IX. A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; X. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine They stretched in never-ending line Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they In such a jocund company: I gazed and gazed-but little thought For oft, when on my couch I lie Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. 1804. XI. THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. Ar the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, XII. POWER OF MUSIC. AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ;— Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name. His station is there; and he works on the crowd, What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in hasteWhat matter! he's caught—and his time runs to waste; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret; And the half-breathless Lamplighter-he's in the net! The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore; He stands, backed by the wall ;-he abates not his din; His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in, From the old and the young, from the poorest; and there! The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare. O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height, Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch; like a tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour!That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound. |