Puslapio vaizdai
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I seemed to mount those steps; the vapours gave
Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,

With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have
Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
A lovely beauty in a summer grave!

XXXII.

SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the wind
I wished to share the transport-Oh, with whom
But thee, long buried in the silent tomb!
That spot which no vicissitude can find.
Love, faithful love recalled thee to my mind-
But how could I forget thee ?-Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss? That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn,
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

XXXIII.

Ir is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder everlastingly.

Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear'st untouched by solemn thought,

Thy nature therefore is not less divine:

Thou liest "in Abraham's bosom " all the year;
And worshipp'st at the temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

XXXIV.

COMPOSED ON THE EVE OF THE MARRIAGE OF A FRIEND, IN THE

VALE OF GRASMERE.

WHAT need of clamorous bells, or ribbons gay,
These humble nuptials to proclaim or grace?

*

Prophetic of the death of the Princess Charlotte.

Angels of love, look down upon the place,
Shed on the chosen vale a sun-bright day!
Even for such omen would the bride display
No mirthful gladness. Serious is her face,
Modest her mien; and she, whose thoughts keep pace
With gentleness, in that becoming way
Will thank you. Faultless does the maid appear,
No disproportion in her soul, no strife:
But, when the closer view of wedded life
Hath shown that nothing human can be clear
From frailty, for that insight may the wife
To her indulgent lord become more dear.

XXXV.

ON APPROACHING HOME AFTER A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1803.

FLY, some kind spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale!
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Glad tidings!-spread them over field and height;
But chiefly let one cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail,
The kitten frolic with unruly might,
And Rover whine, as at a second sight

Of near approaching good that shall not fail;—
And from that infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child,
That hath her six week's solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,

While we have wandered over wood and wild,
Smile on his mother now with bolder cheer.

XXXVI.

FROM the dark chambers of dejection freed,
Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care,
Rise, -, rise; the gales of youth shall bear
Thy genius forward like a winged steed.
Though bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed
In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air,
Yet a high guerdon waits on minds that dare,

If aught be in them of immortal seed,

And reason govern that audacious flight

Which heavenward they direct. Then droop not thou,

Erroneously renewing a sad vow

In the low dell 'mid Roslin's fading grove :

A cheerful life is what the muses love,

A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

XXXVII.

TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT.

CALVERT! it must not be unheard by them
Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.

This care was thine when sickness did condemn
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem :
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray
Where'er I liked; and finally array
My temples with the muse's diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth,
If there be aught of pure, or good, or great,
In my past verse, or shall be, in the lays
Of higher mood which now I meditate,-
It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived youth!
To think how much of this will be thy praise.

Sonnets dedicated to Liberty.

I.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, Near Calais, auGUST 1802.

FAIR star of evening, splendour of the west,
Star of my country!-on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
Conspicuous to the nations. Thou, I think,
Shouldst be my country's emblem; and shouldst wink,
Bright star, with laughter on her banners, dressed
In thy fresh beauty. There; that dusky spot
Beneath thee-it is England! there it lies.
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! I with many a fear
For my dear country, many heartfelt sighs,
'Mong men who do not love her, linger here.

II.

CALAIS, AUGUST 1802.

Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind,

Or what is it that ye go forth to see?

Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree,

Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind,

Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind!
A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown

In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:
When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you, feeble heads to slavery prone!

III.

TO A FRIEND.

COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, ON THE ROAD LEADING TO ARDRES, AUGUST 7, 1807.

JONES! when from Calais southward you and I
Travelled on foot together, then this way
Which I am pacing now, was like the May
With festivals of new-born Liberty:
A homeless sound of joy was in the sky;
The antiquated earth, as one might say,

Beat like the heart of man: songs, garlands, play,
Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
And now, sole register that these things were,
Two solitary greetings have I heard,
"Good morrow, Citizen !" a hollow word,
As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair
I feel not happy am I as a bird;

Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair.

IV. 1801.

I GRIEVED for Buonaparte, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires
To genuine greatness but from just desires,
And knowledge such as he could never gain?
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train
The governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly and meek as womanhood.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
By which true sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

V.

CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802

FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,

And his is henceforth an established sway,
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with poinps and games.
Heaven grant that other cities may be gay!
Calais is not; and I have bent my way
To the seacoast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Another time
That was, when I was here long years ago;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for pope,
Consul, or king, can sound himself to know
The destiny of man, and live in hope.

VI.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC.

ONCE did she hold the gorgeous East in fee;
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth-
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty!
She was a maiden city, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

VII.

THE KING OF SWEDEN.

THE voice of song from distant lands shall call
To that great king; shall hail the crownèd youth
Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,
By one example hath set forth to all
How they with dignity may stand-or fall,
If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
And what to him and his shall be the end?
That thought is one which neither can appal

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