Seeking a higher object. Love was given, Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end; For this the passion to excess was driven That self might be annulled: her bondage prove The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.". Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears! Round the dear Shade she would have clung-t is vain : The hours are past-too brief had they been years; And him no mortal effort can detain : Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, He through the portal takes his silent way, And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, She perished; and, as for a wilful crime, By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved, Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers YARROW VISITED SEPTEMBER, 1814 As mentioned in my verses on the death of the Ettrick Shepherd, my first visit to Yarrow was in his company. We had lodged the night be fore at Traquhair, where Hogg had joined us ... I seldom read or think of this poem without regretting that my dear Sister was not of the party, as she would have had so much delight in recalling the time when, travelling together in Scotland, we declined going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion. (Wordsworth.) AND is this-Yarrow?-This the Stream O that some Minstrel's harp were near, And chase this silence from the air, Yet why? a silvery current flows Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, Though not unwilling here to admit Where was it that the famous Flower On which the herd is feeding: The Water-wraith ascended thrice- Delicious is the Lay that sings The path that leads them to the grove, The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! But thou, that didst appear so fair Dost rival in the light of day Meek loveliness is round thee spread, The grace of forest charms decayed, That region left, the vale unfolds Of cultivated nature; And, rising from those lofty groves, The shattered front of Newark's Towers, Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in ; Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, Of tender thoughts, that nestle there- How sweet, on this autumnal day, The sober Hills thus deck their brows I see-but not by sight alone, SURPRISED BY JOY-IMPATIENT AS THE WIND This was in fact suggested by my daughter Catherine long after her death. (Wordsworth.) SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom But Thee, deep 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 loss? That To my most grievous 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 Yet will I temperately rejoice; Which, haply, kindred souls may prize For deathless powers to verse belong, But some their function have disclaimed. Best pleased with what is aptliest framed To enervate and defile. Not such the initiatory strains Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale. While all-too-daringly the veil Nor such the spirit-stirring note And not unhallowed was the page Love listening while the Lesbian Maid The longest date do melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whitened hill and plain And is no more; drop like the tower sublime Of yesterday, which royally did wear His crown of weeds, but could not even |