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THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE 265

THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE*

Composed 1830.-Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been given to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury,t who went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of cholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window and dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of. It was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses.-I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."-ED.

As often as I murmur here

My half-formed melodies,

Straight from her osier mansion near,
The Turtledove replies:

Though silent as a leaf before,
The captive promptly coos;
Is it to teach her own soft lore,
Or second my weak Muse?

I rather think, the gentle Dove

Is murmuring a reproof,
Displeased that I from lays of love

Have dared to keep aloof;

That I, a Bard of hill and dale,

Have carolled, fancy free,‡
As if nor dove nor nightingale,
Had heart or voice for me.

5

ΙΟ

15

* In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled "Twenty_minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within doors."-ED.

+ Compare the Sonnet beginning

ED.

While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)
Compare A Midsummer Night's Dream, act II. scene i. l. 164.-ED.

If such thy meaning, O forbear,
Sweet Bird! to do me wrong;
Love, blessed Love, is every where
The spirit of my song:

'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,
Love animates my lyre——
That coo again!-'tis not to chide,
I feel, but to inspire.

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PRESENTIMENTS

Composed 1830.-Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount.-I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination.”—ED.

PRESENTIMENTS! they judge not right
Who deem that ye from open light

Retire in fear of shame;

All heaven-born Instincts shun the touch
Of vulgar sense,—and, being such,

Such privilege ye claim.

The tear whose source I could not guess,

The deep sigh that seemed fatherless,
Were mine in early days;

And now, unforced by time to part
With fancy, I obey my heart,

And venture on your praise.

What though some busy foes to good,
Too potent over nerve and blood,

Lurk near you-and combine
To taint the health which ye infuse ;
This hides not from the moral Muse
Your origin divine.

5

ΙΟ

15

PRESENTIMENTS

How oft from you, derided Powers!
Comes Faith that in auspicious hours
Builds castles, not of air:
Bodings unsanctioned by the will
Flow from your visionary skill,
And teach us to beware.

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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift,

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Shall vanish, if ye please,

Like morning mist: and, where it lay,

The spirits at your bidding play

In gaiety and ease.

Star-guided contemplations move

Through space, though calm, not raised above

Prognostics that ye rule;

The naked Indian of the wild,
And haply, too, the cradled Child,
Are pupils of your school.

But who can fathom your intents,
Number their signs or instruments ?
A rainbow, a sunbeam,

A subtle smell that Spring unbinds,
Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds,
An echo, or a dream.*

The laughter of the Christmas hearth
With sighs of self-exhausted mirth
Ye feelingly reprove ;

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* Compare Robert Browning's Bishop Blougram's Apology, ll. 191-197

there's a sunset-touch,

A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,

A chorus-ending from Euripides,-

And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears

As old and new at once as Nature's self,

To rap and knock and enter in our soul,

Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, etc. ED.

And daily, in the conscious breast,

Your visitations are a test

And exercise of love.

When some great change gives boundless scope To an exulting Nation's hope,

Oft, startled and made wise

By your low-breathed interpretings,

The simply-meek foretaste the springs
Of bitter contraries.

Ye daunt the proud array of war,
Pervade the lonely ocean far

As sail hath been unfurled ;
For dancers in the festive hall
What ghastly partners hath your call
Fetched from the shadowy world.

'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense, Emboldened by a keener sense;

That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year

Should knell them to the tomb.

Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Blest times when mystery is laid bare,
Truth shows a glorious face,

While on that isthmus which commands
The councils of both worlds, she stands,
Sage Spirits! by your grace.

God, who instructs the brutes to scent
All changes of the element,

Whose wisdom fixed the scale
Of natures, for our wants provides
By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,
When lights of reason fail.

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