The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" Were endless imitation. VIII. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, IIO 120 IX. O joy! that in our embers That Nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 130 With new-fledged hopes still fluttering in his breast:Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Those shadowy recollections, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 140 150 SELECTIONS FROM WORDSWORTH Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, X. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day What though the radiance which was once so bright Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; Strength in what remains behind; Which having been must ever be : In the faith that looks through death, 209 160 170 180 XI. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, The Clouds that gather round the setting sun That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; 190 200 "O NIGHTINGALE! THOU SURELY ART." 1807 (?).— 1807. O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art A creature of a "fiery heart : " These notes of thine - they pierce and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! Thou sing'st as if the God of wine And steady bliss, and all the loves Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. I heard a Stock-dove sing or say He did not cease, but cooed — and cooed, That was the song- the song for me! ΙΟ 20 SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE, UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD, TO THE ESTATES AND HONORS OF HIS ANCESTORS. 1807. — 1807. HIGH in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate, "From town to town, from tower to tower, Her thirty years of winter past, The red rose is revived at last; She lifts her head for endless spring, For everlasting blossoming: ΙΟ |