STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN.*

STRANGE fits of passion have I known :

And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,

What once to me befel.

When she I loved looked every day

Fresh as a rose in June, t

I to her cottage bent my way,

Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,

All over the wide lea;

With quickening pace my horse drew nigh‡

Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard-plot;

And, as we climbed the hill,

The sinking moon to Lucy's cot

Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

* Written at Goslar, in Germany, 1799.

+ When she I loved was strong and gay,
And like a rose in June.-Edit. 1815.

My horse trudged on, and we drew nigh.-Edit. 1815.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped :
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!

"O mercy!" to myself I cried,

"If Lucy should be dead!"

I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN.*

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire ;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played ;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

* Written at Goslar, 1799.

LOUISA.

AFTER ACCOMPANYING HER ON A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION.

I MET Louisa in the shade,

And, having seen that lovely Maid,

Why should I fear to say

That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,*
And down the rocks can leap along
Like rivulets in May ? +

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak ;

And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine 'beneath the moon,'

If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,

When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.

* That she is ruddy, fleet and strong.-Edit. 1815.

1805.

In the earlier editions the following stanza is interposed between the

first and second, as at present printed :

And she hath smiles to earth unknown,

Smiles that with motion of their own

Do spread, and sink and rise;

That come and go with endless play,

And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.

'TIS SAID THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE.

'Tis said, that some have died for love:

And here and there a church-yard grave is found

In the cold north's unhallowed ground,

*

Because the wretched man himself had slain,

His love was such a grievous pain.

And there is one whom I five years have known ; He dwells alone

Upon Helvellyn's side:

He loved the pretty Barbara died;

And thus he makes his moan:

Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid

When thus his moan he made:

"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

That in some other way yon smoke

May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart :

I look-the sky is empty space;

I know not what I trace

e;

But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

O! what a weight is in these shades!

Ye leaves,

That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?

Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,

* In Cumberland and Westmorland, there is an unwillingness to use the churchyard ground north of the church, for Christian burial.

Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free,

Into yon row of willows flit,

Upon that alder sit;

Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained!

For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

That cannot be sustained;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,

Oh let it then be dumb!

Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.

Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,*
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale,
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

And stir not in the gale.

For thus to see thee nodding in the air,

To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,

Thus rise and thus descend,

Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear."

The Man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.

* whose arch so proudly towers,

1800.

Even like a rainbow.-Edit. 1815.