More brave for this, that he hath much to love :- Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth Whom every man in arms should wish to be. 1806. ODE TO DUTY. STERN daughter of the voice of God! Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe, From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts, without reproach or blot, Who do thy work and know it not Long may the kindly impulse last! But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast! Serene will be our days and bright, And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold Live in the spirit of this creed, Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried- Too blindly have reposed my trust; The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires; My hopes no more must change their name, Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! Unto thy guidance from this hour: Oh! let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self sacrifice; The confidence of reason give: And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live! ELEGIAC STANZAS. [Suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in a storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont.] (Written after the death of Wordsworth's brother by drowning.) I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged pile! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! How perfect was the calm! It seemed no sleep, Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand, I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine A picture had it been of lasting ease, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, So once it would have been-'tis so no more; A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold Then, Beaumont, friend! who would have been If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend, Oh, 'tis a passionate work!—yet wise and well, And this huge castle, standing here sublime, Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, LINES. 1805. [Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one evening, after a stormy day, the author having just read in a newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.] LOUD is the Vale!-the voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty unison of streams! Of all her voices, one! Loud is the Vale !-this inland depth Sad was I, even to pain depresst, And many thousands now are sad- A power is passing from the earth That man, who is from God sent forth, Such ebb and flow must ever be ; SELECTIONS FROM THE SONNETS. 1806 I. SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew |