mind) If aught of Error or in temperate Truth Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper age Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!
INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH.
This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,
A TOMBLESS EPITAPh.
'T is true, Idoloclastes Satyrane!