VI. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 80 VII. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride 90 100 The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" That Life brings with her in her equipage; Were endless imitation. VIII. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX. O joy! that in our embers That Nature yet remembers The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 130 With new-fledged hopes still fluttering in his breast:--Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Those shadowy recollections, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 140 150 Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! 160 Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, X. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; Which having been must ever be : In the faith that looks through death, 170 180 XI. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, The Clouds that gather round the setting sun That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. "O NIGHTINGALE! THOU SURELY ART." 1807 (?). — 1807. O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art A creature of a "fiery heart: These notes of thine - they pierce and pierce ; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! Thou sing'st as if the God of wine 190 200 |