Beggar Twilight-sounds-Western Lights - Spirits Night - Moonlight Hope Night-sounds-Conclusion. FAR from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove; Where Derwent rests, and listens to the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lindore; Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads, To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads; Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds, Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds; Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander sleeps 'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps; Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore, And memory of departed pleasures, more. Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child, The echoes of your rocks my carols wild: In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain, seat, And wild I'mpatience, pointing upward, showed, Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road. Alas! the idle tale of man is found But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain? When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still, Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill, And shades of deep-embattled clouds were When horses in the sunburnt intake * stood, Brightens with water-breaks the hollow ghyllt And its own twilight softens the whole scene, Illumines, from within, the leafy shade; half shagged with ivy to its ridge; There, bending o'er the stream, the listless swain Lingers behind his disappearing wain. Did Sabine grace adorn my living line, Blandusia's praise, wild stream, should yield to thine! Never shall ruthless minister of death 'Mid thy soft glooms the glittering steel unsheath; No goblets shall, for thee, be crowned with flowers, No kid with piteous outcry thrill thy bowers; Of happy wisdom, meditating good, Harmonious thoughts, a soul by truth refined, Dear Brook, farewell! To-morrow's noon again Shall hide me, wooing long thy wildwood Here, vanish, as in mist, before a flood Strong flakes of radiance on the tremulous stream: Raised by yon travelling flock, a dusty cloud Mounts from the road, and spreads its moving shroud; The shepherd, all involved in wreaths of fire, Now shows a shadowy speck, and now is lost entire. Into a gradual calm the breezes sink, There, waves that, hardly weltering, die away, Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," and broom; While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds, Downward the ponderous timber-wain resounds; In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song, Dashed o'er the rough rock, lightly leaps along; From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet, Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat; Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat; And blasted quarry thunders, heard remote! Even here, amid the sweep of endless woods, Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods, Not undelightful are the simplest charms, Found by the grassy door of mountain-farms. Sweetly ferocious, round his native walks, Pride of his sister-wives, the monarch stalks; Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread ; A crest of purple tops the warrior's head. Bright sparks his black and rolling eye-ball hurls Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls; On tiptoe reared, he strains his clarion throat, Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote: Again with his shrill voice the mountain rings, While, flapped with conscious pride, resound his wings! I love to mark the quarry's moving trains, Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains: How busy all the enormous hive within, Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound; Just where a cloud above the mountain rears Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots In these secluded vales, if village fame, Confirmed by hoary hairs, belief may claim; When up the hills, as now, retired the light, Strange apparitions mocked the shepherd's sight. The form appears of one that spurs his steed Midway along the hill with desperate speed; Unhurt pursues his lengthened flight, while all Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. Anon, appears a brave, a gorgeous show Of horsemen-shadows moving to and fro; At intervals imperial banners stream, The rear through iron brown betrays a sullen And now the van reflects the solar beam; gleam. While silent stands the admiring crowd below, Winding in ordered pomp their upward way Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail, lines; 'Tis pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray Where, mixed with graceful birch, the som-, Where, winding on along some secret bay, brous pine And yew-tree o'er the silver rocks recline; *From Thomson. The swan uplifts his chest, and backward flings His neck, a varying arch, between his towering wings: The eye that marks the gliding creature sees How graceful pride can be, and how majestic, ease. While tender cares and mild domestic loves Long may they float upon this flood serene; Yet hears her song, "by distance made more sweet,' Yon isle conceals their home, their hut-like bower; Green water-rushes overspread the floor; Or, from the neighbouring water, hear at morn When with her infants, from some shady seat By the lake's edge, she rose-to face the noontide heat; Or taught their limbs along the dusty road I see her now, denied to lay her head, And fireless are the valleys far and wide, No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms, Thy breast their death-bed, coffined in thine arms! Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star, Where the duck dabbles 'mid the rustling sedge, And feeding pike starts from the water's edge, Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill Wetting, that drip upon the water still; And heron, as resounds the trodden shore, Shoots upward, darting his long neck before. Now, with religious awe, the farewell light Blends with the solemn colouring of night; 'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow, And round the west's proud lodge their shadows throw, Like Una shining on her gloomy way, Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall; Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. -The lights are vanished from the watery plains: No wreck of all the pageantry remains. The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread Silent the hedge or steamy rivulet's bed, Above yon eastern hill, where darkness broods O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods; Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace, Even now she shows, half-veiled, her lovely face: Across the gloomy valley flings her light, And gives, where woods the chequered upland-And let him nurse his fond deceit, strew, Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn, "Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer The weary-hills, impervious, blackening near; Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while On darling spots remote her tempting smile. Even now she decks for me a distant scene, (For dark and broad the gulf of time between) Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray, (Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; How fair its lawns and sheltering woods appear! How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear!) Where we, my Friend, to happy days shall rise, 'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death. But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains, And, rimy without speck, extend the plains: The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays; From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide The hills, while gleams below the azure tide; Time softly treads; throughout the landscape breathes A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood. The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day, Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. IV. LINES WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT How richly glows the water's breast Such views the youthful Bard allure; And what if he must die in sorrow! Though grief and pain may come to-morrow? 1789. V. REMEMBRANCE OF COLLINS. COMPOSED UPON THE THAMES NEAR GLIDE gently, thus for ever glide, VI. DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES TAKEN DURING A PEDESTRIAN TOUR AMONG THE ALPS. TO THE REV. ROBERT JONES, FELLOW OF ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. DEAR SIR,-However desirous I might have been of giving you proofs of the high place you hold in my esteem, I should have been cautious of wounding your delicacy by thus publicly addressing you, had not the circumstance of our having been companions among the Alps seemed to give this dedication a propriety sufficient to do away any scruples which your modesty might otherwise have suggested. In inscribing this little work to you, I consult my heart. You know well how great is the difference between two companions lolling in a post-chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along the road, side by side, each with his little knapsack of necessaries upon his shoulders. How much more of heart between the two latter! I am happy in being conscious that I shall have one reader who will approach the conclusion of these few pages with You they regret. *Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson. must certainly interest, in reminding you of moments to which you can hardly look back without a pleasure not the less dear from a shade of melancholy. You will meet with few images without recollecting the spot where we observed them together; consequently, whatever is feeble in my design, or spiritless in my colouring, will be amply supplied by your own memory. With still greater propriety I might have inscribed to you a description of some of the features of your native mountains, through which we have wandered together, in the same manner, with so much pleasure. But the seasunsets, which give such splendour to the vale of Clwyd, Snowdon, the chair of Idris, the quiet village of Bethgelert, Menai and her Druids, the Alpine steeps of the Conway, and the still more interesting windings of the wizard stream of the Dee, remain yet untouched. Apprehensive that my pencil may never be exercised on these subjects, I cannot let slip this opportunity of thus publicly assuring you with how much affection and esteem am, dear Sir, Most sincerely yours, I London, 1793. W. WORDSWORTH. Brisk toil, alternating with ready ease, approve, That clung to Nature with a truant's love, And now, emerging from the forest's gloom, Happiness (if she had been to be found on earth) among the charms of Nature-Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller-Author crosses France to the Alps-Present state of the Grande Chartreuse-Lake of ComoTime, Sunset-Same Scene, Twilight-Same Scene, Morning; its voluptuous Character; Old man and forest-cottage music-River Tusa-Via Mala and Grison Gipsy-Sckellenen-thal-Lake of Uri-Stormy sunsetChapel of William Tell-Force of local emotion-Chamois-chaser-View of the higher Alps--manner of life of a Swiss mountaineer, interspersed with views of the higher Alps That Silence, once in deathlike fetters bound, Golden age of the Alps-Life and views conChains that were loosened only by the sound tinued-Ranz des Vaches, famous Swiss Air Of holy rites chanted in measured round? Abbey of Einsiedlen and its pilgrims-The voice of blasphemy the fane alarms, Valley of Chamouny-Mont Blanc-Slavery The cloister startles at the gleam of arms. of Savoy-Influence of liberty on cottage- The thundering tube the aged angler hears, happiness-France-Wish for the Extirpa- Bent o'er the groaning flood that sweeps away tion of Slavery-Conclusion. WERE there, below, a spot of holy ground The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes. Yet not unrecompensed the man shall roam, Though seeking only holiday delight; To which the sage would give a prouder name. Awed sober Reason till she crouched in fear? his tears. Cloud-piercing pine-trees nod their troubled heads, Spires, rocks, and lawns a browner night Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs, rock. The "parting Genius" sighs with hollow breath Alluding to crosses seen on the tops of the spiry rocks of Chartreuse. tNames of rivers at the Chartreuse. |