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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems In Two Volumes, Vol. 1, by William Wordsworth
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+Title: Poems In Two Volumes, Vol. 1
+
+Author: William Wordsworth
+
+Release Date: August, 2005  [EBook #8774]
+[This file was first posted on August 12, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. 1 ***
+
+
+
+
+E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+POEMS IN TWO VOLUMES,
+
+VOL. I.
+
+BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+
+AUTHOR OF _THE LYRICAL BALLADS._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    Posterius graviore sono tibi Musa loquetur
+    Nostra: dabunt cum securos mihi tempora fructus.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+_To the Daisy_
+
+_Louisa_
+
+_Fidelity_
+
+_She was a Phantom of delight_
+
+_The Redbreast and the Butterfly_
+
+_The Sailor's Mother_
+
+_To the Small Celandine_
+
+_To the same Flower_
+
+_Character of the Happy Warrior_
+
+_The Horn of Egremont Castle_
+
+_The Affliction of Margaret ---- of ----_
+
+_The Kitten and the falling Leaves_
+
+_The Seven Sisters, or the Solitude of Binnorie_
+
+_To H.C., six Years old_
+
+_Among all lovely things my Love had been_
+
+_I travell'd among unknown Men_
+
+_Ode to Duty_
+
+
+
+POEMS, COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT.
+
+1. _Beggars_
+
+2. _To a Sky-Lark_
+
+3. _With how sad Steps, O Moon,
+        thou climb'st the Sky_
+
+4. _Alice Fell_
+
+5. _Resolution and Independence_
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+_Prefatory Sonnet_
+
+PART THE FIRST--MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.
+
+1.
+
+2.
+
+3. _Composed after a Journey across the
+        Hamilton Hills, Yorkshire_
+
+4.
+
+5. _To Sleep_
+
+6. _To Sleep_
+
+7. _To Sleep_
+
+8.
+
+9. _To the River Duddon_
+
+10. _From the Italian of Michael Angelo_
+
+11. _From the same_
+
+12. _From the same. To the Supreme Being_
+
+13. _Written in very early Youth_
+
+14. _Composed upon Westminster Bridge,
+         Sept_. 3, 1803
+
+15.
+
+16.
+
+17. _To_ ----
+
+18.
+
+19.
+
+20. _To the Memory of Raisley Calvert_
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE SECOND--SONNETS DEDICATED TO LIBERTY.
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+1. _Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais, August_, 1802
+
+2. _Is it a Reed_
+
+3. _To a Friend, composed near Calais,
+        on the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th_, 1802
+
+4.
+
+5.
+
+6. _On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic_
+
+7. _The King of Sweden_
+
+8. _To Toussaint L'Ouverture_
+
+9.
+
+10. Composed in the Valley near Dover, on the Day of Landing
+
+11.
+
+12. Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland
+
+13. Written in London, September, 1802
+
+14.
+
+15.
+
+16.
+
+17.
+
+18.
+
+19.
+
+20.
+
+21.
+
+22.
+
+23. To the Men of Kent. October, 1803
+
+24.
+
+25. Anticipation. October, 1803
+
+26.
+
+Notes:
+
+[Transcribers' Note: the Notes will be found at the End of the Volume]
+
+
+
+
+TO THE DAISY.
+
+  In youth from rock to rock I went
+  From hill to hill, in discontent
+  Of pleasure high and turbulent,
+          Most pleas'd when most uneasy;
+  But now my own delights I make,
+  My thirst at every rill can slake,
+  And gladly Nature's love partake
+          Of thee, sweet Daisy!
+
+  When soothed a while by milder airs,
+  Thee Winter in the garland wears                         10
+  That thinly shades his few grey hairs;
+           Spring cannot shun thee;
+  Whole summer fields are thine by right;
+  And Autumn, melancholy Wight!
+  Doth in thy crimson head delight
+           When rains are on thee.
+
+  In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
+  Thou greet'st the Traveller in the lane;
+  If welcome once thou count'st it gain;
+           Thou art not daunted,                           20
+  Nor car'st if thou be set at naught;
+  And oft alone in nooks remote
+  We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
+           When such are wanted.
+
+  Be Violets in their secret mews
+  The flowers the wanton Zephyrs chuse;
+  Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews
+          Her head impearling;
+  Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
+  Yet hast not gone without thy fame;                      30
+  Thou art indeed by many a claim
+          The Poet's darling.
+
+  If to a rock from rains he fly,
+  Or, some bright day of April sky,
+  Imprison'd by hot sunshine lie
+          Near the green holly,
+  And wearily at length should fare;
+  He need but look about, and there
+  Thou art! a Friend at hand, to scare
+          His melancholy.                                  40
+
+  A hundred times, by rock or bower,
+  Ere thus I have lain couch'd an hour,
+  Have I derived from thy sweet power
+          Some apprehension;
+  Some steady love; some brief delight;
+  Some memory that had taken flight;
+  Some chime of fancy wrong or right;
+          Or stray invention.
+
+  If stately passions in me burn,
+  And one chance look to Thee should turn,                 50
+  I drink out of an humbler urn
+          A lowlier pleasure;
+  The homely sympathy that heeds
+  The common life, our nature breeds;
+  A wisdom fitted to the needs
+          Of hearts at leisure.
+
+  When, smitten by the morning ray,
+  I see thee rise alert and gay,
+  Then, chearful Flower! my spirits play
+          With kindred motion:                             60
+  At dusk, I've seldom mark'd thee press
+  The ground, as if in thankfulness,
+  Without some feeling, more or less,
+          Of true devotion.
+
+  And all day long I number yet,
+  All seasons through, another debt,
+  Which I wherever thou art met,
+          To thee am owing;
+  An instinct call it, a blind sense;
+  A happy, genial influence,                               70
+  Coming one knows not how nor whence,
+          Nor whither going.
+
+  Child of the Year! that round dost run
+  Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
+  And chearful when the day's begun
+          As morning Leveret,
+  Thou long the Poet's praise shalt gain;
+  Thou wilt be more belov'd by men
+  In times to come; thou not in vain
+          Art Nature's Favorite.                            80
+
+
+
+
+LOUISA.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  I met Louisa in the shade;
+  And, having seen that lovely Maid,
+  Why should I fear to say
+  That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong;
+  And down the rocks can leap along,
+  Like rivulets in May?
+
+  And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
+  Smiles, that with motion of their own
+  Do spread, and sink, and rise;
+  That come and go with endless play,                      10
+  And ever, as they pass away,
+  Are hidden in her eyes.
+
+  She loves her fire, her Cottage-home;
+  Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
+  In weather rough and bleak;
+  And when against the wind she strains,
+  Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
+  That sparkle on her cheek.
+
+  Take all that's mine 'beneath the moon',
+  If I with her but half a noon                            20
+  May sit beneath the walls
+  Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
+  When up she winds along the brook,
+  To hunt the waterfalls.
+
+
+
+
+FIDELITY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  A barking sound the Shepherd hears,
+  A cry as of a Dog or Fox;
+  He halts, and searches with his eyes
+  Among the scatter'd rocks:
+  And now at distance can discern
+  A stirring in a brake of fern;
+  From which immediately leaps out
+  A Dog, and yelping runs about.
+
+  The Dog is not of mountain breed;
+  It's motions, too, are wild and shy;                      10
+  With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
+  Unusual in its' cry:
+  Nor is there any one in sight
+  All round, in Hollow or on Height;
+  Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
+  What is the Creature doing here?
+
+  It was a Cove, a huge Recess,
+  That keeps till June December's snow;
+  A lofty Precipice in front,
+  A silent Tarn [1] below!                                  20
+  Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
+  Remote from public Road or Dwelling,
+  Pathway, or cultivated land;
+  From trace of human foot or hand.
+
+[Footnote 1: A Tarn is a small Mere or Lake mostly high up in the
+mountains.]
+
+  There, sometimes does a leaping Fish
+  Send through the Tarn a lonely chear;
+  The Crags repeat the Raven's croak,
+  In symphony austere;
+  Thither the Rainbow comes, the Cloud;
+  And Mists that spread the flying shroud;                 30
+  And Sun-beams; and the sounding blast,
+  That, if it could, would hurry past,
+  But that enormous Barrier binds it fast.
+
+  Not knowing what to think, a while
+  The Shepherd stood: then makes his way
+  Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones,
+  As quickly as he may;
+  Nor far had gone before he found
+  A human skeleton on the ground,
+  Sad sight! the Shepherd with a sigh                      40
+  Looks round, to learn the history.
+
+  From those abrupt and perilous rocks,
+  The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
+  At length upon the Shepherd's mind
+  It breaks, and all is clear:
+  He instantly recall'd the Name,
+  And who he was, and whence he came;
+  Remember'd, too, the very day
+  On which the Traveller pass'd this way.
+
+  But hear a wonder now, for sake                          50
+  Of which this mournful Tale I tell!
+  A lasting monument of words
+  This wonder merits well.
+  The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
+  Repeating the same timid cry,
+  This Dog had been through three months' space
+  A Dweller in that savage place.
+
+  Yes, proof was plain that since the day
+  On which the Traveller thus had died
+  The Dog had watch'd about the spot,                      60
+  Or by his Master's side:
+  How nourish'd here through such long time
+  He knows, who gave that love sublime,
+  And gave that strength of feeling, great
+  Above all human estimate.
+
+
+
+_SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  She was a Phantom of delight
+  When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
+  A lovely Apparition, sent
+  To be a moment's ornament;
+  Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
+  Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
+  But all things else about her drawn
+  From May-time and the chearful Dawn;
+  A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
+  To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.                       10
+
+  I saw her upon nearer view,
+  A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
+  Her household motions light and free,
+  And steps of virgin liberty;
+  A countenance in which did meet
+  Sweet records, promises as sweet;
+  A Creature not too bright or good
+  For human nature's daily food;
+  For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
+  Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.          20
+
+  And now I see with eye serene
+  The very pulse of the machine;
+  A Being breathing thoughtful breath;
+  A Traveller betwixt life and death;
+  The reason firm, the temperate will,
+  Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;
+  A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd,
+  To warn, to comfort, and command;
+  And yet a Spirit still, and bright
+  With something of an angel light.                        30
+
+
+
+
+_The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY_.
+
+  Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best,
+  The pious Bird with the scarlet breast,
+      Our little English Robin;
+  The Bird that comes about our doors
+  When Autumn winds are sobbing?
+  Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
+      Their Thomas in Finland,
+      And Russia far inland?
+  The Bird, whom by some name or other
+  All men who know thee call their Brother,                10
+  The Darling of Children and men?
+  Could Father Adam open his eyes,
+  And see this sight beneath the skies,
+  He'd wish to close them again.
+
+  If the Butterfly knew but his friend
+  Hither his flight he would bend,
+  And find his way to me
+  Under the branches of the tree:
+  In and out, he darts about;
+  His little heart is throbbing:                           20
+  Can this be the Bird, to man so good,
+      Our consecrated Robin!
+  That, after their bewildering,
+  Did cover with leaves the little children,
+      So painfully in the wood?
+
+  What ail'd thee Robin that thou could'st pursue
+      A beautiful Creature,
+  That is gentle by nature?
+  Beneath the summer sky
+  From flower to flower let him fly;                       30
+  'Tis all that he wishes to do.
+
+  The Chearer Thou of our in-door sadness,
+  He is the Friend of our summer gladness:
+  What hinders, then, that ye should be
+  Playmates in the sunny weather,
+  And fly about in the air together?
+  Like the hues of thy breast
+  His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
+  A brother he seems of thine own:
+  If thou would'st be happy in thy nest,                   40
+  O pious Bird! whom Man loves best,
+  Love him, or leave him alone!
+
+
+
+
+_THE SAILOR'S MOTHER_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    One morning (raw it was and wet,
+    A foggy day in winter time)
+    A Woman in the road I met,
+    Not old, though something past her prime:
+    Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
+  And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
+
+    The ancient Spirit is not dead;
+    Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
+    Proud was I that my country bred
+    Such strength, a dignity so fair:                      10
+    She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate;
+  I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.
+
+    When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
+    With the first word I had to spare
+    I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
+    What's that which on your arm you bear?"
+    She answer'd soon as she the question heard,
+  "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."
+
+    And, thus continuing, she said,
+    "I had a Son, who many a day                           20
+    Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead;
+    In Denmark he was cast away;
+    And I have been as far as Hull, to see
+  What clothes he might have left, or other property."
+
+    "The Bird and Cage they both were his;
+    'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim
+    He kept it: many voyages
+    This Singing-bird hath gone with him;
+    When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind;
+  As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind."      30
+
+    "He to a Fellow-lodger's care
+    Had left it, to be watch'd and fed,
+    Till he came back again; and there
+    I found it when my Son was dead;
+    And now, God help me for my little wit!
+  I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."
+
+
+
+
+_TO THE SMALL CELANDINE_
+           [Footnote: Common Pilewort.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
+  Let them live upon their praises;
+  Long as there's a sun that sets
+  Primroses will have their glory;
+  Long as there are Violets,
+  They will have a place in story:
+  There's a flower that shall be mine,
+  'Tis the little Celandine.
+
+  Eyes of some men travel far
+  For the finding of a star;                               10
+  Up and down the heavens they go,
+  Men that keep a mighty rout!
+  I'm as great as they, I trow,
+  Since the day I found thee out,
+  Little flower!--I'll make a stir
+  Like a great Astronomer.
+
+  Modest, yet withal an Elf
+  Bold, and lavish of thyself,
+  Since we needs must first have met
+  I have seen thee, high and low,                          20
+  Thirty years or more, and yet
+  'Twas a face I did not know;
+  Thou hast now, go where I may,
+  Fifty greetings in a day.
+
+  Ere a leaf is on a bush,
+  In the time before the Thrush
+  Has a thought about its nest,
+  Thou wilt come with half a call,
+  Spreading out thy glossy breast
+  Like a careless Prodigal;                                30
+  Telling tales about the sun,
+  When we've little warmth, or none.
+
+  Poets, vain men in their mood!
+  Travel with the multitude;
+  Never heed them; I aver
+  That they all are wanton Wooers;
+  But the thrifty Cottager,
+  Who stirs little out of doors,
+  Joys to spy thee near her home,
+  Spring is coming, Thou art come!                         40
+
+  Comfort have thou of thy merit,
+  Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
+  Careless of thy neighbourhood,
+  Thou dost shew thy pleasant face
+  On the moor, and in the wood.
+  In the lane--there's not a place,
+  Howsoever mean it be,
+  But 'tis good enough for thee.
+
+  Ill befal the yellow Flowers,
+  Children of the flaring hours!                           50
+  Buttercups, that will be seen,
+  Whether we will see or no;
+  Others, too, of lofty mien;
+  They have done as worldlings do,
+  Taken praise that should be thine,
+  Little, humble Celandine!
+
+  Prophet of delight and mirth,
+  Scorn'd and slighted upon earth!
+  Herald of a mighty band,
+  Of a joyous train ensuing,                               60
+  Singing at my heart's command,
+  In the lanes my thoughts pursuing,
+  I will sing, as doth behove,
+  Hymns in praise of what I love!
+
+
+
+
+TO THE SAME FLOWER.
+
+  Pleasures newly found are sweet
+  When they lie about our feet:
+  February last my heart
+  First at sight of thee was glad;
+  All unheard of as thou art,
+  Thou must needs, I think, have had,
+  Celandine! and long ago,
+  Praise of which I nothing know.
+
+  I have not a doubt but he,
+  Whosoe'er the man might be,                              10
+  Who the first with pointed rays,
+  (Workman worthy to be sainted)
+  Set the Sign-board in a blaze,
+  When the risen sun he painted,
+  Took the fancy from a glance
+  At thy glittering countenance.
+
+  Soon as gentle breezes bring
+  News of winter's vanishing,
+  And the children build their bowers,
+  Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mold                         20
+  All about with full-blown flowers,
+  Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!
+  With the proudest Thou art there,
+  Mantling in the tiny square.
+
+  Often have I sigh'd to measure
+  By myself a lonely pleasure;
+  Sigh'd to think, I read a book
+  Only read perhaps by me;
+  Yet I long could overlook
+  Thy bright coronet and Thee,                             30
+  And thy arch and wily ways,
+  And thy store of other praise.
+
+  Blithe of heart, from week to week
+  Thou dost play at hide-and-seek;
+  While the patient Primrose sits
+  Like a Beggar in the cold,
+  Thou, a Flower of wiser wits,
+  Slipp'st into thy shelter'd hold:
+  Bright as any of the train
+  When ye all are out again.                               40
+
+  Thou art not beyond the moon,
+  But a thing "beneath our shoon;"
+  Let, as old Magellen did,
+  Others roam about the sea;
+  Build who will a pyramid;
+  Praise it is enough for me,
+  If there be but three or four
+  Who will love my little Flower.
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTER of the HAPPY WARRIOR.
+
+  Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
+  Whom every Man in arms should wish to be?
+  --It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
+  Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
+  Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought:
+  Whose high endeavours are an inward light
+  That make the path before him always bright:
+  Who, with a natural instinct to discern
+  What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
+  Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,             10
+  But makes his moral being his prime care;
+  Who, doom'd to go in company with Pain,
+  And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!
+  Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
+  In face of these doth exercise a power
+  Which is our human-nature's highest dower;
+  Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
+  Of their bad influence, and their good receives;
+  By objects, which might force the soul to abate
+  Her feeling, render'd more compassionate;                20
+  Is placable because occasions rise
+  So often that demand such sacrifice;
+  More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
+  As tempted more; more able to endure,
+  As more expos'd to suffering and distress;
+  Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
+  Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
+  Upon that law as on the best of friends;
+  Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
+  To evil for a guard against worse ill,                   30
+  And what in quality or act is best
+  Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
+  He fixes good on good alone, and owes
+  To virtue every triumph that he knows:
+  --Who, if he rise to station of command,
+  Rises by open means; and there will stand
+  On honourable terms, or else retire,
+  And in himself possess his own desire;
+  Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
+  Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;                 40
+  And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
+  For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state;
+  Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
+  Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
+  Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
+  Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
+  A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
+  But who, if he be called upon to face
+  Some awful moment to which heaven has join'd
+  Great issues, good or bad for human-kind,                50
+  Is happy as a Lover; and attired
+  With sudden brightness like a Man inspired;
+  And through the heat of conflict keeps the law
+  In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
+  Or if an unexpected call succeed,
+  Come when it will, is equal to the need:
+  --He who, though thus endued as with a sense
+  And faculty for storm and turbulence,
+  Is yet a Soul whose master bias leans
+  To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;             60
+  Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,
+  Are at his heart; and such fidelity
+  It is his darling passion to approve;
+  More brave for this, that he hath much to love:
+  'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high,
+  Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
+  Or left unthought-of in obscurity,
+  Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
+  Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,
+  Plays, in the many games of life, that one               70
+  Where what he most doth value must be won;
+  Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
+  Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
+  Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
+  Looks forward, persevering to the last,
+  From well to better, daily self-surpast:
+  Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
+  For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
+  Or He must go to dust without his fame,
+  And leave a dead unprofitable name,                      80
+  Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
+  And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
+  His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause;
+  This is the happy Warrior; this is He
+  Whom every Man in arms should wish to be.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The above Verses mere written soon after tidings had been
+received of the Death of Lord Nelson, which event directed the
+Author's thoughts to the subject. His respect for the memory of his
+great fellow-countryman induces him to mention this; though he is
+well aware that the Verses must suffer from any connection in the
+Reader's mind with a Name so illustrious_.
+
+
+
+
+THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE.
+
+  When the Brothers reach'd the gateway,
+  Eustace pointed with his lance
+  To the Horn which there was hanging;
+  Horn of the inheritance.
+  Horn it was which none could sound,
+  No one upon living ground,
+  Save He who came as rightful Heir
+  To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair.
+
+  Heirs from ages without record
+  Had the House of Lucie born,                             10
+  Who of right had claim'd the Lordship
+  By the proof upon the Horn:
+  Each at the appointed hour
+  Tried the Horn, it own'd his power;
+  He was acknowledged: and the blast
+  Which good Sir Eustace sounded was the last.
+
+  With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,
+  And to Hubert thus said he,
+  "What I speak this Horn shall witness
+  For thy better memory.                                   20
+  Hear, then, and neglect me not!
+  At this time, and on this spot,
+  The words are utter'd from my heart,
+  As my last earnest prayer ere we depart."
+
+  "On good service we are going
+  Life to risk by sea and land;
+  In which course if Christ our Saviour
+  Do my sinful soul demand,
+  Hither come thou back straightway,
+  Hubert, if alive that day;                               30
+  Return, and sound the Horn, that we
+  May have a living House still left in thee!"
+
+  "Fear not," quickly answer'd Hubert;
+  "As I am thy Father's son,
+  What thou askest, noble Brother,
+  With God's favour shall be done."
+  So were both right well content:
+  From the Castle forth they went.
+  And at the head of their Array
+  To Palestine the Brothers took their way.                40
+
+  Side by side they fought (the Lucies
+  Were a line for valour fam'd)
+  And where'er their strokes alighted
+  There the Saracens were tam'd.
+  Whence, then, could it come the thought,
+  By what evil spirit brought?
+  Oh! can a brave Man wish to take
+  His Brother's life, for Land's and Castle's sake?
+
+  "Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert,
+  "Deep he lies in Jordan flood."--                        50
+  Stricken by this ill assurance,
+  Pale and trembling Hubert stood.
+  "Take your earnings."--Oh! that I
+  Could have seen my Brother die!
+  It was a pang that vex'd him then;
+  And oft returned, again, and yet again.
+
+  Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace!
+  Nor of him were tidings heard.
+  Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer
+  Back again to England steer'd.                           60
+  To his Castle Hubert sped;
+  He has nothing now to dread.
+  But silent and by stealth he came,
+  And at an hour which nobody could name.
+
+  None could tell if it were night-time,
+  Night or day, at even or morn;
+  For the sound was heard by no one
+  Of the proclamation-horn.
+  But bold Hubert lives in glee:
+  Months and years went smilingly;                         70
+  With plenty was his table spread;
+  And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.
+
+  Likewise he had Sons and Daughters;
+  And, as good men do, he sate
+  At his board by these surrounded,
+  Flourishing in fair estate.
+  And, while thus in open day
+  Once he sate, as old books say,
+  A blast was utter'd from the Horn,
+  Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn.                80
+
+  'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!
+  He is come to claim his right:
+  Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains
+  Hear the challenge with delight.
+  Hubert! though the blast be blown
+  He is helpless and alone:
+  Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
+  And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Lord.
+
+  Speak! astounded Hubert cannot;
+  And if power to speak he had,                            90
+  All are daunted, all the household
+  Smitten to the heart, and sad.
+  'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
+  Living Man, it must be he!
+  Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,
+  And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.
+
+  Long, and long was he unheard of:
+  To his Brother then he came,
+  Made confession, ask'd forgiveness,
+  Ask'd it by a Brother's name,                           100
+  And by all the saints in heaven;
+  And of Eustace was forgiv'n:
+  Then in a Convent went to hide
+  His melancholy head, and there he died.
+
+  But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels
+  Had preserv'd from Murderers' hands,
+  And from Pagan chains had rescued,
+  Liv'd with honour on his lands.
+  Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs:
+  And through ages, Heirs of Heirs,                       110
+  A long posterity renown'd,
+  Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.
+
+
+
+
+THE AFFLICTION of MARGARET ---- OF ----
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Where art thou, my beloved Son,
+  Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
+  Oh find me prosperous or undone!
+  Or, if the grave be now thy bed,
+  Why am I ignorant of the same
+  That I may rest; and neither blame,
+  Nor sorrow may attend thy name?
+
+  Seven years, alas, to have received
+  No tidings of an only child;
+  To have despair'd, and have believ'd,                    10
+  And be for evermore beguil'd;
+  Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!
+  I catch at them, and then I miss;
+  Was ever darkness like to this?
+
+  He was among the prime in worth,
+  An object beauteous to behold;
+  Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
+  Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:
+  If things ensued that wanted grace,
+  As hath been said, they were not base;                   20
+  And never blush was on my face.
+
+  Ah! little doth the Young One dream,
+  When full of play and childish cares,
+  What power hath even his wildest scream,
+  Heard by his Mother unawares!
+  He knows it not, he cannot guess:
+  Years to a Mother bring distress;
+  But do not make her love the less.
+
+  Neglect me! no I suffer'd long
+  From that ill thought; and being blind,                  30
+  Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong;
+  Kind mother have I been, as kind
+  As ever breathed:" and that is true;
+  I've wet my path with tears like dew,
+  Weeping for him when no one knew.
+
+  My Son, if thou be humbled, poor,
+  Hopeless of honour and of gain,
+  Oh! do not dread thy mother's door;
+  Think not of me with grief and pain:
+  I now can see with better eyes;                          40
+  And worldly grandeur I despise,
+  And fortune with her gifts and lies
+
+  Alas! the fowls of Heaven have wings,
+  And blasts of Heaven will aid their flight;
+  They mount, how short a voyage brings
+  The Wanderers back to their delight!
+  Chains tie us down by land and sea;
+  And wishes, vain as mine, may be
+  All that is left to comfort thee.
+
+  Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,                   50
+  Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men;
+  Or thou upon a Desart thrown
+  Inheritest the Lion's Den;
+  Or hast been summoned to the Deep,
+  Thou, Thou and all thy mates, to keep
+  An incommunicable sleep.
+
+  I look for Ghosts; but none will force
+  Their way to me; 'tis falsely said
+  That there was ever intercourse
+  Betwixt the living and the dead;                          60
+  For, surely, then I should have sight
+  Of Him I wait for day and night,
+  With love and longings infinite.
+
+  My apprehensions come in crowds;
+  I dread the rustling of the grass;
+  The very shadows of the clouds
+  Have power to shake me as they pass:
+  I question things, and do not find
+  One that will answer to my mind;
+  And all the world appears unkind.                        70
+
+  Beyond participation lie
+  My troubles, and beyond relief:
+  If any chance to heave a sigh
+  They pity me, and not my grief.
+  Then come to me, my Son, or send
+  Some tidings that my woes may end;
+  I have no other earthly friend.
+
+
+
+
+THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  That way look, my Infant, lo!
+  What a pretty baby show!
+  See the Kitten on the Wall,
+  Sporting with the leaves that fall,
+  Wither'd leaves, one, two, and three,
+  From the lofty Elder-tree!
+  Through the calm and frosty air
+  Of this morning bright and fair,
+  Eddying round and round they sink
+  Softly, slowly: one might think,                           10
+  From the motions that are made,
+  Every little leaf convey'd
+  Sylph or Faery hither tending,
+  To this lower world descending,
+  Each invisible and mute,
+  In his wavering parachute.
+  --But the Kitten, how she starts,
+  Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts;
+  First at one and then its fellow
+  Just as light and just as yellow;                          20
+  There are many now--now one--
+  Now they stop; and there are none--
+  What intenseness of desire
+  In her upward eye of fire!
+  With a tiger-leap half way
+  Now she meets the coming prey,
+  Lets it go as fast, and then
+  Has it in her power again:
+  Now she works with three or four,
+  Like an Indian Conjuror;                                   30
+  Quick as he in feats of art,
+  Far beyond in joy of heart.
+  Were her antics play'd in the eye
+  Of a thousand Standers-by,
+  Clapping hands with shout and stare,
+  What would little Tabby care
+  For the plaudits of the Crowd?
+  Over happy to be proud,
+  Over wealthy in the treasure
+  Of her own exceeding pleasure!                             40
+
+  'Tis a pretty Baby-treat;
+  Nor, I deem, for me unmeet:
+  Here, for neither Babe or me,
+  Other Play-mate can I see.
+  Of the countless living things,
+  That with stir of feet and wings,
+  (In the sun or under shade
+  Upon bough or grassy blade)
+  And with busy revellings,
+  Chirp and song, and murmurings,                            50
+  Made this Orchard's narrow space,
+  And this Vale so blithe a place;
+  Multitudes are swept away
+  Never more to breathe the day:
+  Some are sleeping; some in Bands
+  Travell'd into distant Lands;
+  Others slunk to moor and wood,
+  Far from human neighbourhood,
+  And, among the Kinds that keep
+  With us closer fellowship,                                 60
+  With us openly abide,
+  All have laid their mirth aside,
+  --Where is he that giddy Sprite,
+  Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
+  Who was blest as bird could be,
+  Feeding in the apple-tree,
+  Made such wanton spoil and rout,
+  Turning blossoms inside out,
+  Hung with head towards the ground,
+  Flutter'd, perch'd; into a round                           70
+  Bound himself, and then unbound;
+  Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin,
+  Prettiest Tumbler ever seen,
+  Light of heart, and light of limb,
+  What is now become of Him?
+  Lambs, that through the mountains went
+  Frisking, bleating merriment,
+  When the year was in its prime,
+  They are sober'd by this time.
+  If you look to vale or hill,                               80
+  If you listen, all is still,
+  Save a little neighbouring Rill;
+  That from out the rocky ground
+  Strikes a solitary sound.
+  Vainly glitters hill and plain,
+  And the air is calm in vain;
+  Vainly Morning spreads the lure
+  Of a sky serene and pure;
+  Creature none can she decoy
+  Into open sign of joy:                                     90
+  Is it that they have a fear
+  Of the dreary season near?
+  Or that other pleasures be
+  Sweeter even than gaiety?
+
+  Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
+  In the impenetrable cell
+  Of the silent heart which Nature
+  Furnishes to every Creature,
+  Whatsoe'er we feel and know
+  Too sedate for outward show,                              100
+  Such a light of gladness breaks,
+  Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,
+  Spreads with such a living grace
+  O'er my little Laura's face;
+  Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
+  Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
+  That almost I could repine
+  That your transports are not mine,
+  That I do not wholly fare
+  Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair!                          110
+  And I will have my careless season
+  Spite of melancholy reason,
+  Will walk through life in such a way
+  That, when time brings on decay,
+  Now and then I may possess
+  Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
+  --Pleas'd by any random toy;
+  By a Kitten's busy joy,
+  Or an infant's laughing eye
+  Sharing in the extacy;                                    120
+  I would fare like that or this,
+  Find my wisdom in my bliss;
+  Keep the sprightly soul awake,
+  And have faculties to take
+  Even from things by sorrow wrought
+  Matter for a jocund thought;
+  Spite of care, and spite of grief,
+  To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN SISTERS,
+OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,
+  All Children of one Mother:
+  I could not say in one short day
+  What love they bore each other,
+  A Garland of seven Lilies wrought!
+  Seven Sisters that together dwell;
+  But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
+  Their Father, took of them no thought,
+  He loved the Wars so well.
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,                          10
+  The Solitude of Binnorie!
+
+  Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
+  And from the shores of Erin,
+  Across the wave, a Rover brave
+  To Binnorie is steering:
+  Right onward to the Scottish strand
+  The gallant ship is borne;
+  The Warriors leap upon the land,
+  And hark! the Leader of the Band
+  Hath blown his bugle horn.                                 20
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
+  The Solitude of Binnorie.
+
+  Beside a Grotto of their own,
+  With boughs above them closing,
+  The Seven are laid, and in the shade
+  They lie like Fawns reposing.
+  But now, upstarting with affright
+  At noise of Man and Steed,
+  Away they fly to left to right--
+  Of your fair household, Father Knight,                     30
+  Methinks you take small heed!
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
+  The Solitude of Binnorie.
+
+  Away the seven fair Campbells fly,
+  And, over Hill and Hollow,
+  With menace proud, and insult loud,
+  The youthful Rovers follow.
+  Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam:
+  Enough for him to find
+  The empty House when he comes home;                        40
+  For us your yellow ringlets comb,
+  For us be fair and kind!"
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
+  The Solitude of Binnorie.
+
+  Some close behind, some side by side,
+  Like clouds in stormy weather,
+  They run, and cry, "Nay let us die,
+  And let us die together."
+  A Lake was near; the shore was steep;
+  There never Foot had been;                                 50
+  They ran, and with a desperate leap
+  Together plung'd into the deep,
+  Nor ever more were seen.
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
+  The Solitude of Binnorie.
+
+  The Stream that flows out of the Lake,
+  As through the glen it rambles,
+  Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
+  For those seven lovely Campbells.
+  Seven little Islands, green and bare,                      60
+  Have risen from out the deep:
+  The Fishers say, those Sisters fair
+  By Faeries are all buried there,
+  And there together sleep.
+  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully
+  The Solitude of Binnorie.
+
+
+
+
+
+To H. C.,
+
+SIX YEARS OLD.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought;
+  Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
+  And fittest to unutterable thought
+  The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
+  Thou Faery Voyager! that dost float
+  In such clear water, that thy Boat
+  May rather seem
+  To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
+  Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,
+  Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;                10
+  O blessed Vision! happy Child!
+  That art so exquisitely wild,
+  I think of thee with, many fears
+  For what may be thy lot in future years.
+
+  I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,
+  Lord of thy house and hospitality;
+  And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest
+  But when she sate within the touch of thee.
+
+  Oh! too industrious folly!
+  Oh! vain and causeless melancholy!                         20
+  Nature will either end thee quite;
+  Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
+  Preserve for thee, by individual right,
+  A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks.
+  What hast Thou to do with sorrow,
+  Or the injuries of tomorrow?
+
+  Thou art a Dew-drop, which, the morn brings forth,
+  Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks;
+  Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth;
+  A Gem that glitters while it lives,                        30
+  And no forewarning gives;
+  But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife
+  Slips in a moment out of life.
+
+
+
+
+_Among all lovely things my Love had been_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Among all lovely things my Love had been;
+  Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
+  About her home; but she had never seen
+  A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.
+
+  While riding near her home one stormy night
+  A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy;
+  I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
+  And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.
+
+  Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,
+  To bear it with me through the stormy night:               10
+  And, as before, it shone without dismay;
+  Albeit putting forth a fainter light.
+
+  When to the Dwelling of my Love I came,
+  I went into the Orchard quietly;
+  And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name,
+  Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.
+
+  The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;
+  At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree:
+  I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here!"
+  Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!                    20
+
+
+
+
+_I travell'd among unknown Men_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  I travell'd among unknown Men,
+    In Lands beyond the Sea;
+  Nor England! did I know till then
+    What love I bore to thee.
+
+  'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
+    Nor will I quit thy shore
+  A second time; for still I seem
+    To love thee more and more.
+
+  Among thy mountains did I feel
+    The joy of my desire;                                  10
+  And She I cherish'd turn'd her wheel
+    Beside an English fire.
+
+  Thy mornings shew'd--thy nights conceal'd
+    The bowers where Lucy play'd;
+  And thine is, too, the last green field
+    Which Lucy's eyes survey'd!
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO DUTY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
+  O Duty! if that name thou love
+  Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
+  To check the erring, and reprove;
+  Thou who art victory and law
+  When empty terrors overawe;
+  From vain temptations dost set free;
+  From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry.
+
+  There are who ask not if thine eye
+  Be on them; who, in love and truth,                        10
+  Where no misgiving is, rely
+  Upon the genial sense of youth:
+  Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
+  Who do thy work, and know it not:
+  May joy be theirs while life shall last!
+  And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!
+
+  Serene will be our days and bright,
+  And happy will our nature be,
+  When love is an unerring light,
+  And joy its own security.                                  20
+  And bless'd are they who in the main
+  This faith, even now, do entertain:
+  Live in the spirit of this creed;
+  Yet find that other strength, according to their need.
+
+  I, loving freedom, and untried;
+  No sport of every random gust,
+  Yet being to myself a guide,
+  Too blindly have reposed my trust:
+  Resolved that nothing e'er should press
+  Upon my present happiness,                                 30
+  I shoved unwelcome tasks away;
+  But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
+
+  Through no disturbance of my soul,
+  Or strong compunction in me wrought,
+  I supplicate for thy controul;
+  But in the quietness of thought:
+  Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;
+  I feel the weight of chance desires:
+  My hopes no more must change their name,
+  I long for a repose which ever is the same.                40
+
+  Yet not the less would I throughout
+  Still act according to the voice
+  Of my own wish; and feel past doubt
+  That my submissiveness was choice:
+  Not seeking in the school of pride
+  For "precepts over dignified,"
+  Denial and restraint I prize
+  No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.
+
+  Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
+  The Godhead's most benignant grace;                        50
+  Nor know we any thing so fair
+  As is the smile upon thy face;
+  Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
+  And Fragrance in thy footing treads;
+  Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;
+  And the most ancient Heavens through Thee are fresh and strong.
+
+  To humbler functions, awful Power!
+  I call thee: I myself commend
+  Unto thy guidance from this hour;
+  Oh! let my weakness have an end!                           60
+  Give unto me, made lowly wise,
+  The spirit of self-sacrifice;
+  The confidence of reason give;
+  And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
+
+
+
+
+
+POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT.
+
+
+
+
+1. _BEGGARS_.
+
+    She had a tall Man's height, or more;
+    No bonnet screen'd her from the heat;
+    A long drab-colour'd Cloak she wore,
+    A Mantle reaching to her feet:
+    What other dress she had I could not know;
+  Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.
+
+    In all my walks, through field or town,
+    Such Figure had I never seen:
+    Her face was of Egyptian brown:
+    Fit person was she for a Queen,                        10
+    To head those ancient Amazonian files:
+  Or ruling Bandit's Wife, among the Grecian Isles.
+
+    Before me begging did she stand,
+    Pouring out sorrows like a sea;
+    Grief after grief:--on English Land
+    Such woes I knew could never be;
+    And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature
+  Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!
+
+    I left her, and pursued my way;
+    And soon before me did espy                            20
+    A pair of little Boys at play,
+    Chasing a crimson butterfly;
+    The Taller follow'd with his hat in hand,
+  Wreath'd round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land.
+
+    The Other wore a rimless crown,
+    With leaves of laurel stuck about:
+    And they both follow'd up and down,
+    Each whooping with a merry shout;
+    Two Brothers seem'd they, eight and ten years old;
+  And like that Woman's face as gold is like to gold.      30
+
+    They bolted on me thus, and lo!
+    Each ready with a plaintive whine;
+    Said I, "Not half an hour ago
+    Your Mother has had alms of mine."
+    "That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead."
+  "Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."
+
+    "She has been dead, Sir, many a day."
+    "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie";
+    "It was your Mother, as I say--"
+    And in the twinkling of an eye,                        40
+    "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado,
+  Off to some other play they both together flew.
+
+
+
+
+2. _TO A SKY-LARK_.
+
+  Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
+    For thy song, Lark, is strong;
+  Up with me, up with me into the clouds!
+    Singing, singing,
+  With all the heav'ns about thee ringing,
+    Lift me, guide me, till I find
+  That spot which seems so to thy mind!
+
+  I have walk'd through wildernesses dreary,
+    And today my heart is weary;
+    Had I now the soul of a Faery,                         10
+      Up to thee would I fly.
+  There is madness about thee, and joy divine
+      In that song of thine;
+  Up with me, up with me, high and high,
+  To thy banqueting-place in the sky!                      15
+      Joyous as Morning,
+    Thou art laughing and scorning;
+  Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest:
+  And, though little troubled with sloth,
+  Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth                      20
+  To be such a Traveller as I.
+      Happy, happy Liver!
+  With a soul as strong as a mountain River,
+  Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
+    Joy and jollity be with us both!
+    Hearing thee, or else some other,
+      As merry a Brother,
+  I on the earth will go plodding on,
+  By myself, chearfully, till the day is done.
+
+
+
+
+3. _With how sad Steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the Sky_
+
+3.
+
+  "With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky.
+  How silently, and with how wan a face!" [2]
+  Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high
+  Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race?
+  Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh
+  Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
+  The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace,
+  Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had I
+  The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be
+  And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,
+  Should sally forth to keep thee company.
+  What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'n
+  Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!
+  But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv'n,
+  Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
+
+
+[Footnote 2: From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.]
+
+
+
+4. ALICE FELL.
+
+
+  The Post-boy drove with fierce career,
+  For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd;
+  When suddenly I seem'd to hear
+  A moan, a lamentable sound.
+
+  As if the wind blew many ways
+  I heard the sound, and more and more:
+  It seem'd to follow with the Chaise,
+  And still I heard it as before.
+
+  At length I to the Boy call'd out,
+  He stopp'd his horses at the word;                         10
+  But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
+  Nor aught else like it could be heard.
+
+  The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fast
+  The horses scamper'd through the rain;
+  And soon I heard upon the blast
+  The voice, and bade him halt again.
+
+  Said I, alighting on the ground,
+  "What can it be, this piteous moan?"
+  And there a little Girl I found,
+  Sitting behind the Chaise, alone.                          20
+
+  "My Cloak!" the word was last and first,
+  And loud and bitterly she wept,
+  As if her very heart would burst;
+  And down from off the Chaise she leapt.
+
+  "What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"
+  I saw it in the wheel entangled,
+  A weather beaten Rag as e'er
+  From any garden scare-crow dangled.
+
+  'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
+  Her help she lent, and with good heed                      30
+  Together we released the Cloak;
+  A wretched, wretched rag indeed!
+
+  "And whither are you going, Child,
+  To night along these lonesome ways?"
+  "To Durham" answer'd she half wild--
+  "Then come with me into the chaise."
+
+  She sate like one past all relief;
+  Sob after sob she forth did send
+  In wretchedness, as if her grief
+  Could never, never, have an end.                           40
+
+  "My Child, in Durham do you dwell?"
+  She check'd herself in her distress,
+  And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
+  I'm fatherless and motherless."
+
+  "And I to Durham, Sir, belong."
+  And then, as if the thought would choke
+  Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
+  And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.
+
+  The chaise drove on; our journey's end
+  Was nigh; and, sitting by my side,                         50
+  As if she'd lost her only friend
+  She wept, nor would be pacified.
+
+  Up to the Tavern-door we post;
+  Of Alice and her grief I told;
+  And I gave money to the Host,
+  To buy a new Cloak for the old.
+
+  "And let it be of duffil grey,
+  As warm a cloak as man can sell!"
+  Proud Creature was she the next day,
+  The little Orphan, Alice Fell!                             60
+
+
+
+
+5. RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE.
+
+  There was a roaring in the wind all night;
+  The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
+  But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
+  The birds are singing in the distant woods;
+  Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
+  The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
+  And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters.
+
+  All things that love the sun are out of doors;
+  The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
+  The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors          10
+  The Hare is running races in her mirth;
+  And with her feet she from the plashy earth
+  Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun,
+  Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
+
+  I was a Traveller then upon the moor;
+  I saw the Hare that rac'd about with joy;
+  I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;
+  Or heard them not, as happy as a Boy:
+  The pleasant season did my heart employ:
+  My old remembrances went from me wholly;                   20
+  And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
+
+  But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
+  Of joy in minds that can no farther go,
+  As high as we have mounted in delight
+  In our dejection do we sink as low,
+  To me that morning did it happen so;
+  And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came;
+  Dim sadness, & blind thoughts I knew not nor could name.
+
+  I heard the Sky-lark singing in the sky;
+  And I bethought me of the playful Hare:                    30
+  Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
+  Even as these blissful Creatures do I fare;
+  Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
+  But there may come another day to me,
+  Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
+
+  My whole life I have liv'd in pleasant thought,
+  As if life's business were a summer mood;
+  As if all needful things would come unsought
+  To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
+  But how can He expect that others should                   40
+  Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
+  Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
+
+  I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
+  The sleepless Soul that perish'd in its pride;
+  Of Him who walk'd in glory and in joy
+  Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:
+  By our own spirits are we deified;
+  We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
+  But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.
+
+  Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,                    50
+  A leading from above, a something given,
+  Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
+  When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
+  And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
+  I saw a Man before me unawares:
+  The oldest Man he seem'd that ever wore grey hairs.
+
+  My course I stopped as soon as I espied
+  The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
+  Close by a Pond, upon the further side,
+  He stood alone: a minute's space I guess                 60
+  I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
+  To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
+  He being all the while before me full in view.
+
+  As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie
+  Couch'd on the bald top of an eminence;
+  Wonder to all who do the same espy
+  By what means it could thither come, and whence;
+  So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
+  Like a Sea-beast crawl'd forth, which on a shelf
+  Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself.             70
+
+  Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead,
+  Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age:
+  His body was bent double, feet and head
+  Coming together in their pilgrimage;
+  As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
+  Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
+  A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
+
+  Himself he propp'd, his body, limbs, and face,
+  Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood:
+  And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,                80
+  Beside the little pond or moorish flood
+  Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood;
+  That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
+  And moveth altogether, if it move at all.
+
+  At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond
+  Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look
+  Upon the muddy water, which he conn'd,
+  As if he had been reading in a book:
+  And now such freedom as I could I took;
+  And, drawing to his side, to him did say,                  90
+  "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."
+
+  A gentle answer did the Old Man make,
+  In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
+  And him with further words I thus bespake,
+  "What kind of work is that which you pursue?
+  This is a lonesome place for one like you."
+  He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
+  And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
+
+  His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
+  Yet each in solemn order follow'd each,                   100
+  With something of a lofty utterance drest;
+  Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach
+  Of ordinary men; a stately speech!
+  Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
+  Religious men, who give to God and Man their dues.
+
+  He told me that he to this pond had come
+  To gather Leeches, being old and poor:
+  Employment hazardous and wearisome!
+  And he had many hardships to endure:
+  From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor,           110
+  Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance:
+  And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.
+
+  The Old Man still stood talking by my side;
+  But now his voice to me was like a stream
+  Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
+  And the whole Body of the man did seem
+  Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
+  Or like a Man from some far region sent;
+  To give me human strength, and strong admonishment.
+
+  My former thoughts return'd: the fear that kills;         120
+  The hope that is unwilling to be fed;
+  Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
+  And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
+  And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,
+  My question eagerly did I renew,
+  "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"
+
+  He with a smile did then his words repeat;
+  And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
+  He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
+  The waters of the Ponds where they abide.               130
+  "Once I could meet with them on every side;
+  But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
+  Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."
+
+  While he was talking thus, the lonely place,
+  The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me:
+  In my mind's eye I seem'd to see him pace
+  About the weary moors continually,
+  Wandering about alone and silently.
+  While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
+  He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.      140
+
+  And soon with this he other matter blended,
+  Chearfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
+  But stately in the main; and, when he ended,
+  I could have laugh'd myself to scorn, to find
+  In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
+  "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
+  I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS.
+
+PREFATORY SONNET.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Nuns fret not at their Convent's narrow room;
+  And Hermits are contented with their Cells;
+  And Students with their pensive Citadels:
+  Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom,
+  Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom,
+  High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells,
+  Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells:
+  In truth, the prison, unto which we doom
+  Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me,
+  In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
+  Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground:
+  Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
+  Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
+  Should find short solace there, as I have found.
+
+
+
+
+PART THE FIRST.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.
+
+1.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
+  The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
+  An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
+  Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks;
+  And Wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks,
+  Like to a bonny Lass, who plays her pranks
+  At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,
+  When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks
+  The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,
+  Such place to me is sometimes like a dream
+  Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link
+  Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
+  Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
+  And leap at once from the delicious stream.
+
+
+
+
+2.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
+  Festively she puts forth in trim array;
+  As vigorous as a Lark at break of day:
+  Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
+  What boots the enquiry? Neither friend nor foe
+  She cares for; let her travel where she may,
+  She finds familiar names, a beaten way
+  Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
+  Yet still I ask, what Haven is her mark?
+  And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
+  From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there
+  Crossing the waters; doubt, and something dark,
+  Of the old Sea some reverential fear,
+  Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!
+
+
+
+
+3. COMPOSED after a Journey across THE HAMILTON HILLS, YORKSHIRE.
+
+
+  Ere we had reach'd the wish'd-for place, night fell:
+  We were too late at least by one dark hour,
+  And nothing could we see of all that power
+  Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.
+  The western sky did recompence us well
+  With Grecian Temple, Minaret, and Bower;
+  And, in one part, a Minster with its Tower
+  Substantially distinct, a place for Bell
+  Or Clock to toll from. Many a glorious pile
+  Did we behold, sights that might well repay
+  All disappointment! and, as such, the eye
+  Delighted in them; but we felt, the while,
+  We should forget them: they are of the sky,
+  And from our earthly memory fade away.
+
+
+
+
+4.
+
+
+    ...._they are of the sky,
+    And from our earthly memory fade away_.
+
+  These words were utter'd in a pensive mood,
+  Even while mine eyes were on that solemn sight:
+  A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
+  And life's unspiritual pleasures daily woo'd!
+  But now upon this thought I cannot brood:
+  It is unstable, and deserts me quite;
+  Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright,
+  Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
+  The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome,
+  Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
+  Find in the heart of man no natural home:
+  The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
+  These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
+  Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.
+
+
+
+
+5. TO SLEEP.
+
+  O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee,
+  These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love
+  To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove,
+  A Captive never wishing to be free.
+  This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me
+  A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove
+  Upon a fretful rivulet, now above,
+  Now on the water vex'd with mockery.
+  I have no pain that calls for patience, no;
+  Hence am I cross and peevish as a child:
+  Am pleas'd by fits to have thee for my foe,
+  Yet ever willing to be reconciled:
+  O gentle Creature! do not use me so,
+  But once and deeply let me be beguiled.
+
+
+
+
+6. TO SLEEP.
+
+  A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
+  One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
+  Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
+  Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
+  I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie
+  Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies
+  Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees;
+  And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry.
+  Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay,
+  And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
+  So do not let me wear to night away:
+  Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
+  Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day,
+  Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
+
+
+
+
+7. TO SLEEP.
+
+  Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
+  And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;
+  The very sweetest words that fancy frames
+  When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!
+  Dear bosom Child we call thee, that dost steep
+  In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames
+  All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims
+  Takest away, and into souls dost creep,
+  Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone;
+  I surely not a man ungently made,
+  Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?
+  Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown,
+  Mere Slave of them who never for thee pray'd,
+  Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
+
+
+
+
+8.
+
+  With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
+  Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
+  Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
+  Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
+  A goodly Vessel did I then espy
+  Come like a Giant from a haven broad;
+  And lustily along the Bay she strode,
+  Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
+  This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
+  Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look;
+  This Ship to all the rest did I prefer:
+  When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
+  No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
+  On went She, and due north her journey took.
+
+
+
+
+9. TO THE RIVER DUDDON.
+
+  O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
+  Are privileg'd Inmates of deep solitude:
+  Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude
+  A Field or two of brighter green, or Plot
+  Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot
+  Of stationary sunshine: thou hast view'd
+  These only, Duddon! with their paths renew'd
+  By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not.
+  Thee hath some awful Spirit impell'd to leave,
+  Utterly to desert, the haunts of men,
+  Though simple thy Companions were and few;
+  And through this wilderness a passage cleave
+  Attended but by thy own Voice, save when
+  The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue.
+
+
+
+
+10. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.
+
+  Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
+  And I be undeluded, unbetray'd;
+  For if of our affections none find grace
+  In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
+  The world which we inhabit? Better plea
+  Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
+  Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
+  Who such Divinity to thee imparts
+  As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
+  His hope is treacherous only whose love dies
+  With beauty, which is varying every hour;
+  But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
+  Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
+  That breathes on earth the air of paradise.
+
+
+
+
+11. FROM THE SAME.
+
+  No mortal object did these eyes behold
+  When first they met the placid light of thine,
+  And my Soul felt her destiny divine,
+  And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
+  Heav'n-born, the Soul a heav'n-ward course must hold;
+  Beyond the visible world She soars to seek,
+  For what delights the sense is false and weak,
+  Ideal Form, the universal mould.
+  The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
+  In that which perishes: nor will he lend
+  His heart to aught which doth on time depend.
+  'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love,
+  Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best,
+  Even here below, but more in heaven above.
+
+
+
+
+12. FROM THE SAME.
+
+TO THE SUPREME BEING.
+
+  The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed
+  If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
+  My unassisted heart is barren clay,
+  Which of its native self can nothing feed:
+  Of good and pious works thou art the seed,
+  Which quickens only where thou say'st it may:
+  Unless thou shew to us thine own true way
+  No man can find it: Father! thou must lead.
+  Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
+  By which such virtue may in me be bred
+  That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
+  The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
+  That I may have the power to sing of thee,
+  And sound thy praises everlastingly.
+
+
+
+
+13.
+
+_Written in very early Youth_.
+
+  Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
+  The Kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass;
+  The Horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
+  Is up, and cropping yet his later meal:
+  Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
+  O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
+  Now, in this blank of things, a harmony
+  Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal
+  That grief for which the senses still supply
+  Fresh food; for only then, when memory
+  Is hush'd, am I at rest. My Friends, restrain
+  Those busy cares that would allay my pain:
+  Oh! leave me to myself; nor let me feel
+  The officious touch that makes me droop again.
+
+
+
+
+14. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE,
+    Sept. 3, 1803.
+
+
+  Earth has not any thing to shew more fair:
+  Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
+  A sight so touching in its majesty:
+  This City now doth like a garment wear
+  The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
+  Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
+  Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
+  All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
+  Never did sun more beautifully steep
+  In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;
+  Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
+  The river glideth at his own sweet will:
+  Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
+  And all that mighty heart is lying still!
+
+
+
+
+15.
+
+  "Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con
+  Those many records of my childish years,
+  Remembrance of myself and of my peers
+  Will press me down: to think of what is gone
+  Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
+  But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
+  Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears;
+  Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none.
+  By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd,
+  To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall,
+  Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small.
+  A Juggler's Balls old Time about him toss'd;
+  I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all
+  The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
+
+
+
+
+16.
+
+  Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne
+  Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud,
+  Nor view of him who sate thereon allow'd;
+  But all the steps and ground about were strown
+  With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone
+  Ever put on; a miserable crowd,
+  Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
+  "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."
+  I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gave
+  Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
+  Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,
+  With her face up to heaven; that seem'd to have
+  Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
+  A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
+
+
+
+
+17. _To the_ ----.
+
+  Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove
+  While I was framing beds for winter flowers;
+  While I was planting green unfading bowers,
+  And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove,
+  And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove
+  The dream, to time and nature's blended powers
+  I gave this paradise for winter hours,
+  A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove.
+  Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,
+  Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom
+  Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
+  And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
+  Be gracious as the music and the bloom
+  And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.
+
+
+
+
+18.
+
+  The world is too much with us; late and soon,
+  Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
+  Little we see in nature that is ours;
+  We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
+  This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
+  The Winds that will be howling at all hours
+  And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
+  For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
+  It moves us not--Great God! I'd rather be
+  A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
+  So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
+  Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
+  Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea;
+  Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
+
+
+
+
+19.
+
+  It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free;
+  The holy time is quiet as a Nun
+  Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
+  Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
+  The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea:
+  Listen! the mighty Being is awake
+  And doth with his eternal motion make
+  A sound like thunder--everlastingly.
+  Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
+  If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought,
+  Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
+  Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
+  And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
+  God being with thee when we know it not.
+
+
+
+
+20. TO THE MEMORY OF _RAISLEY CALVERT_.
+
+  Calvert! it must not be unheard by them
+  Who may respect my name that I to thee
+  Ow'd many years of early liberty.
+  This care was thine when sickness did condemn
+  Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem:
+  That I, if frugal and severe, might stray
+  Where'er I liked; and finally array
+  My temples with the Muse's diadem.
+  Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth,
+  If there be aught of pure, or good, or great,
+  In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays
+  Of higher mood, which now I meditate,
+  It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth!
+  To think how much of this will be thy praise.
+
+
+
+
+END OF THE FIRST PART.
+
+
+
+PART THE SECOND.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+DEDICATED _TO LIBERTY_.
+
+
+
+1. COMPOSED BY THE  _SEA-SIDE, near CALAIS_,
+   August, 1802.
+
+
+
+  Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West,
+  Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink
+  Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
+  On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest,
+  Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
+  Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
+  Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
+  Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
+  In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
+  Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies.
+  Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
+  One life, one glory! I, with many a fear
+  For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
+  Among Men who do not love her linger here.
+
+
+
+
+2. _CALAIS_, August, 1802.
+
+  Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind,
+  Or what is it that ye go forth to see?
+  Lords, Lawyers, Statesmen, Squires of low degree,
+  Men known, and men unknown, Sick, Lame, and Blind,
+  Post forward all, like Creatures of one kind,
+  With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
+  In France, before the new-born Majesty.
+  'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind!
+  A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
+  But that's a loyal virtue, never sown
+  In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:
+  When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown
+  What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
+  Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!
+
+
+
+
+3. TO A FRIEND, COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS,
+On the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th, 1802.
+
+  Jones! when from Calais southward you and I
+  Travell'd on foot together; then this Way,
+  Which I am pacing now, was like the May
+  With festivals of new-born Liberty:
+  A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky;
+  The antiquated Earth, as one might say,
+  Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play,
+  Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
+  And now, sole register that these things were,
+  Two solitary greetings have I heard,
+  "_Good morrow, Citizen_!" a hollow word,
+  As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair
+  I feel not: happy am I as a Bird:
+  Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair.
+
+
+
+
+4.
+
+  I griev'd for Buonaparte, with a vain
+  And an unthinking grief! the vital blood
+  Of that Man's mind what can it be? What food
+  Fed his first hopes? What knowledge could He gain?
+  'Tis not in battles that from youth we train
+  The Governor who must be wise and good,
+  And temper with the sternness of the brain
+  Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
+  Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
+  Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
+  Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
+  Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
+  By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
+  True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.
+
+
+
+
+5. _CALAIS_.
+August 15th, 1802.
+
+  Festivals have I seen that were not names:
+  This is young Buonaparte's natal day;
+  And his is henceforth an established sway,
+  Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
+  Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
+  Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
+  Calais is not: and I have bent my way
+  To the Sea-coast, noting that each man frames
+  His business as he likes. Another time
+  That was, when I was here long years ago:
+  The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
+  Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
+  Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
+  The destiny of Man, and live in hope.
+
+
+
+
+6. ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE _VENETIAN REPUBLIC_.
+
+  Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee;
+  And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
+  Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
+  Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
+  She was a Maiden City, bright and free;
+  No guile seduced, no force could violate;
+  And when She took unto herself a Mate
+  She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
+  And what if she had seen those glories fade,
+  Those titles vanish, and that strength decay,
+  Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
+  When her long life hath reach'd its final day:
+  Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
+  Of that which once was great is pass'd away.
+
+
+
+
+7. _THE KING OF SWEDEN_.
+
+  The Voice of Song from distant lands shall call
+  To that great King; shall hail the crowned Youth
+  Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,
+  By one example hath set forth to all
+  How they with dignity may stand; or fall,
+  If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
+  And what to him and his shall be the end?
+  That thought is one which neither can appal
+  Nor chear him; for the illustrious Swede hath done
+  The thing which ought to be: He stands _above_
+  All consequences: work he hath begun
+  Of fortitude, and piety, and love,
+  Which all his glorious Ancestors approve:
+  The Heroes bless him, him their rightful Son.
+
+
+
+
+8. _TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE_.
+
+  Toussaint, the most unhappy Man of Men!
+  Whether the rural Milk-maid by her Cow
+  Sing in thy hearing, or thou liest now
+  Alone in some deep dungeon's earless den,
+  O miserable chieftain! where and when
+  Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou
+  Wear rather in thy bonds a chearful brow:
+  Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,
+  Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
+  Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
+  There's not a breathing of the common wind
+  That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
+  Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
+  And love, and Man's unconquerable mind.
+
+
+
+
+9.
+
+September 1st, 1802.
+
+
+  We had a fellow-Passenger who came
+  From Calais with us, gaudy in array,
+  A Negro Woman like a Lady gay,
+  Yet silent as a woman fearing blame;
+  Dejected, meek, yea pitiably tame,
+  She sate, from notice turning not away,
+  But on our proffer'd kindness still did lay
+  A weight of languid speech, or at the same
+  Was silent, motionless in eyes and face.
+  She was a Negro Woman driv'n from France,
+  Rejected like all others of that race,
+  Not one of whom may now find footing there;
+  This the poor Out-cast did to us declare,
+  Nor murmur'd at the unfeeling Ordinance.
+
+
+
+
+10. COMPOSED IN THE _VALLEY, near DOVER_,
+On the Day of landing.
+
+  Dear fellow Traveller! here we are once more.
+  The Cock that crows, the Smoke that curls, that sound
+  Of Bells, those Boys that in yon meadow-ground
+  In white sleev'd shirts are playing by the score,
+  And even this little River's gentle roar,
+  All, all are English. Oft have I look'd round
+  With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
+  Myself so satisfied in heart before.
+  Europe is yet in Bonds; but let that pass,
+  Thought for another moment. Thou art free
+  My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
+  For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
+  Of England once again, and hear and see,
+  With such a dear Companion at my side.
+
+
+
+
+11.
+
+September, 1802.
+
+  Inland, within a hollow Vale, I stood,
+  And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,
+  The Coast of France, the Coast of France how near!
+  Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.
+  I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood
+  Was like a Lake, or River bright and fair,
+  A span of waters; yet what power is there!
+  What mightiness for evil and for good!
+  Even so doth God protect us if we be
+  Virtuous and wise: Winds blow, and Waters roll,
+  Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity,
+  Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree
+  Spake laws to _them_, and said that by the Soul
+  Only the Nations shall be great and free.
+
+
+
+
+12. THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE _SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND_.
+
+  Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea,
+  One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice:
+  In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice,
+  They were thy chosen Music, Liberty!
+  There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
+  Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly striven;
+  Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven,
+  Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.
+  Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:
+  Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left!
+  For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be
+  That mountain Floods should thunder as before,
+  And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
+  And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!
+
+
+
+
+13. WRITTEN IN LONDON,
+September, 1802.
+
+  O Friend! I know not which way I must look
+  For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
+  To think that now our Life is only drest
+  For shew; mean handywork of craftsman, cook,
+  Or groom! We must run glittering like a Brook
+  In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
+  The wealthiest man among us is the best:
+  No grandeur now in nature or in book
+  Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expence,
+  This is idolatry; and these we adore:
+  Plain living and high thinking are no more:
+  The homely beauty of the good old cause
+  Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
+  And pure religion breathing household laws.
+
+
+
+
+14.
+
+_LONDON_, 1802.
+
+  Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
+  England hath need of thee: she is a fen
+  Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen,
+  Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
+  Have forfeited their ancient English dower
+  Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
+  Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
+  And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
+  Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart:
+  Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;
+  Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
+  So didst thou travel on life's common way,
+  In chearful godliness; and yet thy heart
+  The lowliest duties on itself did lay.
+
+
+
+
+15.
+
+  Great Men have been among us; hands that penn'd
+  And tongues that utter'd wisdom, better none:
+  The later Sydney, Marvel, Harrington,
+  Young Vane, and others who call'd Milton Friend.
+  These Moralists could act and comprehend:
+  They knew how genuine glory was put on;
+  Taught us how rightfully a nation shone
+  In splendor: what strength was, that would not bend
+  But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange,
+  Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then.
+  Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
+  No single Volume paramount, no code,
+  No master spirit, no determined road;
+  But equally a want of Books and Men!
+
+
+
+
+16.
+
+  It is not to be thought of that the Flood
+  Of British freedom, which to the open Sea
+  Of the world's praise from dark antiquity
+  Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"
+  Road by which all might come and go that would,
+  And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands;
+  That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands
+  Should perish; and to evil and to good
+  Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung
+  Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
+  We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
+  That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
+  Which Milton held. In every thing we are sprung
+  Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
+
+
+
+
+17.
+
+  When I have borne in memory what has tamed
+  Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
+  When Men change Swords for Ledgers, and desert
+  The Student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
+  I had, my Country! am I to be blamed?
+  But, when I think of Thee, and what Thou art,
+  Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
+  Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
+  But dearly must we prize thee; we who find
+  In thee a bulwark of the cause of men;
+  And I by my affection was beguiled.
+  What wonder, if a Poet, now and then,
+  Among the many movements of his mind,
+  Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child.
+
+
+
+
+18.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  One might believe that natural miseries
+  Had blasted France, and made of it a land
+  Unfit for Men; and that in one great Band
+  Her Sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
+  But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze
+  Shed gentle favors; rural works are there;
+  And ordinary business without care;
+  Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
+  How piteous then that there should be such dearth
+  Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite
+  To work against themselves such fell despite:
+  Should come in phrenzy and in drunken mirth,
+  Impatient to put out the only light
+  Of Liberty that yet remains on Earth!
+
+
+
+
+19.
+
+  There is a bondage which is worse to bear
+  Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
+  Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
+  'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
+  One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear
+  Their fetters in their Souls. For who could be,
+  Who, even the best, in such condition, free
+  From self-reproach, reproach which he must share
+  With Human Nature? Never be it ours
+  To see the Sun how brightly it will shine,
+  And know that noble Feelings, manly Powers,
+  Instead of gathering strength must droop and pine,
+  And Earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
+  Fade, and participate in Man's decline.
+
+
+
+
+20.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  These times touch money'd Worldlings with dismay:
+  Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
+  With words of apprehension and despair:
+  While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
+  Men unto whom sufficient for the day
+  And minds not stinted or untill'd are given,
+  Sound, healthy Children of the God of Heaven,
+  Are cheerful as the rising Sun in May.
+  What do we gather hence but firmer faith
+  That every gift of noble origin
+  Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;
+  That virtue and the faculties within
+  Are vital, and that riches are akin
+  To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death!
+
+
+
+
+21.
+
+  England! the time is come when thou shouldst wean
+  Thy heart from its emasculating food;
+  The truth should now be better understood;
+  Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
+  Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
+  But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
+  If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
+  Aught good were destined, Thou wouldst step between.
+  England! all nations in this charge agree:
+  But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
+  Far, far more abject is thine Enemy:
+  Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight
+  Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
+  Oh grief! that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee!
+
+
+
+
+22.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  When, looking on the present face of things,
+  I see one Man, of Men the meanest too!
+  Rais'd up to sway the World, to do, undo,
+  With mighty Nations for his Underlings,
+  The great events with which old story rings
+  Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great;
+  Nothing is left which I can venerate;
+  So that almost a doubt within me springs
+  Of Providence, such emptiness at length
+  Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God!
+  I measure back the steps which I have trod,
+  And tremble, seeing, as I do, the strength
+  Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts sublime
+  I tremble at the sorrow of the time.
+
+
+
+
+23. _TO THE MEN OF KENT_.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent,
+  Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance
+  It's haughty brow against the coast of France,
+  Now is the time to prove your hardiment!
+  To France be words of invitation sent!
+  They from their Fields can see the countenance
+  Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance.
+  And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.
+  Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore,
+  Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;
+  Confirm'd the charters that were yours before;--
+  No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;
+  We all are with you now from Shore to Shore:--
+  Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!
+
+
+
+
+24.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  Six thousand Veterans practis'd in War's game,
+  Tried Men, at Killicranky were array'd
+  Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid,
+  Shepherds and Herdsmen.--Like a whirlwind came
+  The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
+  And Garry thundering down his mountain-road
+  Was stopp'd, and could not breathe beneath the load
+  Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame
+  For them whom precept and the pedantry
+  Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.
+  Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee
+  Who on that day the word of onset gave!
+  Like conquest would the Men of England see;
+  And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.
+
+
+
+
+25. _ANTICIPATION_.
+
+October, 1803.
+
+  Shout, for a mighty Victory is won!
+  On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
+  The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
+  And left them lying in the silent sun,
+  Never to rise again!--the work is done.
+  Come forth, ye Old Men, now in peaceful show
+  And greet your Sons! drums beat, and trumpets blow!
+  Make merry, Wives! ye little Children stun
+  Your Grandame's ears with pleasure of your noise!
+  Clap, Infants, clap your hands! Divine must be
+  That triumph, when the very worst, the pain,
+  And even the prospect of our Brethren slain,
+  Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:--
+  In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.
+
+
+
+
+26.
+
+November, 1803.
+
+  Another year!--another deadly blow!
+  Another mighty Empire overthrown!
+  And we are left, or shall be left, alone;
+  The last that dares to struggle with the Foe.
+  'Tis well! from this day forward we shall know
+  That in ourselves our safety must be sought;
+  That by our own right hands it must be wrought,
+  That we must stand unpropp'd, or be laid low.
+  O Dastard whom such foretaste doth not chear!
+  We shall exult, if They who rule the land
+  Be Men who hold its many blessings dear,
+  Wise, upright, valiant; not a venal Band,
+  Who are to judge of danger which they fear,
+  And honour which they do not understand.
+
+
+
+
+
+_NOTES to the FIRST VOLUME_
+
+
+_NOTES_.
+
+
+NOTE I.
+
+PAGE I (9).--_To the Daisy_. This Poem, and two others to the same
+Flower, which the Reader will find in the second Volume, were
+written in the year 1802; which is mentioned, because in some of the
+ideas, though not in the manner in which those ideas are connected,
+and likewise even in some of the expressions, they bear a striking
+resemblance to a Poem (lately published) of Mr. Montgomery, entitled,
+a Field Flower. This being said, Mr. Montgomery will not think any
+apology due to him; I cannot however help addressing him in the
+words of the Father of English Poets.
+
+      'Though it happe me to rehersin--
+  That ye han in your freshe song is saied,
+  Forberith me, and beth not ill apaied,
+  Sith that ye se I doe it in the honour
+  Of Love, and eke in service of the Flour.'
+
+
+NOTE II.
+
+PAGE 35 (43); line 13.--
+
+      ".... persevering to the last,
+      From well to better."
+
+  'For Knightes ever should be persevering
+  To seek honour without feintise or slouth
+  Fro wele to better in all manner thing.'
+                 CHAUCER:--_The Floure and the Leafe_.
+
+
+
+NOTE III.
+
+PAGE 37 (45).--_The Horn of Egremont Castle_. This Story is a
+Cumberland tradition; I have heard it also related of the Hall of
+Hutton John an ancient residence of the Huddlestones, in a
+sequestered Valley upon the River Dacor.
+
+
+
+NOTE IV.
+
+PAGE 58 (64).--_The Seven Sisters_. The Story of this Poem is from
+the German of FREDERICA BRUN.
+
+
+
+NOTE V.
+
+Page 63 (71); line 6.--
+
+  ".... that thy Boat
+  May rather seem
+  To brood on air," _&c. &c._
+
+See Carver's Description of his Situation upon one of the Lakes of
+America.
+
+
+
+NOTE VI.
+
+PAGE 112 (120); line 8.--"Her tackling rich, and of apparel high."
+From a passage in Skelton, which I cannot here insert, not having
+the Book at hand.
+
+
+
+NOTE VII.
+
+PAGE 150 (158); line 11.--"Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee."
+See an anecdote related in Mr. Scott's Border Minstrelsy.
+
+
+
+NOTE VIII.
+
+PAGE 152 (160); lines 13 and 14.--
+
+  "Who are to judge of danger which they fear
+  And honour which they do not understand."
+
+These two lines from Lord Brooke's Life of Sir Philip Sydney.
+
+
+END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. 1 ***
+
+This file should be named 8774.txt or 8774.zip
+
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+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
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+
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