'Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far From its own country, and forgive the strings." Divine of words quickening insensate things. EXCUSE is needless when with love sincere Of occupation, not by fashion led, Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread; When twilight shades darken the mountain's head.‡ Castalay (Castalius fons), a fountain near Parnassus sacred to the muses. Virg., Georg., iii. 293.-ED. + Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs Wordsworth's sister.-ED. Wansfell, or Loughrigg.-ED. § Lachesis, the second of the three Parcæ, who was supposed to spin out the actions of our life. "Clotho colum retinet, Lachesis net, et Atropos occat." -ED. DECAY OF PIETY. Might smile on work, O Lady, once so dear1 To household virtues. Venerable Art, Torn from the Poor !* yet shall kind Heaven protect Trusting to crowded factory and mart † And proud discoveries of the intellect, Heed not the pillage of man's ancient heart. 157 [Attendance at church on prayer-days, Wednesdays and Fridays and Holidays, received a shock at the Revolution. It is now, however, happily reviving. The ancient people described in this Sonnet were among the last of that pious class. May we hope that the practice, now in some degree renewed, will continue to spread.] OFT have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek, Of their loved Church, on fast or festival Through the long year the House of Prayer would seek: By Christmas snows, by visitation bleak Of Easter winds, unscared, from hut or hall 1 1837. 2 1837. Might smile, O lady! on a task once dear ! yet will kind Heaven protect 1827. 1827. Referring to the introduction of steam-looms, which displaced the handloom spinning of a previous generation.—ED. + Compare The Excursion, Book viii. 1. 166-186.-ED. 158 SCORN NOT THE SONNET; CRITIC, YOU HAVE FROWNED. They came to lowly bench or sculptured stall, I see the places where they once were known, Alas! even then they seemed like fleecy clouds [Composed, almost extempore, in a short walk on the western side of Rydal Lake.] * SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, It cheered mild Spencer, called from Faery-land 1 1837. Camöens soothed with it 1827. Shakespeare's sonnets are autobiographical: compare Nos. 24, 30, 39, 105, 116.-ED. + Petrarch's were all inspired by his devotion to Laura.-ED. Tasso's works include two volumes of sonnets, first published in 1581 and 1592.-ED. § For his satire Disparates na India, Camöens was banished to Macao in 1556, where he wrote the Os Lusiades, also many sonnets and lyric poems. -ED. Compare the Vita Nuova, passim.—ED. FAIR PRIME OF LIFE! WERE IT ENOUGH TO GILD. 159 To struggle through dark ways;* and, when a damp The Thing became a trumpet ;† whence he blew [Suggested by observation of the way in which a young friend, whom I do not choose to name, misspent his time and misapplied his talents. He took afterwards a better course, and became a useful member of society, respected, I believe, wherever he has been known.] FAIR Prime of life! were it enough to gild With ready sunbeams every straggling shower; And, if an unexpected cloud should lower, Swiftly thereon a rainbow arch to build * For Fancy's errands, then, from fields half-tilled Ah show that worthier honours are thy due: Some path of steep ascent and lofty aim; And, if there be a joy that slights the claim Of grateful memory, bid that joy depart. Spencer wrote ninety-two sonnets. From the eightieth sonnet it would seem that the writing of them was a relaxtion, after the labour spent upon the "Faery Queen." It is to this sonnet that Wordsworth alludes. "After so long a race as I have run Through Faery land, which these six books compile, And gather to myself new breath awhile."-ED. + Milton's twenty-three sonnets were written partly in English, partly in Italian. Compare Wordsworth's sonnet addressed to him in 1802— Milton, Thou shouldst be living at this hour," &c. (Vol. II. p. 300.)-ED. Compare the sonnet beginning "Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room." (Vol. IV. p. 21.)—Ed. IF the whole weight of what we think and feel, Of our own Being is her paramount end; Cool air I breathe; while the unincumbered Mind To gentle Natures, thanks not Heaven amiss. THERE is a pleasure in poetic pains Which only Poets know ;—'twas rightly said Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains? When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains, How oft the malice of one luckless word Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn; Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn. |