And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore,
Ere yet the tempest rose, and scared me with its roar. Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
On him but seldom, Power divine,
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, Mock the tired worldling. Idle hope And dire remembrance interlope,
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.
But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed mead : And in the sultry summer's heat Will build me up a mossy seat;
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.
The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To thee I dedicate the whole !
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race, Aloof with hermit-eye I scan
The present works of present man—
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR.
A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, But a green mountain variously up-piled, Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, Or colored lichens with slow oozing weep;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash Dance brightened the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguiled, Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, That rustling on the bushy cliff above, With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
Made meek inquiry for her wandering lamb:
Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb, E'en while the bosom ached with lonelinessHow more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime Now lead, now follow the glad landscape round Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,- Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark, Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock; In social silence now, and now to unlock The treasured heart; arm linked in friendly arm, Save if the one, his muse's witching charm Muttering brow-bent, at unwatched distance lag; Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly for haply there uprears That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs, Which latest shall detain the enamored sight Seen from below, when eve the valley dims, Tinged yellow with the rich departing light; And haply, basoned in some unsunned cleft, A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears, Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale! Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, Stretched on the crag, and shadowed by the pine, And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
While west-winds fanned our temples toil-bedewed:
Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount, To some lone mansion, in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss!
Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace; That verdurous hill with many a resting-place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour To glad and fertilize the subject plains; That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod, And many a fancy-blest and holy sod
Where Inspiration, his diviner strains
Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age, And bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime; And from the stirring world up-lifted high, (Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, To quiet musings shall attune the mind, And oft the melancholy theme supply)
There, while the prospect through the gazing eye Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame, Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, As neighboring fountains image, each the whole : Then when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
They whom I love shall love thee, honored youth! Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!
WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC.
WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues, And I have many friends who hold me dear; L! methinks, I would not often hear Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress, For which my miserable brethren weep! But should uncomforted misfortunes steep My daily bread in tears and bitterness; And if at death's dread moment I should lie With no beloved face at my bed-side, To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide, Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE
WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND CAUSELES MELANCHOLY.
HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe, O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear! To plundered want's half-sheltered hovel go, Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear Moan haply in a dying mother's ear:
Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood
O'er the rank church-yard with sere elm-leaves strewed, Pace-round some widow's grave, whose dearer part Was slaughtered, where o'er his uncoffined limbs The flocking flesh-birds screamed! Then, while thy heart Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims, Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind) What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal! O abject if, to sickly dreams resigned, All effortless thou leave life's common-weal A prey to tyrants, murderers of mankind.
SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.
DEAR native brook! wild streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have past, What happy, and what mournful hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows gray, And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes, Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way, Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs Ah! that once more I were a careless child!
COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH OF A SON, SEPT. 20, 1796.
OFT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll
Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said
We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore. O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead, (As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) I think that I should struggle to believe Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!
TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME.
CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scanned that face of feeble infancy :
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my child might be !
* Ην που ἡμῶν ἡ ψύχη πρὶν ἐν τῷδε τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ εἴδει γενέσθαι.-Plat. in Phædon.
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