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That veiling strove to deck your charms divine,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
Thence learnt you that heroic measure.
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
ODE TO TRANQUILLITY.
TRANQUILLITY! thou better namo
Than all the family of Fame ! There crowd your finely-fibred frame,
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper ago All living faculties of bliss ;
To low intrigue, or factious rage; And Genius to your cradle came,
For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth, His forehead wreathed with lambent flame,
To thee I gave my early youth, And bending low, with godlike kiss
And left the bark, and blest the stedfast shore, Breathed in a more celestial life ;
Ere yet the Tempest rose and scared me with its roar.
Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
Thy spirit rests! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind :
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.
But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomd mead; The sordid vices and the abject pains,
And in the sultry summer's heat Which evermore must be
Will build me up a mossy scat; The doom of Ignorance and Penury!
And when the gust of Autumn crowds But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, You hailid the Chapel and the Platform wild, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Where once the Austrian fell
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding Moon Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To thee I dedicate the whole !
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan Which Heaven and Nature bless,
The present works of present man I may not vilely prostitute to those
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, Whose Infants owe them less
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile! Than the poor Caterpillar owes
Its gaudy Parent Fly.
The Babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye,
TO A YOUNG FRIEND,
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE
COMPOSED IN 1796.
A MOUNT, not wearisome and hare and stoep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled, The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, His chariot-planet round the goal of day,
Or color'd lichens with slow oozing weep; All trembling gazes on the Eye of God,
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild ; A moment turn'd his awful face away;
And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash And as he view'd you, from his aspect sweet Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash; New influences in your being rose,
Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beBlest Intuitions and Communions fleet
guiled, With living Nature, in her joys and woes! Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep; Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, The shrine of social Liberty !
That rustling on the bushy clist above, O beautiful! O Nature's child!
With melancholy bleat of anxious love, "Twas thence you haild the Platform wild, Made moek inquiry for her wandering lamb:
Such a green mountain 't were most sweet to climb,
LINES TO W. L. ESQ.
WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC. bless
WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues, The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime And I have many friends who hold me dear; Now lead, now follow: the glad landscape round, L -! methinks, I would not often hear Wide and more wide, increasing without bound! Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress, O then 't were loveliest sympathy, to mark
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
And if at death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye, In social silence now, and now to unlock
Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide, The treasured heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Would make me pass the cup of anguish by, Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died ! Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till high o'erhead his beckoning friend appears,
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE, That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs,
WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND Which latest shall detain the enamour'd sight
IIENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe,
O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear!
To plunderd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear: Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
O'er the rank church-yard with sere elm-leaves Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
strew'd, To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedewid :
Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs Then downwards. slope, oft pausing, from the The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while thy
heart mount, To some lone mansion, in some woody dále,
Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims, Where smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind) Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's kiss!
What Nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave life's commonweal
A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.
SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.
How many various-fated years have past, Where Inspiration, his diviner strains
What happy, and what mournful hours, since last Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Suff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks Numbering its light leaps ! yet so deep imprest Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age, Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise, O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows gray, Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime ;
And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes And from the stirring world uplifted high
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my (Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs : And oft the toelancholy theme supply),
Ah! that once more I were a careless child ! There, while the prospect through the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR
HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, Rekindling sober Joy's domestic flame.
OF A SON, SEPTEMBER 20, 1796. They whom I love shall love thee. Honor'd youth! Ort o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Now may Heaven realize this vision bright! Which makes the present (while the flash doth last)
While others wish thee wise and fair,
A maid of spotless fame,
Mayst thou deserve thy name!
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,
We lived, ere yet this robe of Flesh we wore.
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere
reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier !
Thy Mother's name, a potent spell,
That bids the Virtues hie
Confest to Fancy's eye ;
Meek Quietness, without offence;
Content, in homespun kirtle ;
White Blossom of the Myrtle!
Associates of thy name, sweet Child !
These Virtues mayst thou win;
To say, they lodge within.
TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE
NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME.
So when, her tale of days all flown,
Thy Mother shall be miss'd here;
And Angels snatch their Sister;
CHARLES ! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scann'd that face of feeble infancy: For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my child might be ! But when I saw it on its Mother's arm,
And hanging at her bosom (she the while
Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile). Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm Impress'd a Father's kiss : and all beguiled
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,
I seem'd to sce an angel-form appear"T was even thine, beloved woman mild !
So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear, And dearer was the Mother for the Child.
Some hoary-headed Friend, perchance,
May gaze with stilled breath ;
Forget the waste of death.
Ev'n thus a lovely rose I view'd
In summer-swelling pride ;
Peep'd at the Rose's side.
It chanced, I pass'd again that way
In Autumn's latest hour,
• Rich with the self-same flower.
THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE HYMN.
COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A CATHOLIC
VILLAGE IN GERMANY.
Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name,
Another and the same!
Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
Blande, veni, soinnule.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
Sleep, my darling, tenderly !
Come, soft slumber, balmily!
Its balmy lips the Infant blest
And such my Infant's latest sigh!
ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD.
STRETCH'D on a moulder'd Abbey's broadest wall, * Ην που ημων η ψυχη πριν εν τωδε τω ανθρωπινω Where ruining ivies propp'd the ruins steep ειδει γενεσθαι.
Her folded arms wrapping her tatter'd pall,
The fern was press'd beneath her hair,
She listen'd to the tale divine, The dark-green Adder's Tongue* was there;
And closer still the Babe she press'd ; And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
And while she cried, the Babe is mine! The long lank leaf bow'd fluttering o'er her cheek.
The milk rush'd faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn; That pallid cheek was flush'd : her eager look Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born. Beamd eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, And her bent forehead work'd with troubled
Poor, simple, and of low estate! thought.
That Strife should vanish, Battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate ?
Did'st thou ne'er love to hear of Fame and Glory?
And is not War a youthful King,
A stately Hero clad in mail ?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; The Birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Their Friend, their Play-mate! and his bold bright eye Sood his parents' marriage-bed.
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. Here first, an infant to her breast,
“ Tell this in some more courtly scene, Him his loving mother prest;'
To maids and youths in robes of state ! And kiss'd the babe, and bless'd the day,
I am a woman poor and mean, And pray'd as mothers use to pray :
And therefore is my Soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, * Vouchsafe him health, O God, and give
That from the aged Father tears his Child !
He kills the Sire and starves the Son ;
The Husband kills, and from her board Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause
Steals all his Widow's toil had won; A spirit to his rocks akin,
Plunders God's world of beauty ; rends away The eye of the Hawk, and the fire therein!
| All safety from the Night, all comfort from the Day.
To Nature and to IIoly writ
“ Then wisely is my soul elate,
That Strife should vanish, Battle cease:
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Ile knew not that his chosen hand,
ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY.
If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare THE Shepherds went their hasty way,
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
But are their whole of being! If the Breath
Be Life itself, and not its task and tent,
If even a soul like Milton's can know death,
O Man! thou vessel, purposeless, unmeant,
Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes !
Surplus of Nature's dread activity,
Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finish'd vase, Around them shone, suspending night!
Retreating slow, with meditative pause,
She form'd with restless hands unconsciously! Blest Angels heralded the Savior's birth,
Blank accident! nothing's anomaly! Glory to God on high! and peace on Earth.
If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state,
Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy Hopes, thy Fears, A botanical mistake. The plant which the poet bere de- The counter-weights !—Thy Laughter and thy Tears scribcs is called the Hart's Tongue.
Mean but themselves, each fittest to create,
And to repay the other! Why rejoices
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue ! Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good ? Where'er with wilderd steps she wander'd pale,
Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood, Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view, Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices, Still Edmund's voice accused her in each gale.
Image of image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold! With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms, Yet what and whence thy gain if thou withhold Amid the pomp of affluence she pined :
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self? Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund's arms Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun!
Could lull the wakesul horror of her mind.
Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
Some tearful maid, perchance, or blooming youth,
That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.
IMITATED FROM SCHILLER.
OR, A VISION IN A DREAM.
(The following fragment is here published at the request of a Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his Throne! poct of great and deserved celebrity, and, as far as the Author's They advance, they float in, the Olympians all! ownlopinions are concerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, With Divinities fills my
than on the ground of any supposed poctic merils. Terrestrial Hall !
In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house betwecn Porlock and Linton,
on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In conHlow shall I yield you
sequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been preDue entertainment,
scribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in bis chair at Celestial Quire ?
the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of up- "Here the khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a
words of the same substance, in Purchas's "Pilgrimage:"buoyance
stately garden thereunto ; and thus ten miles of fertile ground Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, were inclosed with a wall." The author continued for about That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre!
three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, Ha! we mount! on their pinions they walt up my Soul! during which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could
not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if
that indeed can be called composition in which all the images O give me the Nectar!
rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the O fill me the Bowl!
correspondent expressions, without any sensation, or conscious
ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a Give him the Nectar!
distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and Pour out for the Poet,
paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here Hebe! pour free!
preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above That Styx the detested no more he may view,
an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some
vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision. Thanks, Hebe! I quafl it! Io Pæan, I cry!
yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines ani The Wine of the Immortals
images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the Forbids me to die!
surface of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas!
Then all the charm
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each misshnpes the other. Stay awhile,
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo, he stays,
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
The pool becomes a mirror. Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound,
Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author Where “sleeps the moonlight” on yon verdant bed has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been O humbly press that consecrated ground! originally, as it were, given to him. Sajipov adcov acu:
but the to-morrow is yet to come. For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain!
As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a And there his spirit most delights to rove:
very different character, describing with equal fidelity the
dream of pain and disease. --Note to the first Edition, 1816.) Young Edmund! famod for each harmonious strain, And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.
In Xanadu did Kabla Khan
And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Down to a sunless sca