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nection with the main work as may give them claim to be likened to the little cells, oratories, and sepulchral recesses, ordinarily included in those edifices."

Such was the Author's language in the year 1814.

It will thence be seen, that the present Poem was intended to be introductory to The Recluse, and that The Recluse, if completed, would have consisted of Three Parts. Of these, the Second Part alone, viz. The Excursion, was finished, and given to the world by the Author.

The First Book of the First Part of the Recluse still remains in manuscript; but the Third Part was only planned. The materials of which it would have been formed have, however, been incorporated, for the most part, in the Author's other Publications, written subsequently to the Excursion.

The Friend to whom the present Poem is addressed was the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was resident in Malta, for the restoration of his health, when the greater part of it was composed.

Mr. Coleridge read a considerable portion of

the Poem while he was abroad; and his feelings on hearing it recited by the Author (after his return to his own country) are recorded in his Verses, addressed to Mr. Wordsworth, which will be found in the "Sibylline Leaves," p. 197, ed. 1817, or "Poetical Works, by S. T. Coleridge," Vol. I. p. 206.

RYDAL MOUNT, July 13th, 1850.

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BOOK FIRST.

INTRODUCTION.

CHILDHOOD AND

SCHOOL-TIME.

INTRODUCTION.

CHILDHOOD AND

SCHOOL-TIME.

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O THERE is blessing in this gentle breeze,

A visitant that while it fans my cheek

Doth seem half conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
To none more grateful than to me; escaped
From the vast city, where I long had pined
A discontented sojourner: now free,

Free as a bird to settle where I will.

What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale Shall be my harbor? underneath what grove Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?

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The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!
Trances of thought and mountings of the mind

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