of me


my soul.

my mind,



My shaping spirit of Imagination. Х

For not to think of what I needs must O pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask


But to be still and patient, all I What this strong music in the soul may

can ; be !


And haply by abstruse research to steal What, and wherein it doth exist,

From my own nature all the natural This light, this glory, this fair luminous


This was my sole resource, my only This beautiful and beauty-making power.

plan : Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er Till that which suits a part infects the was given,

whole, Save to the pure, and in their purest | And now is almost grown the habit of

hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,

VII Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around

dower, A new Earth and new Heaven,

Reality's dark dream! Undreamt of by the sensual and the I turn from you, and listen to the wind, proud

Which long has raved unnoticed. Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous

What a scream cloud

Of agony by torture lengthened out. We in ourselves rejoice!

That lute sent forth ! Thou Wind, that And thence flows all that charms or ear

rav'st without, or sight,

Bare crag,

or mountain - tairn, or All melodies the echoes of that voice,

blasted tree,

100 All colours a suffusion from that light. Or pine-grove whither woodman never

clomb, VI

Or lonely house, long held the witches'

home, There was a time when, though my path Methinks were fitter instruments for was rough,

thee, This joy within me dallied with dis- Mad Lutanist! who in this month of tress,

showers, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping Whence Fancy made me dreams of

flowers, happiness :

Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than For hope grew round me, like the twin

wintry song, ing vine,

80 The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves And fruits, and foliage, not my own,

among seemed mine.

Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic But now afflictions bow me down to

sounds! earth :

Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold ! Nor care I that they rob me of my What tell'st thou now about? mirth ;

'Tis of the rushing of an host in But oh! each visitation

rout, Suspends what nature gave me at my With groans of trampled men, with birth,

smarting wounds





At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold !

THE PICTURE But hush ! there is a pause of deepest silence !

OR THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION And all that noise, as of a rushing THROUGH weeds and thorns, and matted crowd,

underwood With groans, and tremulous shudderings I force my way; now climb, and now de-all is over

scend It tells another tale, with sounds less O’er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild deep and loud !

foot A tale of less affright,

Crushing the purple whorts ;1 while oft And tempered with delight,

unseen, As Otway's self had framed the tender Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, lay,

The scared snake rustles. Onward still 'Tis of a little child

I toil, Upon a lonesome wild,

I know not, ask not whither ! A new Not far from home, but she hath lost her

joy, way :

Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust, And now moans low in bitter grief and And gladsome as the first-born of the fear,

spring, And now screams loud, and hopes to Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 10 make her mother hear.

Playmate, or guide! The master-passion


I feel that I am free. With dun-red VIII


The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender 'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I

oak, of sleep :

Forth from this tangle wild of bush and Full seldom may my friend such vigils

brake keep!

Soar up, and form a melancholy vault Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,

High o'er me, murmuring like a distant

sea. And may this storm be but a mountainbirth,

Here Wisdom might resort, and here ReMay all the stars hang bright above her

morse ; dwelling,

130 Here too the love-lorn man, who, sick in Silent as though they watched the

soul, sleeping Earth!

And of this busy human heart aweary, With light heart may she rise, Worships the spirit of unconscious life 20 Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,

In tree or wild-flower.-Gentle lunatic ! Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her if so he might not wholly cease to be, voice;

He would far rather not be that he To her may all things live, from pole to

is ; pole,

But would be something that he knows Their life the eddying of her living

not of, soul!

In winds or waters, or among the rocks! O simple spirit, guided from above, Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my i Vaccinium Myrtillus, known by the different choice,

names of Whorts, Whortle - berries, Bilberries;

and in the North of England, Blea-berries and Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. Bloom-berries. [Note by S. T. C. 1802.]

visits me,

shall gore


But hence, fond wretch ! breathe not That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling contagion here !

sound; No myrtle-walks are these : these are no Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring groves

trunk Where Love dare loiter ! If in sullen Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that

mood He should stray hither, the low stumps Was never Love's accomplice, never

raised His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn 30 The tendril ringlets from the maiden's Make his plumes haggard. Like


бо wounded bird

And the blue, delicate veins above her Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye

cheek ; Nymphs,

Ne'er played the wanton-never half disYe Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades !

closed And you, ye Earth-winds ! you that make The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering at morn

thence The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' | Eye-poisons for some love - distempered webs!

youth, You, O ye wingless Airs ! that creep be- Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspentween

grove The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze, Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart Within whose scanty shade, at summer- Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.

noon, The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow Sweet breeze ! thou only, if I guess bed

aright, Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast, damp,

That swells its little breast, so full of Now pant and murmur with her feeding


70 lamb.

Singing above me, on the mountain-ash. Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin And thou too, desert stream ! no pool of Gnomes !

thine, With prickles sharper than his darts be- Though clear as lake in latest summermock

eve, His little Godship, making him perforce

Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe, Creep through a thorn-bush on yon The face, the form divine, the downcast hedgehog's back.


Contemplative! Behold ! her open palm This is my hour of triumph! I can Presses her cheek and brow ! her elbow now

rests With my own fancies play the merry On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree, fool,

That leans towards its mirror! Who And laugh away worse folly, being free.

erewhile Here will I seat myself, beside this old, Had from her countenance turned, or Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine

looked by stealth

80 Clothes as with net-work : here will couch (For fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he


now Close by this river, in this silent shade, With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye, As safe and sacred from the step of man Worships the watery idol, dreaming As an invisible world—unheard, unseen,

hopes And listening only to the pebbly brook Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,


my limbs,


I 20

E'en as that phantom-world on which he

Not to thee, gazed,

O wild and desert stream ! belongs this But not unheeded gazed : for see, ah !

tale : see,

Gloomy and dark art thou—the crowded The sportive tyrant with her left hand

firs plucks

Spire from thy shores, and stretch across The heads of tall flowers that behind her

thy bed, grow,

Making thee doleful as a cavern-well : Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove Save when the shy king-fishers build their bells :

nest And suddenly, as one that toys with On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, time,


wild stream ! Scatters them on the pool ! Then all the charm

This be my chosen haunt-emanciIs broken-all that phantom world so

pate fair

From passion's dreams, a freeman, and Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,

alone, And each mis-shapes the other. Stay I rise and trace its devious course. o awhile,

lead, Poor youth, who scarcely dar’st lift up Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier thine eyes !

glooms. The stream will soon renew its smooth- Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs, ness, soon

How fair the sunshine spots that mossy The visions will return ! And lo! he

rock, stays :

Isle of the river, whose disparted waves And soon the fragments dim of lovely Dart off asunder with an angry sound, forms

How soon to re-unite! And see ! they Come trembling back, unite, and now

meet, once more

Each in the other lost and found : and The pool becomes a mirror; and behold

see Each wildflower on the marge inverted Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun there,

101 Throbbing within them, heart at once And there the half- uprooted tree-but

and eye! where,

With its soft neighbourhood of filmy O where the virgin's snowy arm, that


130 leaned

The stains and shadings of forgotten On its bare branch ? He turns, and she

tears, is gone!

Dimness o'erswum with lustre ! Such the Homeward she steals through many a

hour woodland maze

Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief Which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated

feuds ; youth !

And hark, the noise of a near waterfall ! Go, day by day, and waste thy manly I pass forth into light-I find myself prime

Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful In mad love-yearning by the vacant Of forest trees, the Lady of the Woods), brook,

Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, That overbrows the cataract. How and thou

bursts Behold'st her shadow still abiding there, The landscape on my sight ! Two crescent The Naiad of the mirror !



I yearn

Fold in behind each other, and so Upon thy purple bells ! O Isabel ! make

Daughter of genius! stateliest of our A circular vale, and land-locked, as might

maids !

170 seem,

More beautiful than whom Alcæus wooed, With brook and bridge, and grey stone

The Lesbian woman of immortal song ! cottages,

O child of genius! stately, beautiful, Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my And full of love to all, save only me, scato feet,

And not ungentle e'en to me! My The whortle-berries are bedewed with

heart, spray,

Why beats it thus ? Through yonder Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall. coppice-wood How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass Needs must the pathway turn, that leads Swings in its winnow: All the air is

straightway calm.

On to her father's house. She is alone! The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged The night draws on-such ways are with light,


hard to hitRises in columns; from this house alone, And fit it is I should restore this Close by the waterfall, the column slants,


180 And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what | Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should

is this? That cottage, with its slanting chimney- To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed smoke,

The passion that consumes me.

Let me And close beside its porch a sleeping

haste ! child,

The picture in my hand which she has His dear head pillow'd on a sleeping dog

She cannot blame me that I follow'd One arm between its fore-legs, and the

her : hand

And I may be her guide the long wood Holds loosely its small handful of wild


1802. flowers, Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths. A curious picture, with a master's haste

HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin,

TIIE VALE OF CHAMOUNI Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest maid !

161 Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which Yon bark her canvas, and those purple have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five berries

conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely Major grows in immense numbers, with its

within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana dried

'flowers of loveliest blue.' On the fine skin ! She has been newly here;

Hast thou a charm to stay the morningAnd lo! yon patch of heath has been

star her couch

In his steep course ? So long he seems The pressure still remains ! O blessed couch!

On thy bald awful head, O sovran

BLANC! For this may'st thou flower early, and the sun,

The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful long



to pause

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