And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

1804.

She came, no more a phantom to adorn
A moment, but an inmate of the heart,
And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined
To penetrate the lofty and the low;
Even as one essence of pervading light
Shines, in the brightest of ten thousand stars.
The Prelude. Book XIV.

IV.

By her exulting outside look of youth

And placid under-countenance, first endeared;
That other spirit, Coleridge! who is now

So near to us, that meek confiding heart,

So reverenced by us both.

V.

--The Prelude. Book VI.

O DEARER far than light and life are dear,
Full oft our human foresight I deplore;
Trembling, through my unworthiness, with fear
That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no more!

Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control,

Mix with the day and cross the hour of rest; While all the future, for thy purer soul,

With "sober certainities

"

of love is blest.

If a faint sigh, not meant for human ear,
Tell that these words thy humbleness offend,
Cherish me still-else faltering in the rear
Of a steep march, uphold me to the end.

Peace settles where the intellect is meek,
And love is dutiful in thought and deed;

Through thee communion with that love I seek;

The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the creed.

1824.

SOME POEMS RELATING TO DOROTHY WORDSWORTH.

[See also" Tintern Abbey."]

I.

CHOICE OF THE HOME AT GRASMERE.

CAN the choice mislead,

That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth

With all its unappropriated good

My own; and not mine only, for with me
Entrenched, say rather peacefully embowered
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger Orphan of a home extinct,
The only daughter of my Parents dwells.

Stern was the face of Nature: we rejoiced

In that stern countenance, for our souls thence drew
A feeling of their strength. The naked trees,

The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared

To question us. "Whence come ye, to what end?"
They seemed to say. What would ye," said the shower,
“Wild wanderers, whither through my dark domain ?”
The sunbeam said "Be happy." When this vale

We entered, bright and solemn was the sky

That faced us with a passionate welcoming,

And led us to our threshold.

-The Recluse.

II.

MINE eyes did ne'er

Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind

Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts
But either She, who now I have, who now
Divides with me this loved abode, was there
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,

Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang,
The thought of her was like a flash of light,
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Of fragrance independent of the wind.

CHILD of my parents! Sister of my soul!
Thanks in sincerest verse have been elsewhere
Poured out for all the early tenderness

Which I from thee imbibed: and 'tis most true
That later seasons owed to thee no less.
For spite of thy sweet influence

... I too exclusively esteemed that love

And sought that beauty, which, as Milton sings,
Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down
This oversternness, but for thee, dear friend,
My soul, too reckless of mild grace, had stood
In her original self too confident,

Retained too long a countenance severe;
A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds
Familiar, and a favourite of the stars:

But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers,
Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze,
And teach the little birds to build their nests
And warble in its chambers. At a time
When Nature, destined to remain so long
Foremost in my affections, had fallen back
Into a second place, pleased to become
A handmaid to a nobler than herself,

When every day brought with it some new sense
Of exquisite regard for common things,

And all the earth was budding with these gifts
Of more refined humanity, thy breath,

Dear Sister! was a kind of gentle Spring

That went before my steps.

-The Prelude. Book XIV.

IV.

(From "The Sparrow's Nest.")

THE blessing of my later years
Was with me when a boy :
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears:
A heart the fountain of sweet tears;

And love, and thought, and joy.

1801.

V.

I WAS blest

Between these sundry wanderings with a joy
Above all joys, that seemed another morn
Risen on midnoon; blest with the presence, friend,
Of that sole sister, her who hath been long
Dear to thee also, thy true friend and mine,
Now after separation desolate

Restored to me-such absence that she seemed
A gift then first bestowed.

Side by side-we looked forth

And gathered with one mind a rich reward
From the far stretching landscape, by the light
Of morning beautified, or purple eve.

-The Prelude. Book VI.

VI.

SUCH thralldom of the sense

Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid,
A young enthusiast who escaped these bonds;
Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field,
Could they have known her, would have loved;
methought

Her very presence such a sweetness breathed,
The flowers, and trees, and even the silent hills
And everything she looked on should have had
An intimation how she bore herself

Towards them and to all creatures,—God delights
In such a being; for her common thoughts
Are piety, her life is gratitude.

-The Prelude. Book XII.

VII.

TO MY SISTER.

IT is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before,
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,

Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign ;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you; and pray
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book; for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:

We from to-day, my friend, will date

The opening of the year.

Love, now a universal birth,

From heart to heart is stealing,

From earth to man, from man to earth:
-It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore

The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey;
We for the year to come will take
Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,

We'll frame the measure of our souls:

They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my sister! come, I pray

With speed put on your woodland dress;

And bring no book; for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

VIII.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

STAY near me; do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!

Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!

1798.