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 overweening 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,
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,
Honor 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 harbored, whence I roamed, Tarrying at will in many a pleasant spot Of rural England's cultivated vales
Or Cambrian solitudes. A youth, 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 labors 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. Recall to mind The mood in which this labor was begun, O Friend! The termination of my course Is nearer now, much nearer; yet even then, In that distraction and intense desire,
I said unto the life which I had lived,
Where art thou? Hear I not a voice from thee Which 't is reproach to hear? Anon I rose As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretched Vast prospect of the world which I had been And was; and hence this Song, which like a lark I have protracted, in the unwearied heavens Singing, and often with more plaintive voice To earth attempered and her deep-drawn sighs, Yet centring all in love, and in the end. All gratulant, if rightly understood.
Whether to me shall be allotted life,
And, with life, power to accomplish aught of worth,
That will be deemed no insufficient plea For having given the story of myself,
Is all uncertain: but, beloved Friend!
When, looking back, thou seest, in clearer view Than any liveliest sight of yesterday,
That summer, under whose indulgent skies Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart, Didst chant the vision of that Ancient Man, The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes Didst utter of the Lady Christabel ; And I, associate with such labor, steeped In soft forgetfulness the livelong hours, Murmuring of him who, joyous hap, was found, After the perils of his moonlight ride, Near the loud waterfall; or her who sat In misery near the miserable Thorn;
When thou dost to that summer turn thy thoughts, And hast before thee all which then we were, To thee, in memory of that happiness,
It will be known, by thee at least, my Friend! Felt, that the history of a Poet's mind Is labor not unworthy of regard: To thee the work shall justify itself.
The last and later portions of this gift Have been prepared, not with the buoyant spirita That were our daily portion when we first
Together wantoned in wild Poesy,
But under pressure of a private grief,
Keen and enduring, which the mind and heart, That in this meditative history
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