The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else is not thine at all. But joy to him, Oh, joy to him who here hath sown, hath laid Here, the foundation of his future years! For all that friendship, all that love can do, All that a darling countenance can look Or dear voice utter, to complete the man, Perfect him, made imperfect in himself, All shall be his: and he whose soul hath risen Up to the height of feeling intellect Shall want no humbler tenderness; his heart Be tender as a nursing mother's heart; Of female softness shall his life be full, Of humble cares and delicate desires, Mild interests and gentlest sympathies.
Child of my parents! Sister of my soul! Thanks in sincerest verse have been elsewhere Poured out for all the early tenderness Which I from thee imbibed: and 'tis most true That later seasons owed to thee no less; For, spite of thy sweet influence and the touch Of kindred hands that opened out the springs Of genial thought in childhood, and in spite Of all that unassisted I had marked In life or nature of those charms minute That win their way into the heart by stealth (Still to the very going-out of youth)
I too exclusively esteemed that love,
And sought that beauty, which, as Milton sings, Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down
This over-sternness; but for thee, dear Friend!
My soul, too reckless of mild
grace, had stood In her original self too confident,
Retained too long a countenance severe; A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds Familiar, and a favourite of the stars:
But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers, Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze, And teach the little birds to build their nests And warble in its chambers. At a time When Nature, destined to remain so long Foremost in my affections, had fallen back Into a second place, pleased to become A handmaid to a nobler than herself,
When every day brought with it some new sense Of exquisite regard for common things, And all the earth was budding with these gifts Of more refined humanity, thy breath, Dear Sister! was a kind of gentler spring That went before my steps. Thereafter came One whom with thee friendship had early paired; She came, no more a phantom to adorn A moment, but an inmate of the heart, And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined To penetrate the lofty and the low; Even as one essence of pervading light
Shines, in the brightest of ten thousand stars And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp Couched in the dewy grass.
Coleridge! with this my argument, of thee Shall I be silent? O capacious Soul!
Placed on this earth to love and understand,
And from thy presence shed the light of love, Shall I be mute, ere thou be spoken of? Thy kindred influence to my heart of hearts Did also find its way. Thus fear relaxed Her over-weening grasp; thus thoughts and things In the self-haunting spirit learned to take More rational proportions; mystery, The incumbent mystery of sense and soul, Of life and death, time and eternity, Admitted more habitually a mild Interposition-a serene delight
In closelier gathering cares, such as become A human creature, howsoe'er endowed, Poet, or destined for a humbler name; And so the deep enthusiastic joy,
The rapture of the hallelujah sent
From all that breathes and is, was chastened, stemmed And balanced by pathetic truth, by trust
In hopeful reason, leaning on the stay Of Providence; and in reverence for duty,
Here, if need be, struggling with storms, and there Strewing in peace life's humblest ground with herbs, At every season green, sweet at all hours.
And now, O Friend! this history is brought To its appointed close: the discipline And consummation of a Poet's mind, In everything that stood most prominent, Have faithfully been pictured; we have reached The time (our guiding object from the first) When we may, not presumptuously, I hope, Suppose my powers so far confirmed, and such My knowledge, as to make me capable
Of building up a Work that shall endure. Yet much hath been omitted, as need was; Of books how much! and even of the other wealth That is collected among woods and fields, Far more: for Nature's secondary grace Hath hitherto been barely touched upon, The charm more superficial that attends Her works, as they present to Fancy's choice Apt illustrations of the moral world, Caught at a glance, or traced with curious pains.
Finally, and above all, O Friend! (I speak With due regret) how much is overlooked In human nature and her subtle ways, As studied first in our own hearts, and then In life among the passions of mankind, Varying their composition and their hue, Where'er we move, under the diverse shapes That individual character presents
To an attentive eye. For progress meet, Along this intricate and difficult path, Whate'er was wanting, something had I gained, As one of many schoolfellows compelled, In hardy independence, to stand up Amid conflicting interests, and the shock Of various tempers; to endure and note
What was not understood, though known to be; Among the mysteries of love and hate, Honour and shame, looking to right and left, Unchecked by innocence too delicate, And moral notions too intolerant,
Sympathies too contracted. Hence, when called To take a station among men, the step
Was easier, the transition more secure, More profitable also; for, the mind Learns from such timely exercise to keep In wholesome separation the two natures, The one that feels, the other that observes.
Yet one word more of personal concern ;— Since I withdrew unwillingly from France, I led an undomestic wanderer's life,
In London chiefly harboured, whence I roamed, Tarrying at will in many a pleasant spot Of rural England's cultivated vales
Or Cambrian solitudes. A youth-(he bore The name of Calvert- -it shall live, if words Of mine can give it life,) in firm belief That by endowments not from me withheld Good might be furthered-in his last decay By a bequest sufficient for my needs Enabled me to pause for choice, and walk At large and unrestrained, nor damped too soon By mortal cares. Himself no Poet, yet Far less a common follower of the world, He deemed that my pursuits and labours lay Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even A necessary maintenance insures,
Without some hazard to the finer sense;
He cleared a passage for me, and the stream Flowed in the bent of Nature.
Told what best merits mention, further pains Our present purpose seems not to require, And I have other tasks. Recal to mind The mood in which this labour was begun,
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