« AnteriorContinuar »
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
Of sense and outward things,
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
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,
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 Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
Strength in what remains behind,
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
In the faith that looks through death,
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Think not of any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
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.
TO THE SECOND EDITION OF SEVERAL OF
THE first Volume of these Poems has already been submitted to general perusal. It was published, as an experiment, which, I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart.
I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of those Poems: I flattered myself that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than common pleasure: and, on the other hand, I was well aware, that by those who should dislike them, they would be read with more than common dislike. The result has differed from my expectation in this only, that I have pleased a greater number than I ventured to hope I should please.
Several of my Friends are anxious for the success of these Poems from a belief, that, if the views with which they were