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She hears a rustling o'er the brook, She sees far off a swinging bough! • 'Tis He! 'Tis my betrothed Knight!

Lord Falkland, it is Thou!” She springs, she clasps bim round the

neck, She sobs a thousand hopes and fears, Her kisses glowing on his cheeks

She quenches with her tears.

I STOOD on Brocken's sovran height, and


“My friends with rude ungentle words
They scoff and bid me fly to thee!
O give me shelter in thy breast !

O shield and shelter me!
** My Henry, I have given thee much,
I gave what I can ne'er recall.
I gave my heart, I gave my peace,

O Heaven! I gave thee all."
The Knight made answer to the Maid,
While to his heart he held her hand,
“Nine castles hath my noble sire,

None statelier in the land.
“ The fairest one shall be my love's,
The fairest castle of the nine !
Wait only till the stars peep out,

The fairest shall be thine :
" Wait only till the hand of eve
Hath wholly closed yon western bars,
And through the dark we two will steal

Beneath the twinkling stars!”" The dark? the dark ? Nol not the

dark ! The twinkling stars? How, Henry?

O God ! 'twas in the eye of noon

He pledged his sacred vow!
". And in the eye of noon my love
Shall lead me from my mother's door,
Sweet boys and girls all clothed in white

Strewing flowers before : “ But first the nodding minstrels go With music meet for lordly bowers, The children next in snow-white vests,

Strewing buds and flowers ! * And then my love and I shall pace, My jet black hair in pearly braids, Between our comely bachelors

And blushing bridal maids."

Woods crowding upon woods, hills over

hills, A surging scene, and only limited By the blue distance. Heavily my way Downward I dragged through fir groves

evermore, Where bright green moss heaves in

sepulchral forms Speckled with sunshine; and, but sel

dom heard, The sweet bird's song became an hollow

sound : And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, Preserved its solemn murmur most dis

tinct From many a note of many a waterfall, And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose

islet-stones The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat Sat, his white beard slow waving. I

moved on In low and languid mood : for I had

found That outward forms; the loftiest, still

receive Their finer influence from the Life

within ; Fair cyphers else : fair, but of import

vague Or unconcerning, where the heart not

finds History or prophecy of friend, or child, Or gentle inaid, our first and early love, Or father, or the venerable name Of our adored country! O thou Queen, Thou delegated Deity of Earth, O dear, dear England ! how my longing

eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady

clouds Thy sands and high white cliffs !


My native Land ! Filled with the thought of thee this

heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears : that

all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody

hills, Floated away, like a departing dream,


1798. 1834.

The present works of present manA wild and dream-like trade of blood

and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a

smile! 1801, December 4, 1801.


Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms ;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

Feeble and dim! Stranger, these im

pulses Blame thou not lightly ; nor will I pro

fane, With hasty judgment or injurious

doubt, That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who

framed Mankind to be one mighty family, Himself our Father, and the World our

May 17, 1799. September 17, 1799.

TRANQUILLITY! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame !
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue, or factions rage ;
For oh ! dear child of thoughtful


To thee I gave my early youth, And left the bark, and blest the stead

fast shore, Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me

with its roar.
Who late and lingering seeks thy

On him but seldom, Power divine,
Thy spirit rests ! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Ide Hope

And dire Remembrance interlope, To vex the severish slumbers of the

mind : The bubble floats before, the spectre

stalks behind.
But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed

mead :
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat ;
And when the gust of Autumn

And breaks the busy moonlight

clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the

heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the

gliding moon.
The feeling heart, the searching

To thee I dedicate the whole !
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan

I WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise,

who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick

Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not

go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier

trade Than those which mould yon cloud in

lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans

and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian

lute, Which better far were mute. For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, (With swimming phantom light o’er

spread But rimmed and circled by a silver

thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming-on of rain and squally

blast, And oli ! that even now the gust were

swelling, And the slant night-shower driving

loud and fast ! Those sounds which oft have raised me,

whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse

give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it

move and live!

1 This Ode was originally written to William Wordsworth, who was addressed as “Edmund" in the poem when first printed, on the day of Wordsworth's marriage, October 4, 1802. In that copy, the name "Edmund" occurs at every point where "Lady" is found in the later versions and also where the name “Otway" occurs, in the seventh stanza; there is a corresponding differ. ence of the personal pronouns, and some other slight differences of text, the most important of which is in the conclusion, as noted below.


O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask

of me

11 A grief without a pang, void, dark, and

drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no re


In word, or sigh, or tearO Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle

woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And its peculiar tint of yellow green; And still I gaze—and with how blank

an eye! And those thin clouds above, in flakes

and bars, That give away their motion to the stars : Those stars, that glide behind them or

between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but al

ways seen ; Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue ; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are !

What this strong music in the soul may

be! What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous

mist, This beautiful and beauty-making

power. Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er

was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest

hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once

and shower, Joy, Larly! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in

dower, A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the

proudJoy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous .


We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear

or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colors a suffusion from that light.



My genial spirits fail ;

And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off

my breast ?
It were a vain endeavor,

Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the

west ; I may not hope from outward forms to

win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live ; Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her

shroud ! And would we aught behold, of higher

worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah ! from the soul itself must issue

forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the EarthAnd from the soul itself must there be

sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own

birth, Of all sweet sounils the life and element!

There was a time when, though my path

was rough, This joy within me dallied with dis

tress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of

happiness : For hope grew round me, like the twin

ing vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own,

seemed mine, But now afflictions bow me down to

earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my


But oh! each visitation Suspendis what nature gave me at my

birth, My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must

feel, But to be still and patient, all I can ; And haply by abstruse research to steal

From my own nature all the natural

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my soul.


Till that which suits a part infects the 'Tis of a little clrild whole,

Upon a lonesome wild, And now is almost grown the habit of Not far from home, but she hath lost her

way ;

And now moans low in bitter grief and VII

fear, Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around. And now screams loud, and hopes to my mind,

make her mother hear.
Reality's dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,

Which long has raved unnoticed.
What a scream

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have

I of sleep:
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that

Full seldom may my friend such vigils rav'st without,

keep ! Bare crag, or mountain-tairn,

Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of

healing, blasted tree, Or pine-grove whither woodman never

And may this storm be but a mounclomb,

tain-birth, Or lonely house, long held the witches'

May all the stars hang bright above her home,

dwelling, Methinks were fitter instruments for

Silent as though they watched the thee,

sleeping Earth! Mad Lutanist! who in this month of

With light heart may she rise, showers,

Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping

Joy list her spirit, joy attune her

voice; flowers, Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than

To her may all things live, from pole to wintry song,

pole, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves

Their life the eddying of her living soul !

O simple spirit, guided from above, among Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic

Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my

choice, sounds! Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold !

Thus mayest thou ever, evermore re. What tellist thou now about?

joice. 'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,

April 4, 1802. October 4, 1802. With groans of trampled men, with smarting wounds

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE At once they groan with pain, and

VALE OF CHAMOUNI shudder with the cold ! But hush! there is a pause of deepest Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which silence!

have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five And all that noise, as of a rushing conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and

within a few paces of the glaciers the Gentiana crowd,

Major grows in immense numbers, with its With groans, and tremulous shudderings ** Howers of loveliest blue." (Coleridge.)

-all is over-It tells another tale, with sounds less

ILAST thou a charm to stay the morning.

star deep and loud! A tale of less ailright,

In his steep course? So long he seems And tempered with delight,

to pause As Otway's : self had framed the tender lay.

O EDMUND, friend of my devoutest choice,

( rais'd from anxious dread and busy care, 1 In the first printed copy, Edmund's," re.

By the immenseness of the good and fair

Which thou see'st everywhere, ferring to Wordsworth. The following lines are evidently an allusion to Worlsworth's Lucy

Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice, Gray. The conclusion is as follows in the first

To'thee do all things live from pole to pole, printed copy :

Their life the eddying of thy living soul !

O simple spirit, guided from above,
With light heart may he rise,

( lofty Poet, full of life and love,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,

Brother and friend of my devoutest choice, Aud sing his lofty song, and teach me to rejoice!

Thus may'st Thou ever, evermore rejoice!


On thy bald awful head, O sovran Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy BLANC !

light? The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Who made thee parent of perpetual Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful

streams? Form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely How silently! Around thee and above glad! Deep is the air and dark, substantial, Who called you forth from night and black,

utter death, An ebøn mass: methinks thou piercest From dark and icy caverns called you it,

forth, As with a wedge! But when I look Down those precipitous, black, jagged again,

rocks, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal For ever shattered and the same for shrine,

ever ? Tliy habitation from eternity!

Who gave you your invulnerable life, oiread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon Your strength, your speed, your fury, thee,

and your joy, Till thou, still present to the bodily | Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? sense,

And who commanded (and the silence Didst vanish from my thought:

came), tranced in prayer

Here let the billows stiffen, and have I worshipped the Invisible alone.

rest? Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,

Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the mounSo sweet, we know not we are listening

tain's brow to it,

Arlown enormous ravines slope amainThou, the meanwhile, wast blending

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty with my Thought,

voice, Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret

And stopped at once amid their maddest joy:

plunge! Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Into the mighty vision passing--there

Who made you glorious as the Gates of As in her natural form, swelled vast to


Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade

the sun Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with Thou owest! not alone these swelling

living flowers tears,

of loveliest blue, spread garlands at Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,

your feet? Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart,

God! let the torrents, like a shout of awake!

nations, Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo,


GOD ! sing ye meadow-streams with Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of gladsome voice! the Vale!

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soulO struggling with the darkness all the

like sounds! night,

And they too have a voice, yon piles of And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when And in their perilous fall shall thunder, they sink:

GOD! Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal dawn

frost ! Co-herald : wake, 0 wake, and utter Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's praise !

nest! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain Earth?


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