I bear away my recompence. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory: feel that she hath eyes: I feel this place was made for her; 65 70 Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part: For I, methinks, till I grow old, 75 As fair before me shall behold, As I do now, the cabin small, TO A SKY-LARK. Up with me! up with me into the clouds! Up with me, up with me into the clouds! With clouds and sky about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me till I find 5 That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary Had I now the wings of a Faery, Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine Lift me, guide me high and high To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, ΙΟ 15 And, though little troubled with sloth, To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. 20 25 30 5 COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798. FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur. - Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect 5 The landscape with the quiet of the sky. These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, ΙΟ 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see Of all this unintelligible world, 40 Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 45 In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 50 Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55 O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 60 The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe 65 70 Flying from something that he dreads, than one 75 The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80 now no more, Not for this By thought supplied, nor any interest 85 90 |