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Perplexed her fingers seem,
As if they from the holly tree
Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly
Flung from her to the stream.

What means the Spectre? Why intent
To violate the Tree,

Thought Eglamore, by which I swore,
Unfading constancy?

Here am I, and to-morrow's sun,
To her I left, shall prove

That bliss is ne'er so surely won

As when a circuit has been run
Of valour, truth, and love.

So from the spot whereon he stood,
He moved with stealthy pace;
And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,

He recognised the face;

And whispers caught, and speeches small,
Some to the green-leaved tree,

Some muttered to the torrent-fall ;-
"Roar on, and bring him with thy call;
"I heard, and so may He!"

Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew
If Emma's Ghost it were,

Or boding Shade, or if the Maid

Her very self stood there.

He touched; what followed who shall tell?
The soft touch snapped the thread

Of slumber-shrieking back she fell,
And the Stream whirled her down the dell
Along its foaming bed.

In plunged the Knight!—when on firm ground

The rescued Maiden lay,

Her eyes grew bright with blissful light,

Confusion passed away;

She heard, ere to the throne of grace

Her faithful Spirit flew,

His voice-beheld his speaking face;
And, dying, from his own embrace,
She felt that he was true.

So was he reconciled to life:

Brief words may speak the rest; Within the dell he built a cell, And there was Sorrow's guest; he found,

In hermits' weeds repose

From vain temptations free;

Beside the torrent dwelling-bound

By one deep heart-controlling sound,
And awed to piety.

Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course,

Nor fear memorial lays,

Where clouds that spread in solemn shade,
Are edged with golden rays!

Dear art thou to the light of heaven,

Though minister of sorrow;

Sweet is thy voice at pensive even;
And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven,
Shalt take thy place with Yarrow !

1833.

XLVII.

TO CORDELIA M

HALLSTEADS, ULLSWATER.

Nor in the mines beyond the western main,
You say, Cordelia, was the metal sought,
Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought
Into this flexible yet faithful Chain;

Nor is it silver of romantic Spain

But from our loved Helvellyn's depths was brought,
Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought
Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain,
Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being:
Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound
(Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord,
What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing,
Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord,
For precious tremblings in your bosom found!

XLVIII,

MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;

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Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between

The beauty coming and the beauty gone.

If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

VOL. IV.

POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION.

I.

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.

[THIS poem is a favorite among the Quakers, as I have learnt on many occasions. It was composed in front of the house at Alfoxden, in the spring of 1798.]

"WHY, William, on that old grey stone,

Thus for the length of half a day,

Why, William, sit you thus alone,

And dream your time away?

Where are your books ?-that light bequeathed

To Beings else forlorn and blind!

Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.

You look round on your Mother Earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before you.!"

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