All adoration of the God in nature, All lovely and all honorable things, Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel The joy and greatness of its future being? There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul Unborrow'd from my country. O divine And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole And most magnificent temple, in the which I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs, Loving the God that made me!
May my fears, My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roar'd and died away In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard In this low dell, bow'd not the delicate grass.
But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze; The light has left the summit of the hill, Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell, Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot! On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill, Homeward I wind my way; and, lo! recall'd From bodings that have well nigh wearied me, I find myself upon the brow, and pause Startled! And after lonely sojourning In such a quiet and surrounded nook, This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main, Dim tinted, there the mighty majesty Of that huge amphitheatre of rich And elmy fields, seems like society- Conversing with the mind, and giving it A livelier impulse and a dance of thought! And now, beloved Stowey! I behold
Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend; And close behind them, hidden from my view, Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dwell in peace! With light And quicken'd footsteps thitherward I tend, Remembering thee, O green and silent dell! And grateful, that by nature's quietness And solitary musings, all my heart
Is soften'd, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
O HENRY! always striv'st thou to be great By thine own act-yet art thou never great But by the inspiration of great passion.
The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves: from earth to heaven they stand, As though they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honor! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT ROOM.
O GIVE me, from this heartless scene releas'd, To hear our old musician, blind and gray, (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kist,) His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play, By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, The while I dance amid the tedded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light.
Or lies the purple evening on the bay Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees, Around whose roots the fisher's boat is tied, On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves,
Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY.
Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides ; and within a few paces of the glaziers the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue."
HAST thou a charm to stay the Morning Star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of Pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent Mount! I gaz'd upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Did'st vanish from my thought: entranc'd in prayer I worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea, with my Life, and Life's own secret Joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfus'd, Into the mighty Vision passing-there, As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven.
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstacy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my Heart, awake! Green Vales and icy Cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the Vale! O struggling with the Darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : Companion of the Morning-Star at Dawn, Thyself Earth's ROSY STAR, and of the Dawn Co-herald! wake, O wake, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth? Who fill'd thy Countenance with rosy light? Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shattered, and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?
And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain- Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless Torrents! silent Cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full Moon? Who bade the Sun Clothe you with Rainbows? Who with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God! let the Torrents, like a shout of Nations Answer! and let the Ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! Ye Pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of Snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye livery flowers that skirt the eternal Frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the Eagle's nest! Ye Eagles, play-mates of the Mountain Storm! Ye Lightnings, the dread arrows of the Clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the Hills with Praise !
Once more, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing Peaks, Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure Serene, Into the depth of Clouds that veil thy breast-
Thou too, again, stupendous Mountain! thou, That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low In adoration, upward from thy Base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffus'd with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of Incense, from the Earth! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent Sky, And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising Sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leaved Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of innocence and love!)
And watch the clouds that late were rich with light, Slow sadd'ning round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed! The stilly murmur of the distant sea
Placed lengthways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! and now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at ove Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, Where melodies round honey-dropping flowers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing! Methinks it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this, Where even the breezes, and the common air, Contain the power and spirit of harmony.
And thus, my love, as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half closed eyelids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O'beloved woman! nor such thoughts,
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