Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth
With deeds of murder; and still promising
Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free,
Poison life's amities, and cheat the heart
Of faith and quiet hope, and all that soothes,
And all that lifts the spirit! Stand we forth;
Render them back upon the insulted ocean,
And let them toss as idly on its waves

As the vile sea-weed, which some mountain-blast
Swept from our shores! And oh! may we return
Not with a drunken triumph, but with fear,
Repenting of the wrongs with which we stung
So fierce a foe to frenzy!

I have told,

O Britons! O my brethren! I have told
Most bitter truth, but without bitterness.
Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed;
For never can true courage dwell with them,

145

150

155

Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look
At their own vices. We have been too long
Dupes of a deep delusion! Some, belike,
Groaning with restless enmity, expect
All change from change of constituted power;
As if a Government had been a robe,

160

146 we] ye 1809.

148 toss] some] the 1809.

151 fear] awe 1802.

141 Who] That 4o, P. R., 1802, 1809. float 1809. 149 sea-weed] sea-weeds MS. W., 4o, 1802. 150 Swept] Sweeps 1809.

151-3

Not in a drunken triumph, but with awe
Repentant of the wrongs, with which we stung
So fierce a race to Frenzy. 1809.

155 truth] 157 courage]

154 O men of England! Brothers! I have told 1809. 156 factious] factitious 1809. truths 1802, 1809. 159-61 At their own vices. Fondly some expect freedom 1802. 162 constituted] delegated 1802.

[We have been . . . enmity om.] 1802.

161-4

Restless in enmity have thought all change
Involv'd in change of constituted power.
As if a Government were but a robe
On which our vice and wretchedness were sewn.

163 had been] were but 1809.

163-75 As if a government were but a robe

To which our crimes and miseries were affix'd,
Like fringe, or epaulet, and with the robe
Pull'd off at pleasure. Others, the meantime,
Doat with a mad idolatry, and all

Who will not bow their heads, and close their eyes,
And worship blindly-these are enemies

Even of their country. Such have they deemed me.

1809.

1802.

On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged
Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe
Pulled off at pleasure. Fondly these attach
A radical causation to a few

Poor drudges of chastising Providence,
Who borrow all their hues and qualities
From our own folly and rank wickedness,

165

170

Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, meanwhile,

Dote with a mad idolatry; and all

Who will not fall before their images,

And yield them worship, they are enemies

Even of their country!

Such have I been deemed.- 175

But, O dear Britain! O my Mother Isle!

Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy
To me, a son, a brother, and a friend,

A husband, and a father! who revere

All bonds of natural love, and find them all
Within the limits of thy rocky shores.

180

O native Britain! O my Mother Isle!

How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy

To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills,

Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas,

185

Have drunk in all my intellectual life,

All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,
All adoration of the God in nature,

All lovely and all honourable things,
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel
The joy and greatness of its future being?

190

There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul
Unborrowed from my country! O divine

And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole
And most magnificent temple, in the which

195

166-71 Fondly. . . nursed them om. 1809. 171 nursed] nurse 4o, S. L. meanwhile] meantime 1809. 175 Such have I been deemed 1809. 177 prove] be 1802, 1809.

natural bonds of 1802.

179 father] parent 1809. 181 limits] circle 1802, 1809.

thou be 1802: shouldst thou be 1809.

184-5

180 All 183 couldst

To me who from thy brooks and mountain-hills,
Thy quiet fields, thy clouds, thy rocks, thy seas 1802.
To me who from thy seas and rocky shores
Thy quiet fields thy streams and wooded hills 1809.

I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,
Loving the God that made me!-

May my fears,

My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy

Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.

But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad
The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze :
The light has left the summit of the hill,
Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful,
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell,
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot!
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
Homeward I wind my way; and lo! recalled
From bodings that have well-nigh wearied me,
I find myself upon the brow, and pause
Startled! And after lonely sojourning
In such a quiet and surrounded nook,
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main,
Dim-tinted, there the mighty majesty
Of that huge amphitheatre of rich
And elmy fields, seems like society-
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought!

And now, beloved Stowey! I behold

200

205

210

215

220

Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms

Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe

225

And my babe's mother dwell in peace! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart
Is softened, and made worthy to indulge

230

Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
NETHER STOWEY, April 20, 1798.

207 Aslant the ivied] On the long-ivied MS. W., 4o. MS. W., 4o, P. R.

214 nook] scene

THE NIGHTINGALE1

A CONVERSATION POEM, APRIL, 1798
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently,
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still,
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
'Most musical, most melancholy' bird!"
A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought!
In Nature there is nothing melancholy.

But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,

Or slow distemper, or neglected love,

(And so, poor wretch! filled all things with himself,

And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale

Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he,

First named these notes a melancholy strain.
And many a poet echoes the conceit;

Poet who hath been building up the rhyme

5

15

20

1 First published in Lyrical Ballads, 1798, reprinted in Lyrical Ballads, 1800, 1802, and 1805: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

2 Most musical, most melancholy.' This passage in Milton possesses an excellence far superior to that of mere description; it is spoken in the character of the melancholy Man, and has therefore a dramatic propriety. The Author makes this remark, to rescue himself from the charge of having alluded with levity to a line in Milton; a charge than which none could be more painful to him, except perhaps that of having ridiculed his Bible. Footnote to 1. 13 L. B. 1798, L. B. 1800, S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829. In 1834 the footnote ends with the word 'Milton', the last sentence being omitted.

Note. In the Table of Contents of 1828 and 1829'The Nightingale' is omitted.

The Nightingale-Title] The Nightingale; a Conversational Poem, written in April, 1798 L. B. 1798: The Nightingale, written in April, 1798 L. B. 1800: The Nightingale A Conversation Poem, written in April, 1798 S. L., 1828, 1829.

21 sorrow] sorrows L. B. 1798, 1800.

When he had better far have stretched his limbs
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell,

25

By sun or moon-light, to the influxes

Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements
Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song
And of his fame forgetful! so his fame
Should share in Nature's immortality,
A venerable thing! and so his song
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself
Be loved like Nature! But 'twill not be so;
And youths and maidens most poetical,

Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring
In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still
Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.

My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we have learnt
A different lore: we may not thus profane
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love
And joyance! "Tis the merry Nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!

And I know a grove
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge,
Which the great lord inhabits not; and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,
Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
But never elsewhere in one place I knew
So many nightingales; and far and near,
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove,
They answer and provoke each other's song,
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug,
And one low piping sound more sweet than all-
Stirring the air with such a harmony,

30

35

40

45

50

55

60

40 My Friend, and my Friend's sister L. B. 1798, 1800. 58 song] songs L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. 61 And one, low piping, sounds more sweet than all-S. L. 1817: (punctuate thus, reading Sound for sounds :-And one low piping Sound more sweet than all-Errata, S. L., p. [xii]). 62 a] an

all editions to 1834.