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In man's perturbed soul thy sway benign; Of the propitious hour, thou may'st per-
For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt
Their anguish,-and they blend sweet songs with thine1.
[Composed 1818.-Published January 1819 (Blackwood's Magazine); Peter Bell vol., 1819.] WAS the aim frustrated by force or guile, When giants scooped from out the rocky ground,
Tier under tier, this semicirque profound?
Of all-beholding Phoebus! But, alas,
The local Deity, with oozy hair
And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn,
Recumbent: Him thou may'st behold, who hides
Have gained a sanction from thy falling The air of liberty, the light of truth; Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth:
Then I repent not. But my soul hath fears Breathed from eternity; for, as a dart Cleaves the blank air, Life flies:
Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel
Of the revolving week. Away, away,
And honour rest upon the senseless clay.
PART III. I.
[Composed ?.-Published 1842.] THOUGH the bold wings of Poesy affect The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt,
Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect
5 The lingering dew-there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect. Her functions are they therefore less divine,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive;
Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present One offering, kneel before her modest shrine,
With brow in penitential sorrow bent!
OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820.
[Composed 1820.-Published 1820.]
YE sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth! In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers
And to that brow life's morning wreath
Let her be comprehended in the frame
RECOLLECTION OF THE PORTRAIT OF KING HENRY THE EIGHTH, TRINITY LODGE, CAMBRIDGE.
[Composed ?.-Published 1827.]
THE imperial Stature, the colossal stride, Are yet before me; yet do I behold
Expand, enjoying through their vernal The broad full visage, chest of amplest
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent In Nature's face the expression of repose; Or haply there some pious hermit chose 5 To live and die, the peace of heaven his aim;
And while those lofty poplars gently wave Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
To saints accorded in their mortal hour.
COMPOSED AMONG THE RUINS OF A CASTLE
Be named; where, faithful to a lowroofed Cot,
[Composed probably September, 1824.-Published On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long; Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb,
THROUGH shattered galleries, 'mid roof- Even on this earth, above the reach of
Wandering with timid footsteps oft be
The Stranger sighs, nor scruples to up-
Old Time, though he, gentlest among the
TO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE,
[Composed September, 1824.-Published 1827.] How art thou named? In search of what strange land,
From what huge height, descending?
Of waters issue from a British source,
Light deepening the profoundest sleep Or hath not Pindus fed thee, where the band
From his loved home, and from heroic toil.
Or float with music in the festal barge; Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led;
Her doom it is to press a weary bed- 5 Till oft her guardian Angel, to some charge
More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large,
And friends too rarely prop the languid head.
Yet, helped by Genius-untired comforter,
The presence even of a stuffed Owl for
Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out To ivied castles and to moonlight skies, Though he can neither stir a plume, nor
Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.
TO THE CUCKOO.
NOT the whole warbling grove in concert heard
When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill
Like the first summons, Cuckoo! of thy
With its twin notes inseparably paired.
And trust that spiritual Creatures round The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned,
5 Griefs to allay which Reason cannot Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick
Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to
To fettered wretchedness that no Bastille
Is deep enough to exclude the light of love,
Though man for brother man has ceased to feel.