And ever, as we fondly muse, we find

The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind.
Stay! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay!
Ah no! as fades the vale, they fade away:
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains;
Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains.

The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread Silent the hedge or steamy rivulet's bed,1 From his grey reappearing tower shall soon Salute with gladsome note the rising moon, While with a hoary light she frosts the ground, And pours a deeper blue to Æther's bound; Pleased, as she moves, her pomp of clouds to fold In robes of azure, fleecy-white, and gold.2

Above yon eastern hill, where darkness broods 3 O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods;

1 1836.

The bird, with fading light who ceased to thread
Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed,

1793.

The bird, who ceased with fading light to thread
Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed,

1815.

Salute with boding note the rising moon,
Frosting with hoary light the pearly ground,
And pouring deeper blue to Æther's bound;
Rejoiced her solemn pomp of clouds to fold
In robes of azure, fleecy white, and gold,
While rose and poppy, as the glow-worm fades,
Cluster with paler red the thicket shades.

1793.

And pleased her solemn pomp of clouds to fold
In robes of azure, fleecy-white, and gold.

1815.

Now, o'er the eastern hill, where darkness broods, 1793.
See o'er the eastern hill,

1815.

Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace,
Even now she shows, half-veiled, her lovely face: 1
Across the gloomy valley flings her light,2

Far to the western slopes with hamlets white;
And gives, where woods the chequered upland strew,
To the green corn of summer, autumn's hue.

Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn
Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn,
Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer
The weary hills, impervious, blackening near;
Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while
On darling spots remote her tempting smile.

Even now she decks for me a distant scene, (For dark and broad the gulf of time between) Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray, (Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; How fair its lawns and sheltering3 woods appear! How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear!) Where we, my Friend, to happy days shall rise, 'Till our small share of hardly paining sighs (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death.

But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains, And, rimy without speck, extend the plains:

The deepest cleft the mountains front displays 1
Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays;
From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide
The hills, while gleams below the azure tide;
Time softly treads; throughout the landscape breathes
A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths
Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood
Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood.2

The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day,
Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way.
Air listens, like the sleeping water, still,
To catch the spiritual music of the hill,3
Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep,
Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep,
The echoed hoof nearing the distant shore,
The boat's first motion-made with dashing oar;
Sound of closed gate, across the water borne,
Hurrying the timid hare through rustling corn; 5

1 1836.

The deepest dell the mountain's breast displays,
The deepest dell the mountain's front displays

4

1793.

1820.

The scene is wakened, yet its peace unbroke,
By silvered wreaths of quiet charcoal smoke,
That, o'er the ruins of the fallen wood,
Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood.

1793.

Soon followed by his hollow-parting oar,
And echoed hoof approaching the far shore;

Hurrying the feeding hare through rustling corn.

1793.

1793.

The sportive outcry of the mocking owl;1
And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl;
The distant forge's swinging thump profound;
Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound.

LINES

WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING.

Comp. 1789.

Pub. 1798.

[This title is scarcely correct. It was during a solitary walk on the banks of the Cam that I was first struck with this appearance, and applied it to my own feelings in the manner here expressed, changing the scene to the Thames, near Windsor. This, and the three stanzas of the following poem, "Remembrance of Collins," formed one piece; but, upon the recommendation of Coleridge, the three last stanzas were separated from the other.]

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,2
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent course pursues ! 3

And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterers beguiling.

Such views the youthful Bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
Till peace go with him to the tomb.

-

-And let him nurse his fond deceit,

And what if he must die in sorrow!

Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?

REMEMBRANCE OF COLLINS.

COMPOSED UPON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND.

Comp. 1789.

Pub. 1798.

GLIDE gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames that other bards may see
As lovely visions by thy side.

As now, fair river! come to me.
O glide, fair stream! for ever so,
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow

As thy deep waters now are flowing.

Vain thought!-Yet be as now thou art,

That in thy waters may be seen
The image of a poet's heart,

How bright, how solemn, how serene!
Such as did once the Poet bless,1

Who murmuring here a later* ditty,

Could find no refuge from distress
But in the milder grief of pity.

1

1815.

Such heart did once the poet bless,
When pouring here a later ditty.

1798.

*Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson, the last written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his lifetime, This Ode is also alluded to in the next stanza. 1798.