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Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration — feelings, too,
Of unremembered pleasure, such, perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mood
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened ; that serene and blessed mood
In which the affections gently lead us on,
Until the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood.
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul;
While, with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In darkness, and among the many shapes
Of joyless daylight, when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,
How oft in spirit have I turned to thee,
Oh sylvan Wye!-- Thou wanderer through the woods -
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again;
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts,
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills, — when, like a roe,
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led, more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved, For nature then
The coarser pleasures of my joyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by —
To me was all in all ; — I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colors and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things; all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows, and the woods,
And mountains, and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear, both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
In nature, and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay;
For thou art with me here, upon the banks
of this fair river ; – thou, my dearest friend,
My dear, dear friend, - and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting light
Of thy wild eyes. 0! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear sister! And this prayer I make,
Knowing that nature never did betray
The heart that loved her ; 't is her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy; for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall ere prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore, let the moon
Shine on thee, in thy solitary walk; -
And let the misty mountain wind be free
To blow against thee; and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies, -oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these, my exhortations !
POWER OF MUSIC. An Orpheus ! an Orpheus !-yes, Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ; — Near the stately Pantheon you 'll meet with the same, In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.
His station is there ; — and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim –
Was aught ever heard like his Fiddle and him!
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ;
The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest ;
And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer oppressed.
As the moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,
So he, where he stands, is a centre of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusty-browned Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste;
What matter! he's caught-and his time runs to waste;
The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret,
And the half-breathless lamp-lighter-he's in the net!
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore ;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store; -
If a Thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease;
She sees the Musician — 't is all that she sees !
He stands, backed by the Wall; — he abates not his din;
His hat gives him vigor, with boons dropping in,
From the Old and the Young, from the Poorest; and there!
The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
O blest be the Hearers, and proud be the Hand
Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a Band ;
I am glad for him, blind as he is ! — all the while,
If they speak 't is to praise, and they praise with a smile.
That tall Man, a Giant in bulk and in height,
Not an inch of his body is free from delight;
Can he keep himself still, if he would ? - oh, not he !
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.
Mark that Cripple, who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower
That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour! -
That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound,
While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound.
Now, Coaches and Chariots ! roar on like a stream ;
Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream;'
They are deaf to your murmurs — they care not for you,
Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue !
Mungo PARK. 1771-1805. This intrepid traveller -- a physician and surgeon by profession — is distinguished for exploring Africa, and making discoveries respecting the course of the Niger. On returning from his first tour, he published a deeply interesting narrative of the incidents he met with, his captivity among the Moors, and a description of the manners, customs and so forth, of the inhabitants. He set off a second time, with the fixed determination of tracing the Niger to its termination, or perishing in the enterprise. He again reached the wide-rolling river, and, in company with the few remaining men he took with him, commenced the descent; but he was attacked by the natives, and drowned in the attempt to escape by swimming.
AN ADVENTURE OF PARK AT THE TOWN OF SEGO,
THE CAPITAL OF BAMBARRA. I set off for the village, where I found, to my great mortification, that no person would admit me into his house. I was re