Composed 1815.

1815.

TO B. R. HAYDON. (45)

Published 1816.

HIGH is our calling, Friend!-Creative Art
(Whether the instrument of words she use,
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashioned- -to infuse

Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,

Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness-
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

Composed 1815.

NOVEMBER 1.

Published 1816.

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright

The effluence from yon distant mountain's head, (46) Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,

Shines like another sun-on mortal sight

Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread, If so he might, yon mountain's glittering headTerrestrial, but a surface, by the flight

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,

Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aërial Powers
Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure,
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,
Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring

Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.

Composed 1815.

Published 1815.

SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, (47)
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind-
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN.

Composed 1816.

Published 1820.

INMATE of a mountain-dwelling,
Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed

From the watch-towers of Helvellyn ;
Awed, delighted, and amazed!

Potent was the spell that bound thee

Not unwilling to obey ;

For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee,
Stilled the pantings of dismay.

Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows;

What a vast abyss is there!

Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows,

And the glistenings-heavenly fair!

And a record of commotion
Which a thousand ridges yield;
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean
Gleaming like a silver shield!

Maiden! now take flight ;-inherit
Alps or Andes-they are thine!
With the morning's roseate Spirit,
Sweep their length of snowy line;

Or survey their bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest
Flung from off the purple pinions,
Evening spreads throughout the west!

Thine are all the coral fountains
Warbling in each sparry vault
Of the untrodden lunar mountains;
Listen to their songs !-or halt,

To Niphates' top invited,
Whither spiteful Satan steered;
Or descend where the ark alighted,
When the green earth re-appeared;

For the power of hills is on thee,
As was witnessed through thine eye
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee
To confess their majesty !

Of lustre too intense

To be sustained; and Mortals bowed
The front in self-defence.

Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed,
Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed
While on the wing the Urchin played,
Could fearlessly approach the shade?
-Enough for one soft vernal day,
If I, a bard of ebbing time,
And nurtured in a fickle clime,
May haunt this horned bay;
Whose amorous water multiplies
The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes; (19)
And smooths her liquid breast-to show
These swan-like specks of mountain snow,
White as the pair that slid along the plains
Of heaven, when Venus held the reins!

II.

In youth we love the darksome lawn
Brushed by the owlet's wing;
Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn,
And Autumn to the Spring.
Sad fancies do we then affect,

In luxury of disrespect

To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.
Lycoris (if such name befit

Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!)
When Nature marks the year's decline,
Be ours to welcome it;

Pleased with the harvest hope that runs

Before the path of milder suns ;

Pleased while the sylvan world displays

Its ripeness to the feeding gaze;

Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell

Of the resplendent miracle.

III.

But something whispers to my heart

That, as we downward tend,

Lycoris life requires an art
To which our souls must bend;
A skill—to balance and supply ;
And, ere the flowing fount be dry,
As soon it must, a sense to sip,
Or drink, with no fastidious lip.

Frank greeting, then, to that blithe Guest
Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea,
Seem to recal the Deity

Of youth into the breast:

May pensive Autumn ne'er present

A claim to her disparagement !

While blossoms and the budding spray
Inspire us in our own decay;

Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal,
Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the Soul !

Composed 1817.

THE LONGEST DAY.

ADDRESSED TO MY DAUGHTER. (50)

LET us quit the leafy arbour,
And the torrent murmuring by;
For the sun is in his harbour,
Weary of the open sky.

Evening now unbinds the fetters
Fashioned by the glowing light;

Published 1820.

All that breathe are thankful debtors

To the harbinger of night.

Yet by some grave thoughts attended

Eve renews her calm career;

For the day that now is ended,

Is the longest of the year.

Dora! sport, as now thou sportest,

On this platform, light and free;

Take thy bliss, while longest, shortest,

Are indifferent to thee!