Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, That rustling on the bushy clift above, With melancholy bleat of anxious love, Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb: Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb,
E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness- How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless
Where INSPIRATION, his diviner strains Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage! O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, Th'advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime Cheering and cheer'd,this lovely hill sublime; Now lead, now follow: the glad landscape | And from the stirring world up-lifted high, round, (Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, Wide and more wide increasing without To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark The berries of the half-uprooted ash Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,-
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark, Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock; In social silence now, and now t'unlock The treasur'd heart; arm link'd in friendly
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till high o'er head his beck'ning friend
And from the forehead of the topmost crag Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears That shadowing PINE its old romantic limbs, Which latest shall detain th' enamoured sight Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
And oft the melancholy theme supply) There, while the prospect through the gazing
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the
As neighbouring fountains image, each the whole:
Then when the mind hath drank its fill of truth,
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. They whom I love shall love thee. Honor'd youth!
Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!
Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light; ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF And haply, bason'd in some unsunn'd cleft, A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale! Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, While west-winds fann'd our temples toil- bedew'd:
Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount, To some lone mansion, in some woody dale, Where smiling with blue eye, DOMESTIC BLISS Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's kiss!
Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore, The Hill of Knowledge I essay'd to trace; That verd'rous hill with many a resting-place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters
WHO ABANDON'D HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT and CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY.
HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe, O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear! To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear: Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm- leaves strew'd,
Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part
Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd
The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while thy heart
Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims, Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)
What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd, All effortless thou leave life's common- weal
To glad and fertilize the subject plains; That hill with secret springs, and nooks A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod
MARK this holy chapel well!
The birth-place, this, of WILLIAM TELL. Here, where stands God's altar dread, Stood his parents' marriage-bed.
Here first, an infant to her breast, Him his loving mother prest; And kiss'd the babe, and bless'd the day, And pray'd as mothers use to pray :
Vouchsafe him health, oh God! and give The child thy servant still to live!— But God had destined to do more Through him, than through an armed power.
God gave him reverence of laws, Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause— A spirit to his rocks akin,
The eye of the Hawk, and the fire therein!
To Nature and to Holy-writ Alone did God the boy commit: Where flash'd and roar'd the torrent, oft His soul found wings, and soar'd aloft!
The straining oar and chamois-chase Had form'd his limbs to strength and grace: On wave and wind the boy would toss, Was great, nor knew how great he was!
He knew not that his chosen hand, Made strong by God, his native land Would rescue from the shameful yoke Of Slavery-the which he broke!
ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY.
Ir dead, we cease to be; if total gloom Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom, Whose sound and motion not alone declare, But are their whole of being! If the breath Be life itself, and not its task and tent, If ev'n a soul like Milton's can know death: O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant, Yet drone-hive strange of phantom-purposes, Surplus of nature's dread activity, Which, as she gaz'd on some nigh-finish'd
Retreating slow, with meditative pause, She form'd with restless hands unconsciously. Blank accident! nothing's anomaly! If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears
|The counter-weights!-Thy laughter and thy tears Mean but themselves, each fittest to create And to repay the other! Why rejoices Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good, Why cowl thy face beneath the Mourner's hood,
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,
Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, That such a thing, as thou, feelst warm or cold!
Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold These costless shadows of thy shadowy self? Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun! Thou hast no reason why! Thou canʼst have none!
Thy being's being is contradiction.
Composed before day-light, on the morning appointed for the departure of a very worthy, but not very pleasant Visitor, whom it was feared the rain might detain.
I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain, I have not once open'd the lids of my eyes, But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies. O Rain! that I lie listening to,
You're but a doleful sound at best: I owe you little thanks, 'tis true, For breaking thus my needful rest! Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight, I'll neither rail, nor malice keep, Tho' sick and sore for want of sleep: But only now, for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we, Both night and day, but ill agree: For days, and months, and almost years, Have limp'd on thro' this vale of tears, Since body of mine and rainy weather Have liv'd on easy terms together. O Rain! you will but take your flight, Yet if, as soon as it is light, Though you should come again to-morrow, And bring with you both pain and sorrow; Tho' stomach should sicken, and knees should swell-
I'll nothing speak of you but well. Do go, dear Rain! do go away! But only now for this one day,
Dear Rain! I ne'er refus'd to say You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself, Would fit a parson's lower shelf, Shewing, how very good you are- What then? sometimes it must be fair! And if sometimes, why not to day? Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy, Take no offence! I'll tell you, why. A dear old Friend e'en now is here, And with him came my sister dear; After long absence now first met, Long months by pain and grief beset- We three dear friends! in truth, we groan Impatiently to be alone.
We three, you mark! and not one more! The strong wish makes my spirit sore. We have so much to talk about, So many sad things to let out; So many tears in our eye-corners, Sitting like little Jacky Horners- In short, as soon as it is day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain! Whenever you shall come again, Be you as dull as e'er you could (And by the bye 'tis understood, You're not so pleasant, as you're good), Yet, knowing well your worth and place, I'll welcome you with cheerful face; And though you stay'd a week or more, Were ten times duller than before; Yet with kind heart, and right good will, I'll sit and listen to you still;
Nor should you go away, dear Rain! Uninvited to remain.
But only now, for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
NEVER, believe me, Appear the Immortals, Never alone:
Scarce had I welcom'd the Sorrow-beguiler, Jacchus! but in came Boy Cupid, the Smiler; Lo! Phœbus, the Glorious, descends from his Throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians
With Divinities fills my
Terrestrial Hall!
How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial Quire?
Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Ah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my Soul! O give me the Nectar!
Give him the Nectar!
Pour out for the Poet! Hebe! pour free!
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, That Styx the detested no more he may view, And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be! Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Jo Pæan, I cry! The Wine of the Immortals Forbids me to die!
AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.
ALL hail! thou noble Land, Our Fathers' native soil! O stretch thy mighty hand, Gigantic grown by toil,
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore: For thou with magic might Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright
The Genius of our clime,
From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the guest sublime;
While the Tritons of the deep
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.
Then let the world combine- O'er the main our Naval Line Like the milky way shall shine Bright in fame!
Though ages long have past
Since our Fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,
O'er untravell'd seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame Which.no tyranny can tame By its chains?
While the language free and bold Which the Bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told
How the vault of Heaven rung
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; While this, with rev'rence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast;
While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts— Between let ocean roll,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? To be beloved is all I need,
Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: And whom I love, I love indeed.
Yet still from either beach
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech, "We are One."
But yester-night I pray'd aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorn'd, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet burning still! Desire with loathing strangely mixed On wild or hateful objects fixed. Fantastic passions! mad'ning brawl! And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know, Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, My own or others still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame!
So two nights passed: the night's dismay Sadden'd and stunn'd the coming day. Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream Had waked me from the fiendish dream, O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild, I wept as I had been a child; And having thus by tears subdued · My anguish to a milder mood, Such punishments, I said, were due To natures deepliest stain'd with sin: For aye entempesting anew Th' unfathomable hell within The horror of their deeds to view,
For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use Of all the powers which God for use had given?
But chiefly this, him first, him last to view Through meaner powers and secondary things Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his blaze.
For all that meets the bodily sense I deem Symbolical, one mighty alphabet For infant minds; and we in this low world Placed with our backs to bright Reality, That we may learn with young unwounded ken
The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love, Whose latence is the plenitude of All, Thou with retracted beams and self-eclipse Veiling revealest thy eternal Sun.
But some there are who deem themselves most free When they within this gross and visible sphere
Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent,
Proud in their meanness: and themselves they cheat
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase, Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,) Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves,
Untenanting creation of its God.
But properties are God: the naked mass (If mass there be, fantastic Guess or Ghost!)
Acts only by its inactivity. Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think That as one body seems the aggregate Of Atoms numberless, each organized: So by a strange and dim similitude Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs With absolute ubiquity of thought (His one eternal self-affirming Act!) All his involved Monads, that yet seem With various province and apt agency Each to pursue its own self-centering end. Some nurse the infant-diamond in the mine; Some roll the genial juices through the oak; Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air,
And rushing on the storm with whirlwindspeed,
Yoke the red lightning to their vollying car. Thus these pursue their never - varying
And what if some, rebellious, o'er dark realms
Arrogate power? yet these train up to God, And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day, Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom. As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows, While yet the stern and solitary Night Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam, Guiding his course or by Niemi lake Or Balda-Zhiok, or the mossy stone Of Solfar-Kapper, while the snowy blast Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge, Making the poor babe at its mother's back Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while Wins gentle solace as with upward eye He marks the streamy banners of the North, Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join
Who there in floating robes of rosy light Dance sportively. For Fancy is the Power That first unsensualizes the dark mind, Giving it new delights; and bids it swell With wild activity; and, peopling air, By obscure fears of Beings invisible, Emancipates it from the grosser thrall Of the present impulse, teaching Self-con- troul,
Till Superstition with unconscious hand Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not
Nor yet without permitted power impress'd, With Wisdom, Mother of retired Thoughts, I deem those legends terrible, with which Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng:
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