My Soul was grateful for delight That wore a threatening brow; A veil is lifted-can she slight The scene that opens now? Though habitation none appear,
The greenness tells, man must be there; The shelter-that the perspective
Is of the clime in which we live ; Where Toil pursues his daily round; Where Pity sheds sweet tears-and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove, Inflicts his tender wound.
-Who comes not hither ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below; Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps. Farewell, thou desolate Domain ! Hope, pointing to the cultured plain, Carols like a shepherd-boy;
And who is she?-Can that be Joy! Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide; While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, "Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare, Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!"
KEEP for the Young the impassioned smile Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand High on that chalky cliff of Briton's Isle, A slender volume grasping in thy hand- (Perchance the pages that relate
The various turns of Crusoe's fate)
Ah, spare the exulting smile,
And drop thy pointing finger bright
As the first flash of beacon light;
But neither veil thy head in shadows dim, Nor turn thy face away
From One who, in the evening of his day, To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn !
Bold Spirit! who art free to rove Among the starry courts of Jove, And oft in splendour dost appear Embodied to poetic eyes,
While traversing this nether sphere, Where Mortals call thee ENTERPRISE.
Daughter of Hope! her favourite Child, Whom she to young Ambition bore, When hunter's arrow first defiled
The grove, and stained the turf with gore; Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed On broad Euphrates' palmy shore, And where the mightier Waters burst From caves of Indian mountains hoar ! She wrapped thee in a panther's skin; And Thou, thy favourite food to win, The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare From her rock-fortress in mid air, With infant shout; and often sweep, Paired with the ostrich, o'er the plain; Or, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep Upon the couchant lion's mane ! With rolling years thy strength increased; And, far beyond thy native East, To thee, by varying titles known As variously thy power was shown, Did incense-bearing altars rise, Which caught the blaze of sacrifice, From suppliants panting for the skies!
What though this ancient Earth be trod No more by step of Demi-god Mounting from glorious deed to deed As thou from clime to clime didst lead; Yet still, the bosom beating high, And the hushed farewell of an eye Where no procrastinating gaze
A last infirmity betrays,
Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
Shall ne'er submit to cold decay. By thy divinity impelled,
The Stripling seeks the tented field; The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale With awe, receives the hallowed veil, A soft and tender Heroine Vowed to severer discipline; Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy, And of the ocean's dismal breast A play-ground, or a couch of rest; 'Mid the blank world of snow and ice, Thou to his dangers dost enchain The Chamois-chaser awed in vain
By chasm or dizzy precipice;
And hast Thou not with triumph seen
How soaring Mortals glide between
Or through the clouds, and brave the light With bolder than Icarian flight?
How they, in bells of crystal, dive- Where winds and waters cease to strive- For no unholy visitings,
Among the monsters of the Deep; And all the sad and precious things Which there in ghastly silence sleep? Or, adverse tides and currents headed, And breathless calms no longer dreaded, In never-slackening voyage go Straight as an arrow from the bow; And, slighting sails and scorning oars, Keep faith with Time on distant shores? -Within our fearless reach are placed The secrets of the burning Waste; Egyptian tombs unlock their dead, Nile trembles at his fountain head; Thou speak'st-and lo! the polar Seas Unbosom their last mysteries.
-But oh! what transports, what sublime reward, Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare For philosophic Sage; or high-souled Bard Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods, Hath fed on pageants floating through the air, Or calentured in depth of limpid floods ; Nor grieves-tho' doomed thro' silent night to bear The domination of his glorious themes, Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!
Back flows the willing current of my Song: If to provoke such doom the Impious dare, Why should it daunt a blameless prayer? -Bold Goddess! range our Youth among ; Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat In hearts no longer young;
Still may a veteran Few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet; In fixed resolves by Reason justified; That to their object cleave like sleet Whitening a pine tree's northern side, When fields are naked far and wide,
And withered leaves, from earth's cold breast Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest.
But, if such homage thou disdain As doth with mellowing years agree, One rarely absent from thy train More humble favours may obtain For thy contented Votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs In presence of their heedless dams, And to the solitary fawn
Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph Doth hurry to the lawn;
She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me; And vernal mornings opening bright With views of undefined delight,
And cheerful songs, and suns that shine On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.
ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN.
INMATE of a mountain-dwelling, Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed From the watch-towers of Helvellyn; Awed, delighted, and amazed!
Potent was the spell that bound thee Not unwilling to obey;
For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee, Stilled the pantings of dismay.
Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows; What a vast abyss is there! Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows, And the glistenings-heavenly fair!
And a record of commotion Which a thousand ridges yield; Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean Gleaming like a silver shield!
Maiden! now take flight ;-inherit Alps or Andes they are thine! With the morning's roseate Spirit, Sweep their length of snowy line;
Or survey their bright dominions In the gorgeous colours drest Flung from off the purple pinions, Evening spreads throughout the west!
Thine are all the coral fountains Warbling in each sparry vault Of the untrodden lunar mountains; Listen to their songs!—or halt,
To Niphates' top invited, Whither spiteful Satan steered; Or descend where the ark alighted, When the green earth re-appeared;
For the power of hills is on thee, As was witnessed through thine eye Then, when old Helvellyn won thee To confess their majesty!
'Let me be allowed the aid of verse to describe the evolu⚫tions which these visitants sometimes perform, on a fine 'day towards the close of winter.'-Extract from the Author's Book on the Lakes.
MARK how the feathered tenants of the flood, With grace of motion that might scarcely seem Inferior to angelical, prolong
Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the mountain-tops) A circuit ampler than the lake beneath- Their own domain; but ever, while intent On tracing and retracing that large round, Their jubilant activity evolves Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro, Upward and downward, progress intricate Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed Their indefatigable flight. 'Tis done- Tan times, or more, I fancied it had ceased; But lo! the vanished company again Ascending; they approach-I hear their wings Faint, faint at first; and then an eager sound Past in a moment-and as faint again! They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes;
To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde :- Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath, Right at the imperial station's western base Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale ;- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle That, as we left the plain, before our sight Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Her habitable shores, but now appears A dwindled object, and submits to lie At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Do we behold the line of Erin's coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-swain (Like the bright confines of another world) Not doubtfully perceived.-Look homeward now! In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene The spectacle, how pure!--Of Nature's works, In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A revelation infinite it seems; Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power!
Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland: its base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other mountain in those parts; and, from its situation, the summit commands a more extensive view than any other point in Britain.
THOSE silver clouds collected round the sun His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less To overshade than multiply his beams By soft reflection-grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy More ample than the time-dismantled Oak Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art, That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs In languor; or, by Nature, for repose Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase. O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves, Approach; and, thus invited, crown with rest The noon-tide hour: though truly some there are Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound (Above the general roar of woods and crags) Distinctly heard from far-a doleful note! As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed) The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of which The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind Sweeps now along this elevated ridge; Not even a zephyr stirs ;-the obnoxious Tree Is mute; and, in his silence, would look down, O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills, On thy reclining form with more delight Than his coevals in the sheltered vale Seem to participate, the whilst they view Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads Vividly pictured in some glassy pool,
That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream!
SHOW me the noblest Youth of present time, Whose trembling fancy would to love give birth ; Some God or Hero, from the Olympian clime Returned, to seek a Consort upon earth; Or, in no doubtful prospect, let me see The brightest star of ages yet to be, And I will mate and match him blissfully.
I will not fetch a Naiad from a flood
Pure as herself (song lacks not mightier power) Nor leaf-crowned Dryad from a pathless wood, Nor Sea-nymph glistening from her coral bower; Mere Mortals bodied forth in vision still, Shall with Mount Ida's triple lustre fill The chaster coverts of a British hill.
“Appear!—obey my lyre's command! Come, like the Graces, hand in hand! For ye, though not by birth allied, Are Sisters in the bond of love; Nor shall the tongue of envious pride Presume those interweavings to reprove In you, which that fair progeny of Jove, Learned from the tuneful spheres that glide In endless union, earth and sea above."
As e'er, on herbage covering earthly mold, Tempted the bird of Juno to unfold
His richest splendour-when his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain
Of music, audible to him alone.
"O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne! Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit Beside an unambitious hearth to sit Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; What living man could fear
The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou near, Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek, That its fair flowers may from his cheek Brush the too happy tear?
-Queen, and handmaid lowly!
Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares, And banish melancholy
By all that mind invents or hand prepares; O Thou, against whose lip, without its smile And in its silence even, no heart is proof; Whose goodness, sinking deep, would reconcile The softest Nursling of a gorgeous palace To the bare life beneath the hawthorn-roof Of Sherwood's Archer, or in caves of Wallace- Who that hath seen thy beauty could content His soul with but a glimpse of heavenly day? Who that hath loved thee, but would lay His strong hand on the wind, if it were bent
-I sing in vain ;-the pines have hushed their To take thee in thy majesty away?
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