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And from the gate the Pilgrim turned,
He paced along; and, pensively,
The murmur of a neighbouring stream
A corner-stone by lightning cut, The last stone of a cottage hut; And in this dell you see A thing no storm can e'er destroy, The Shadow of a Danish Boy.' In clouds above, the Lark is heard, But drops not here to earth for rest; Within this lonesome nook the Bird Did never build her nest. No Beast, no Bird hath here his home; Bees, wafted on the breezy air, Pass high above those fragrant bells To other flowers ;-to other dells Their burthens do they bear; The Davish Boy walks here alone: The lovely dell is all his own. A Spirit of noon-day is he; He seems a Form of flesh and blood; Nor piping Shepherd shall he be, Nor Herd-boy of the wood. A regal vest of fur he wears, In colour like a raven's wing; It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew; But in the storm 't is fresh and blue As budding pines in Spring; His helmet has a vernal grace, Fresh as the bloom upon his face. A harp is from his shoulder slung; He rests the harp upon his knee; And there, in a forgotten tongue, He warbles melody, Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill He is the darling and the joy; And often, when no cause appears, The mountain ponies prick their ears, –They hear the Danish Boy, While in the dell he sits alone Beside the tree and corner-stone. There sits he: in his face you spy No trace of a ferocious air, Nor ever was a cloudless sky So steady or so fair. The lovely Danish Boy is blest And happy in bis flowery cove: From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; And yet he warbles songs That seem like songs of love, For calm and gentle is his mien; Like a dead Boy he is serene.
Much did it tauot the humbler Light
« Exalted Star!» the Worm replied,
« But not for this do I aspire
Transfigured through that fresh abode,
HINT FROM THE MOUNTAINS
FOR CERTAIN POLITICAL PRETENDERS.
From the shore come the notes
To their Mill where it floats, To their House and their Mill tethered fast; To the small wooden Isle where, their work to beguile, They from morning to even take whatever is given ;And many a blithe day they have past.
In sight of the Spires,
All alive with the fires
Man and Maidens wheel,
They themselves make the Reel,
They dance not for me,
Yet mine is their glee!
The Showers of the Spring
Rouse the Birds, and they sing; If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight, Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss; Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his brother; They are happy, for that is their right!
«Wao but hails the sight with pleasure
With great enterprise;
The stormy skies!
Clouds and utter glooms!
With uninjured plumes !»—
ON SEEING A NEEDLECASE IN THE FORM
OF A HARP,
THE WORK OF E. M. S.
Stranger, 't is no act of courage
Mid the tempest stern;
Like yon TUFT OF FERN; « Such it is;--the aspiring Creature Soaring on andaunted wing, (So you fancied) is by nature
A dull helpless Thing, Dry and withered, light and yellow ;That to be the tempest's fellow! Wair-and you shall see how hollow
Frowns are on every Muse's face,
Reproaches from their lips are sent,
The noble Instrument.
Needles for strings in apt gradation!
The unclassic profanation.
Arachne's rival spirit,
Like station could not merit.
Pleasure is spread through the earth la stray gifts, to be daimed by whoever shall find.
And this, too, from the Laureate's Child,
A living Lord of melody!
To the refined indignity?
« Bard! moderate your ire; Spirits of all degrees rejoice
In presence of the Lyre. « The Minstrels of Pygmean bands,
Dwarf Genii, moonlight-loving Fays, Have shells to fit their tiny hands
And suit their slender lays.
By their floating Mill,
That lies dead and still, Behold you Prisoners three, The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames! The Platform is small, but gives room for them all; And they're dancing merrily.
ON THAT DAY.
« Some, still more delicate of ear,
Thine infant history, on the minds of those
Who might have wandered with thee.- Mother's love, Whose framework is of gossamer,
Nor less than Mother's love in other breasts,
Will, among us warm clad and warmly housed,
Do for thee what the finger of the heavens « Gay Sylphs this Miniature will court,
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest Coevals, amid wilds
Where fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or refine ;
And the maternal sympathy itself, «Whence strains to love-sick Maiden dear, Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie While in her lonely Bower she tries
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.
Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours!
Even now—to solemnize thy helpless state,
And to enliven in the mind's regard « Trust, angry Bard! a knowing Sprite,
Thy passive beauty-parallels have risen,
Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a Father's thoughts,
Thee and thy Mate and Sister of the sky.
Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds, ADDRESS TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER, Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. ON BEING REMINDED, THAT SHE WAS A MONTH OLD, Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain:
But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn Hast thou then survived, With brightness !-leaving her to post along, Mild Offspring of infirm humanity,
And range about-disquieted in change,
And still impatient of the shape she wears.
Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine;
In such a heedless
Alas! full soon From whom the Race of human kind proceed, Hath this conception, grateful to behold, A thousand years are but as yesterday;
Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er And one day's narrow circuit is to him
By breathing mist; and thine appears to be
A mournful labour, while to her is given
– That smile forbids the thought; -for on thy face Through « heaven's eternal year.»-Yet hail to Thee, Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn, Frail, feeble Monthling! - by that name, methioks,
To shoot and circulate;--smiles have there been seen, Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports Not idly.-Hadst thou been of Indian birth,
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,
Thy loneliness;-or shall those smiles be called And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Feelers of love,-put forth as if to explore Or to the churlish elements exposed
This untried world, and to prepare thy way On the blank plains,—the coldness of the night, Through a strait passage intricate and dim? Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Such are they,—and the same are tokens, sigas, Of beauty, by the changing Moon adorned,
Which, when the appointed season hath arrived, Would, with imperious admonition, then
Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt; Have scored thine age, and punctually timed
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own.
Poems of the Imagination.
THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye Cliffs
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering voice?
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
This Boy was taken from his Mates, and died
While I am lying on the grass
Though babbling only, to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No Bird: but an invisible Thing, A voice, a mystery. The same whom in my School-boy days I listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert sull a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.
And I can listen to thee
yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN.
INMATE of a mountain Dwelling,
- Take thy flight;-possess, inherit
The sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, Checkering the ground — from rock, plant, tree, or
tower. At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards: he looks up- the clouds are split Asunder,—and above his head he sees The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens. There, in a black blue vault she sails along, Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss Drive as she drives;-how fast they wheel away, Yet vanish not!- the wind is in the tree, But they are silent;-still they roll along Immeasurably distant;--and the vault, Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds, Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
May meet at noontide-Fear and trembling Hope, Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.
Silence and Foresight-Death the Skeleton,
As in a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
United worship; or in mute repose Let me be allowed the aid of verso to describe the evolutions To lie, and listen to the mountain flood which these visitants sometimes perform, on a fine day towards Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. the close of winter. Extract from the Author's Book on the Lakes.
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK COMB. MARK how the feathered tenants of the flood, With of motion that might scarcely seem
Tuis lleight a ministering Angel might select: grace
For from the summit of Black Comb (dread name Inferior to angelical, prolong
Derived from clouds and storms !) the amplest range Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air
Of unobstructed prospect may be seen (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the mountain tops)
That British ground commands :-low dusky tracts, A circuit ampler than the lake beneath,
Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian Hills Their own domain ;-but ever, while intent
To the south-west, a multitudinous show; On tracing and retracing that large round,
And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, Their jubilant activity evolves
The hoary Peaks of Scotland that give birth Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro,
To Tiviot's Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde ;Upward and downward, progress intricate
Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed
Gigantic Mountains rough with crags; beneath, Their indefatigable flight. — 'T is done
Right at the imperial Station's western base, Ten times, or more, I fancied it had ceased;
Main Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched
Far into silent regions blue and pale;-
That, as we left the Plain, before our sight
Stood like a lofty Mount, uplifting slowly, They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes;
(Above the convex of the watery globe) They tempt the water, or the gleaming ice,
Into clear view the cultured fields that streak To shew them a fair image ; 't is themselves,
Her habitable shores; but now appears Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain,
A dwindled object, and submits to lie Painted more soft and fair as they descend
At the Spectator's feet.—Yon azure Ridge, Almost to touch ;-then up again aloft,
Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Up with a sally and a flash of speed,
Do we behold the frame of Erio's Coast?
Land sometimes by the roving shepherd swain
Not doubtfully perceived.-Look homeward now!
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
The spectacle, how pure!-Of Nature's works, Tuere is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, Which to this day stands single, in the midst
A revelation infinite it seems; Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore,
Display august of man's inheritance,
Of Britain's calm felicity and power.
-It seems a day, Of vast circumference and gloom profound
(I speak of one from many singled out) This solitary Tree! --a living thing
One of those heavenly days which cannot die; Produced too slowly ever to decay;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, Of form and aspect too magnificent
I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth To be destroyed. But worthier still of note
With a huge wallet o'er ту
shoulder slung, Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale,
A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;
Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint, Huge trunks !--and each particular trunk a growth
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame.
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
" Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland : its
base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other monsBy sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged
tain in these parts; and, from its situation, the summit commands Perennially-beneath whose sable roof
a moro extensive view than any other point in Britaio.