Open, ye thickets! let her fly, Swift as a Thracian Nymph, o'er field and height! Turning them inside out with arch audacity. Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays; A face o'er which a thousand shadows go! She stops, is fastened to that rivulet's side; And there (while, with sedater mien, O'er timid waters that have scarcely left She bends) at leisure may be seen Amid their smiles and dimples dignified, Fit countenance for the soul of primal truth'; The bland composure of eternal youth! What more changeful than the sea? But over his great tides Fidelity presides; And this light-hearted Maiden constant is as le High is her aim as heaven above, And wide as ether her good-will; And, like the lowly reed, her love Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill: Insight as keen as frosty star Is to her charity no bar, Nor interrupts her frolic graces When she is, far from these wild places, Encircled by familiar faces. O the charm that manners draw, Her voice would utter, aught ensue Untoward or unfit; She, in benign affections pure, In self-forgetfulness secure, Sheds round the transient harm or vague mischance A light unknown to tutored elegance: Hers is not a cheek shame-stricken, But her blushes are joy-flushes; And the fault (if fault it be) Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free As if she knew that Oberon king of Faery Had crossed her purpose with some quaint vagary; And heard his viewless bands Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands. "Last of the Three, though eldest born, Reveal thyself, like pensive Morn Touched by the skylark's earliest note, But whether in the semblance drest Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west, Each grief, through meekness, settling into rest. Or I would hail thee when some high-wrought page Of a closed volume lingering in thy hand Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand see it there, Her brow hath opened on me, Nor dread the depth of meditative eye; What wouldst thou more? In sunny glade, Since earth grew calm while angels mused? To crush the mountain dew-drops, soon to melt That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue, As fitly spring from turf the mourner weeps on, And without wrong are cropped the marble tomb to strew. The Charm is over; the mute Phantoms gone, Nor will return; -but droop not, favored Youth; The apparition that before thee shone Obeyed a summons covetous of truth. From these wild rocks thy footsteps I will guide To bowers in which thy fortune may be tried, And one of the bright Three become thy happy Bride. XLI. 1928. THE WISHING-GATE. In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old highway leading to Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the Wishing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favorable issue. HOPE rules a land for ever green All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen Are confident and gay; Clouds at her bidding disappear; Points she to aught?-the bliss draws near And Fancy smooths the way. Not such the land of Wishes, there Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer, And thoughts with things at strife; Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, Ye superstitions of the heart, How poor, were human life! When magic lore abjured its might, Inquire not if the Faery race If here a warrior left a spell, Or here a saint expired. Enough that all around is fair, Peace to embosom and content, The selfish to reprove. |