Hymn to the Spirit of Nature 305

Thee a mistress to thy mind:
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter,
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet,
While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid.-Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash;

Quickly break her prison-string,
And such joys as these she'll bring:
-Let the wingéd Fancy roam!

Pleasure never is at home.

J. KEATS

CCLXXI

HYMN TO THE SPIRIT OF NATURE

Life of Life! Thy lips enkindle

With their love the breath between them;

And thy smiles before they dwindle

Make the cold air fire; then screen them
In those locks, where whoso gazes
Faints, entangled in their mazes.

Child of Light! Thy limbs are burning
Through the veil which seems to hide them,
As the radiant lines of morning

Through thin clouds, ere they divide them;
And this atmosphere divinest

Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

306

Written in Early Spring

Fair are others: none beholds Thee;
But thy voice sounds low and tender
Like the fairest, for it folds thee
From the sight, that liquid splendour;
And all feel, yet see thee never,—
As I feel now, lost for ever!

Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest
Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,
And the souls of whom thou lovest
Walk upon the winds with lightness
Till they fail, as I am failing,
Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

P. B. SHELLEY

CCLXXII

WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,—
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

Ruth or Influences of Nature 307

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man ?

W. WORDSWORTH

CCLXXIII

RUTH OR THE INFLUENCES OF
NATURE

When Ruth was left half desolate
Her father took another mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seem'd to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight :

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay,

She passed her time; and in this way

Grew up to woman's height.

308 Ruth or Influences of Nature

There came a youth from Georgia's shore—
A military casque he wore

With splendid feathers drest;

He brought them from the Cherokees ;
The feathers nodded in the breeze

And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung:
But no! he spake the English tongue
And bore a soldier's name;

And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek,
In finest tones the youth could speak :
-While he was yet a boy

The moon, the glory of the sun,

And streams that murmur as they run
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely youth! I guess
The panther in the wilderness

Was not so fair as he;

And when he chose to sport and play,
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought;
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Such tales as, told to any maid

By such a youth, in the green shade,

Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls, a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout,

Ruth or Influences of Nature 309

Their pleasant Indian town,

To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

He spake of plants that hourly change
Their blossoms, through a boundless range

Of intermingling hues ;

With budding, fading, faded flowers,
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews.

He told of the Magnolia, spread
High as a cloud, high over head!
The cypress and her spire;

-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem
To set the hills on fire.

The youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake
With all its fairy crowds

Of islands, that together lie

As quietly as spots of sky

Among the evening clouds.

'And,' then he said, 'how sweet it were

A fisher or a hunter there,

In sunshine or in shade

To wander with an easy mind,

And build a household fire, and find

A home in every glade !

• What days and what bright years! Ah me!
Our life were life indeed, with Thee

So pass'd in quiet bliss ;

And all the while,' said he, to know

That we were in a world of woe,

On such an earth as this! '