If expectations newly blown

Have perished in thy sight;

If loves and joys, while up they sprung,

Were caught as in a snare;
Such is the lot of all the young,

However bright and fair.

Lo! Streams that April could not check
Are patient of thy rule;
Gurgling in foamy water-break,
Loitering in grassy pool:
By thee, thee only, could be sent
Such gentle mists as glide,
Curling with unconfirmed intent,
On that green mountain's side.

How delicate the leafy veil

Through which yon house of God
Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale *

By few but shepherds trod!
And lowly huts, near beaten ways,

No sooner stand attired

In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise
Peep forth, and are admired.

Season of fancy and of hope,
Permit not for one hour

A blossom from thy crown to drop,
Nor add it to a flower!

Keep, lovely May, as if by touch
Of self-restraining art,

This modest charm of not too much,
Part seen, imagined part!

* Newlands. See the Fenwick note.-ED.

ONCE I COULD HAIL (HOWE'ER SERENE THE SKY). 147

["No faculty yet given me to espy

The dusky Shape within her arms imbound."

Afterwards, when I could not avoid seeing it, I wondered at this, and the more so because, like most children, I had been in the habit of watching the moon through all her changes, and had often continued to gaze at it when at the full till half blinded.]

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme."

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Percy's Reliques.

ONCE I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy

The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost

Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost,

Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appeared was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim;
To expectations spreading with wild growth,
And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.

I saw (ambition quickening at the view)
A silver boat launched on a boundless flood;
A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw
Its brightest splendour round a leafy wood;

148 ONCE I COULD HAIL (HOWE'ER SERENE THE SKY).

But not a hint from under-ground, no sign
Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine.*

Or was it Dian's self* that seemed to move
Before me? nothing blemished the fair sight;
On her I looked whom jocund Fairies love,
Cynthia,* who puts the little stars to flight,
And by that thinning magnifies the great,
For exaltation of her sovereign state.

And when I learned to mark the spectral Shape
As each new Moon obeyed the call of Time,
If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape;
Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime,
To see or not to see, as best may please
A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease.

Now, dazzling Stranger! when thou meet'st my glance, Thy dark Associate ever I discern;

Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance

While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern;

Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain

Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain.

So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;
A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring
The timely insight that can temper fears,
And from vicissitude remove its sting;
While Faith aspires to seats in that domain
Where joys are perfect-neither wax nor wane.

Tenet, lustrat, agit, Proserpina, Luna, Diana ;
Ima, suprema, feras, sceptro, fulgore, sagitta.

-ED.

THE MASSY WAYS, CARRIED ACROSS THESE HEIGHTS. 149

[The walk is what we call the Far-terrace, beyond the summer-house at Rydal Mount. The lines were written when we were afraid of being obliged to quit the place to which we were so much attached.]

2

THE massy Ways, carried across these heights 1
By Roman perseverance, † are destroyed,
Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms.
How venture then to hope that Time will spare
This humble Walk? Yet on the mountain's side
A POET'S hand first shaped it; and the steps
Of that same Bard-repeated to and fro
At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies
Through the vicissitudes of many a year-

1 1835.

3

Of that same Bard, by pacing to and fro

At morn, and noon, and under moonlight skies

MS.

MS.

* The title of these lines in the edition of 1835 was Inscription.-ED. + Referring to the Roman wall, fragments of which are to be seen on High Street. Ambleside was a Roman station. "At the upper corner of Windermere lieth the dead carcase of an ancient city, with great ruins of walls, and many heaps of rubbish, one from another, remaining of building without the walls, yet to be seen. The fortress thereof was somewhat long, fenced with a ditch and rampire, took up in length 132 ells, and breadth 80. That it had been the Romans' work is evident by the British bricks, by the mortar tempered with little pieces of brick among it, by small earthern pots or pitchers, by small cruets or phials of glass, by pieces of Roman money oftentimes found, and by round stones as big as millstones or quernstones, of which laid and couched together they framed in old times their columns, and by the paved ways leading to it. Now the ancient name is gone, unless a man would guess at it, and think it were that Amboglana, whereof the book of notices maketh mention, seeing at this day it is called Ambleside."-See Camden's Britannia, 645. (edition 1590).— ED.

150

FAREWELL LINES.

Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line.

No longer, scattering to the heedless winds
The vocal raptures of fresh poesy,

1

Shall he frequent those precincts; locked no more

In earnest converse with beloved Friends,

Here will he gather stores of ready bliss,

As from the beds and borders of a garden

Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may spring
Out of a farewell yearning-favoured more
Than kindred wishes mated suitably

With vain regrets-the Exile would consign
This Walk, his loved possession, to the care
Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse. 2

[These lines were designed as a farewell to Charles Lamb and his sister, who had retired from the throngs of London to comparative solitude in the village of Enfield.]

'HIGH bliss is only for a higher state,'

But, surely, if severe afflictions borne

Murmuring his unambitious verse alone,

Or in sweet converse with beloved Friends.

No more must he frequent it. Yet might power
Follow the yearnings of the spirit, he

Reluctantly departing, would consign

This walk, his heart's possession, to the care

Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse.

MS.

As Charles Lamb retired to Enfield in 1826, these lines cannot have been composed much later than that year, although they were not published till 1842. Lamb wrote thus to Wordsworth on the 6th of April 1825: “I came home FOR EVER on Tuesday in last week. The incomprehensibleness of my condition overwhelmed me. It was like passing from life into