True, as inexorable winds, or bars But turn we rather, let my spirit turn Disarmed of power to unsettle present good O gift divine of quiet sequestration! The hermit, exercised in prayer and praise, And feeding daily on the hope of heaven, Is happy in his vow, and fondly cleaves To life-long singleness; but happier far Was to your souls, and, to the thoughts of others, A thousand times more beautiful appeared, Your dual loneliness. The sacred tie Is broken; yet why grieve? for Time but holds To the blest world where parting is unknown. 1835. XII. EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG. WHEN first, descending from the moorlands, I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide When last along its banks I wandered, The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, Nor has the rolling year twice measured, The 'rapt One, of the godlike forehead, Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Yet I, whose lids from infant slumbers Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, As if but yesterday departed, Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, No more of old romantic sorrows, For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid! And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead *. See Note. Nov. 1835. ODE. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. The Child is Father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. See Vol. i. page 3. 1. THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. II. The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; That there hath past away a glory from the earth. III. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, To me alone there came a thought of grief: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday ; Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! |