In dance, amid a press
Of sunshine, an apt emblem yields Of Worldlings revelling in the fields Of strenuous idleness;
Less quick the stir when tide and breeze Encounter, and to narrow seas
Forbid a moment's rest;
The medley less when boreal Lights Glance to and fro, like aery Sprites To feats of arms addrest!
Yet, spite of all this eager strife, This ceaseless play, the genuine life That serves the stedfast hours, Is in the grass beneath, that grows Unheeded, and the mute repose Of sweetly-breathing flowers.
[THESE verses and those entitled "Liberty" were composed as one piece which Mrs. Wordsworth complained of as unwieldy and ill-proportioned; and accordingly it was divided into two on her judicious recommendation.]
The Rocking-stones, alluded to in the beginning of the following verses, are supposed to have been used, by our British ancestors, both for judicial and religious purposes. Such stones are not uncommonly found, at this day, both in Great Britain and in Ireland.
WHAT though the Accused, upon his own appeal To righteous Gods when man has ceased to feel,
Or at a doubting Judge's stern command, Before the STONE OF POWER no longer stand- To take his sentence from the balanced Block, As, at his touch, it rocks, or seems to rock; Though, in the depths of sunless groves, no more The Druid-priest the hallowed Oak adore; Yet, for the Initiate, rocks and whispering trees Do still perform mysterious offices!
And functions dwell in beast and bird that sway The reasoning mind, or with the fancy play, Inviting, at all seasons, ears and eyes To watch for undelusive auguries:- Not uninspired appear their simplest ways; Their voices mount symbolical of praise- To mix with hymns that Spirits make and hear; And to fallen man their innocence is dear. Enraptured Art draws from those sacred springs Streams that reflect the poetry of things! Where christian Martyrs stand in hues portrayed, That, might a wish avail, would never fade; Borne in their hands the lily and the palm Shed round the altar a celestial calm ; There, too, behold the lamb and guileless dove Prest in the tenderness of virgin love To saintly bosoms!-Glorious is the blending Of right affections climbing or descending Along a scale of light and life, with cares Alternate; carrying holy thoughts and prayers Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High; Descending to the worm in charity;
Like those good Angels whom a dream of night Gave, in the field of Luz, to Jacob's sight
All, while he slept, treading the pendent stairs Earthward or heavenward, radiant messengers, That, with a perfect will in one accord
Of strict obedience, serve the Almighty Lord; And with untired humility forbore
To speed their errand by the wings they wore.
What a fair world were ours for verse to paint, If Power could live at ease with self-restraint! Opinion bow before the naked sense
Of the great Vision,-faith in Providence; Merciful over all his creatures, just To the least particle of sentient dust; But, fixing by immutable decrees, Seedtime and harvest for his purposes! Then would be closed the restless oblique eye That looks for evil like a treacherous spy; Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds That into breezes sink; impetuous minds By discipline endeavour to grow meek As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek. Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice; And not alone harsh tyranny would cease, But unoffending creatures find release From qualified oppression, whose defence Rests on a hollow plea of recompence; Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect. Witness those glances of indignant scorn From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn The kindness that would make him less forlorn;
Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued, His look of pitiable gratitude!
Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles,
Whose day departs in pomp, returns with smiles— To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land, As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned; A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats For Gods in council, whose green vales, retreats Fit for the shades of heroes, mingling there To breathe Elysian peace in upper air.
Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave, Stone-walls a prisoner make, but not a slave. Shall man assume a property in man? Lay on the moral will a withering ban ? Shame that our laws at distance still protect Enormities, which they at home reject!
'Slaves cannot breathe in England'-yet that boast Is but a mockery! when from coast to coast, Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil, For the poor Many, measured out by rules Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools, That to an Idol, falsely called 'the Wealth Of Nations,' sacrifice a People's health, Body and mind and soul; a thirst so keen Is ever urging on the vast machine
Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels
The Power least prized is that which thinks and feels. Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age,
And all the heavy or light vassalage
Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit
Our varying moods, on human kind or brute,
'Twere well in little, as in great, to pause, Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws. Not from his fellows only man may learn Rights to compare and duties to discern! All creatures and all objects, in degree, Are friends and patrons of humanity.
There are to whom the garden, grove, and field, Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield;
Who would not lightly violate the grace
The lowliest flower possesses in its place;
Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive,
Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give.
THE unremitting voice of nightly streams
That wastes so oft, we think, its tuneful powers, If neither soothing to the worm that gleams
Through dewy grass, nor small birds hushed in bowers,
Nor unto silent leaves and drowsy flowers,—
That voice of unpretending harmony
(For who what is shall measure by what seems To be, or not to be,
Or tax high Heaven with prodigality ?)
Wants not a healing influence that can creep Into the human breast, and mix with sleep To regulate the motion of our dreams For kindly issues-as through every clime Was felt near murmuring brooks in earliest time; As at this day, the rudest swains who dwell Where torrents roar, or hear the tinkling knell Of water-breaks, with grateful heart could tell.
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