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For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

XXV.

WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH.

CALM is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal :

*

Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain ;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.

*Is up, and cropping yet his later meal.-Edit. 1815.

The line is wonderfully improved by the alteration, and the improvement shows how carefully the poet studied the truth of Nature, even in the commonest matters.

XXVI.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE.

*

EARTH has not any thing to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty :

This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will :
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

XXVII.

BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew ;

And whom the curious Painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks;
If wish were mine some type of thee to view,

Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do

* This sonnet was composed on the outside of the Dover coach, going from London, July 30, 1802. See Life, by Dr. Wordsworth, I., p. 186, note.

Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
Channels for tears; no Naiad should'st thou be,—
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs :
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,
And hath bestowed on thee a safer good;
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

XXVIII.

SKIDDAW.

1801.

PELION and Ossa flourish side by side,
Together in immortal books enrolled :
His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold;
And that inspiring Hill, which 'did divide
Into two ample horns his forehead wide,'
Shines with poetic radiance as of old ;
While not an English Mountain we behold
By the celestial Muses glorified.

Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds:

What was the great Parnassus' self to Thee,

Mount Skiddaw?

In his natural sovereignty

Our British Hill is nobler far; he shrouds

His double front among Atlantic clouds,

And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly.

XXIX.

ADMONITION.

Intended more particularly for the perusal of those who may have happened to be enamoured of some beautiful Place of Retreat, in the Country of the Lakes.

WELL may'st thou halt-and gaze with brightening eye! *

The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook

Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!
But covet not the Abode ;-forbear to sigh,
As many do, repining while they look ;
Intruders-who would tear from Nature's book
This precious leaf, with harsh impiety.

Think what the Home must be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants!-Roof, window, door,
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,

The roses to the porch which they entwine:

Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day
On which it should be touched, would melt away.

XXX.

"BELOVED Vale!" I said, "when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone

In earlier editions this sonnet commenced

"Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye."

Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no tears;
Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none.
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost

I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall ;*
So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small !
A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed;
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed ; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

XXXI.

SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind-
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.†

There are several alterations in this sonnet from the Edition of 1815, and this line is new, and comes in the place of

"To see the trees which I had thought so tall."

The allusion is probably to his brother who was lost by shipwreck in February, 1805.

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