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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 accustom'd 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 hail'd 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 manI 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, Which you yourself created. Oh! delight!
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE A second time to be a Mother, Without the Mother's bitter groans :
COMPOSED IN 1796.
A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and stoep, The Mother of your infant's Soul !
But a green mountain variously ur-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,
Whero 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 cliti above, O beautiful! 0 Nature's child!
With melancholy blent of an rious love, 'Twas thence you hail'd the Platform wild, Made mcek 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
WILE 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,
! 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,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness ;
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,
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
HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe,
O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear!
To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Go, and some hunger-bilten 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-bedew'd :
Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoflin'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)
What Nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal! Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's kiss !
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave lise'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 mournsul hours, since last Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Stiff 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,
And bedded sand that veind with various dyes Cheering and cheerd, this lovely hill sublime; And from the stirring world uplifted high
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my
way, (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 sondest 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 We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH 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 thrillid and melted, and most warın Impress'd a Father's kiss : and all beguiled
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,
I seem'd to see 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 brcath ;
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, And wond'ring saw the self-same spray · 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, somnule.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
Its balmy lips the Infant blest
Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
Come, soft slumber, balmily!
And such my Infant's latest sigh!
ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD.
This day among the faithful placed
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 steepτιόει γενέσθαι.
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. Beam d 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 Stood 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 ; God gave him reverence of laws,
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 Holy writ
“ Then wisely is my soul elate, Alone did God the boy commit:
That Strife should vanish, Battle cease : Where flash'd and roard the torrent, oft
I'm poor and of a low estate; His soul found wings, and soar'd aloft!
The Mother of the Prince of Peace. · The straining oar and chamois chase
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn : Had form'd his limbs to strength and grace:
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born!" On wave and wind the boy would toss, Was great, nor knew how great he was ! He knew not that his chosen hand, Made strong by God, his native land Would rescue from the shameful yoke
HUMAN LIFE, Of Slavery—the which he broke!
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, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
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, A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
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 scribes 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 wilder'd 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 wakeful 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.
NEVER, believe me,
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! ownopinions are concerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, With Divinities fills my
than on the ground of any supposed poctic merits. Terrestrial Hall !
In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and Linton,
on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In conIlow shall I yield you
sequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been preDue entertainment,
scribed, from the effects of which he fell nsleep in his chair at Celestial Quire ?
the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of up- "Ilere 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 wali up my Soul! during wbich 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 consciousGive him the Nectar!
ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a
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 sinall
surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, Thanks, Hebe! I quatr it! Io Pæan, I cry!
yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and 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 misshapes the other. Stay awhile,
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo, he stays,
And soon the fragments din of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror. Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound,
Yct 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 cousecrated ground! originally, as it were, given to him. Eapepov adcov aow:
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 Knbla Khan
And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Down to a sunless sca