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When last along its banks I wandered,
Through groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.
The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,
'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;
And death upon the braes of Yarrow,
Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes:
Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course, ,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source;
The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth :
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

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Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits,
Or waves that own no curbing hand,
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!

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Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber
Were earlier raised, remain to hear
A timid voice, that asks in whispers,
“Who next will drop and disappear ?

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Our haughty life is crowned with darkness,
Like London with its own black wreath,
On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking,
I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath.
As if but yesterday departed,
Thou too art gone before; but why,
O'er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered,

35 Should frail survivors heave a sigh?

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Mourn rather for that holy Spirit,
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;
For Her who, ere her summer faded,
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.
No more of old romantic sorrows,
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid !
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead."

Nov., 1835.

XVII.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A MONUMENT IN CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, IN

THE VALE OF KESWICK.

YE vales and hills whose beauty hither drew The poet's steps, anc fixed him here, on you His eyes have closed! And ye, lov'd books, no

more

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Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, 5
Adding immortal labours of his own-
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal
For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal,
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art,
Inform’d his pen, or wisdom of the heart,
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot's mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings meet for holier rest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud
From Skiddaw's top; but he to heaven was

vowed Through his industrious life, and Christian faith Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death.

i See Note.

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ODE.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY

FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF

EARLY CHILDHOOD.

The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish niy days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

See vol. i., p. 170.

IN
THERE was a time when meadow,

stream,
The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 It is not now as it hath been of yore;

Turn whereso'er I may,

By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no

more.

II.

IO

The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,

164

WORDSWORTH'S POEMS.

Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;

15 The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the

earth.

III.

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Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief :
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the

steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains

throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday ;-

Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!

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IV.

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel I feel it all.

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Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are culling

On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm :

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear !

But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ?

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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting :
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy !
Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy ;

70 The Youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

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