Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF

166 HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI

[blocks in formation]

It is thine own calm home, thy crystal Who made thee parent of perpetual

[blocks in formation]

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with Your strength, your speed, your fury, and

my Thought,

your joy,

Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came),

joy :

20

Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing-there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to
Heaven!

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise

Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow

Adown enormous ravines slope amainThou owest! not alone these swelling Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty

voice,

51

tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, And stopped at once amid their maddest Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart,

[blocks in formation]

plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the Gates of

Heaven

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,

Answer and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!

[blocks in formation]

TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A

STRANGER

['One of our most celebrated poets, who had, I was told, picked out and praised the little piece "On a Cloud," another had quoted (saying it would have been faultless if I had not used the word Phœbus in it, which he thought inadmissible in modern poetry), sent me some verses inscribed "To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger"; and dated "Keswick, Sept. 9, 1802, S. T. C." I should have guessed whence they came, but

dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily to believe it, before I obtained the avowal of the lady who had transmitted them.']

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the MATILDA! I have heard a sweet tune

clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy skypointing peaks,

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene

play'd

On a sweet instrument-thy PoesieSent to my soul by Boughton's pleading voice,

Where friendship's zealous wish inspirited,

Deepened and fill'd the subtle tones of taste:

(So have I heard a Nightingale's fine notes Blend with the murmurs of a hidden stream!)

Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy And now the fair, wild offspring of thy

breast

Thou too again, stupendous Mountain!

thou

genius,

Those wanderers whom thy fancy had

sent forth

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed To seek their fortune in this motley

[blocks in formation]

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the Engarlanded with gadding woodbine

hills,

Thou dread ambassador from Earth to

Heaven,

Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent

sky,

tendrils!

A coronel, which, with undoubting hand, I twine around the brows of patriot HOPE!

And tell the stars, and tell yon rising The Almighty, having first composed a

[blocks in formation]

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises Set him to music, framing Woman for

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

AN ODE TO THE RAIN

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN

I

I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain,

Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once open'd the lids of my

eyes,

But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,
You're but a doleful sound at best :
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight, 10
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

[blocks in formation]

III

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.---
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

IV

INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN
ON A HEATH

THIS Sycamore, oft musical with bees,-
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! Olong
unharmed

May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting
stone

Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long
may the Spring,

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,

shy,

40

Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,
Long months by pain and grief beset-
We three dear friends! in truth, we
groan

Impatiently to be alone.

We three, you mark! and not one
more!

The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners—
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

50

Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless

[blocks in formation]

V

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain!
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good),
Yet, knowing well your worth and place,
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stay'd a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good
will,

I'll sit and listen to you still;

Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.

But only now, for this one day,

Do go, dear Rain! do go away. 1802.

61

[blocks in formation]

Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain? Or throne of corses which his sword had slain?

Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!

THE PAINS OF SLEEP

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;

Hath he not always treasures, always But silently, by slow degrees,

friends,

The good great man? three treasures, LOVE, and LIGHT,

And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath:

And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,

HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL
DEATH!

Morning Post, Sep. 23, 1802.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S

QUESTION

[blocks in formation]

Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,

Do you ask what the birds say? The And whom I scorned, those only strong! Sparrow, the Dove,

Thirst of revenge, the powerless will The Linnet and Thrush say, 'I love Still baffled, and yet burning still!

and I love!'

[blocks in formation]

21

Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seem'd guilt, remorse or woe, 30
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame!

So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.

But the Lark is so brimful of gladness Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me Distemper's worst calamity.

and love,

The green fields below him, the blue sky The third night, when my own loud above,

scream

That he sings, and he sings; and for ever Had waked me from the fiendish dream, sings he O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,

'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!'

['Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
« VorigeDoorgaan »