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And glistening antlers are descried,
And gilded flocks appear.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as godlike wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!

From worlds not quickened by the sun

A portion of the gift is won;

An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread On ground which British shepherds tread!


And if there be whom broken ties

Afflict, or injuries assail,

Yon hazy ridges to their eyes

Present a glorious scale,

Climbing, suffused with sunny air,

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And tempting Fancy to ascend,

And with immortal Spirits blend!

Wings at my shoulders seem to play;
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze

On those bright steps that heavenward raise
Their practicable way.

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,
And see to what fair countries ye are bound!
And if some traveller, weary of his road,
Hath slept since noontide on the grassy ground,
Ye Genii! to his covert speed;

And wake him with such gentle heed

As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendent hour!


Such hues from their celestial Urn

Were wont to stream before mine eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn
Of blissful infancy.

This glimpse of glory, why renewed?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;
For, if a vestige of those gleams
Survived, 't was only in my dreams.

Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve
No less than Nature's threatening voice,
If aught unworthy be my choice,
From THEE if I would swerve,

O, let thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored;
Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored;
My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth!

'Tis past, the visionary splendor fades ; And night approaches with her shades.


Note. The multiplication of mountain ridges, described at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode as a kind of Jacob's Ladder leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapors or sunny haze; -in the present instance, by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode entitled "Intimations of Immortality" pervade the last Stanza of the foregoing Poem.



WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret,
How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset,
How baffled projects on the spirit prey,
And fruitless wishes eat the heart away,
The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast
On the relentless sea that holds him fast
On chance dependent, and the fickle star
Of power, through long and melancholy war.
O, sad it is, in sight of foreign shores,
Daily to think on old familiar doors,

Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors;
Or, tossed about along a waste of foam,
To ruminate on that delightful home

Which with the dear Betrothed was to come,
Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye
Never but in the world of memory;

Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range
Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,
And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep
A thing too bright for breathing man to keep!
Hail to the virtues which that perilous life
Extracts from Nature's elemental strife
And welcome glory won in battles fought
As bravely as the foe was keenly sought!
But to each gallant Captain and his crew


A less imperious sympathy is due,

Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play
On the mute sea in this unruffled bay;

Such as will promptly flow from every breast,
Where good men, disappointed in the quest

Of wealth and power and honors, long for rest;
Or, having known the splendors of success,
Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.


THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love,
Glories of evening, as ye there are seen
With but a span of sky between,

Speak one of you, my doubts remove,
Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen?



(Composed by the Sea-side, on the Coast of Cumberland.)

WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so


To human life's unsettled atmosphere;

Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake,

So might it seem, the cares of them that wake; And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping, Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping; What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,

An idolizing dreamer as of yore!

I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend

That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND; So call thee for Heaven's grace through thee made known,

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;

And for less obvious benefits, that find

Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind;
Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime,
And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,
Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins,
And wounds and weakness oft his labor's sole

The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams, Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams; A look of thine the wilderness pervades,

And penetrates the forest's inmost shades;
Thou, checkering peaceably the minster's gloom,
Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb ;
Canst reach the Prisoner, to his grated cell
Welcome, though silent and intangible! —

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