The mind with high emotion, sweeter far
Than our most dear successes. Man might be
Happy, were he to dwell with her alone,
And drink her radiant smile from year to year,
Until she clasped him gently to her breast;
But happier, when, by love of wisdom led,
He makes her as a strength'ning lens to sight,
And through the medium, although dim, can view,
Some shadow of his Deity, and by
Such visions humbled and exalted, ask
For his good spirit, full of faith and love.
To me was all in all.-I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite: a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye -That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eyes and ear, both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
NATURE never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-wind be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations!
BEAUTIES OF NATURE.
How sweet at summer's noon to sit and muse
Beneath the shadow of some ancient elm!
While at my feet the mazy streamlet flows
In tuneful lapse, laving the flowers that bend
To kiss its tide; while sport the finny throng,
On the smooth surface of the crystal depths,
In silvery circlets, or in shallows leap,
That sparkle in the sunbeam's trembling glare,
Around the tiny jets, where humid bells
Break as they form, the water-spiders weave,
Brisk on the eddying pools, their ceaseless dance.
The wild bee winds her horn, lost in the cups
Of honied flowers, or sweeps with ample curve,
While o'er the summer's lap is heard the hum
Of countless insects sporting on the wing,
Inviting sleep. And from the leafy woods
One various song of bursting joy ascends,
While echo wafts the notes from grove to hill;
From hill to grove the grateful concert spreads,
As borne on fluttering plumes, in circling maze
The happy birds flit through the balmy air,
Where plays the gossamer; and, as they felt
The general joy, bright exhalations dance;
And shepherd's pipe, and song of blooming maid,
Quick as she turns the odour-breathing swathes
Of new-mown hay, and children playing round
The ivy-cluster'd cot, and low of herds,
And bleat of lambs, that crop the verdant sward
With daises pied, while smiles the heaven serene;
All wake to ecstasy, or melt to love,
And to the source of goodness raise the soul,-
Raise it to Him, exhaustless source of bliss,
That, like the sun, blest emblem of Himself,
For ever flowing, yet for ever full,
Diffuses life and happiness to all.
NATURE'S MUSIC.
NAY, tell me not of lordly halls!
My minstrels are the trees;
The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls, Earth's sounds my symphonics.
There's music sweeter to my soul
In the weed by the wild wind fann'd, In the heave of the surge, than ever stole From mortal minstrel's hand.
There's mighty music in the roar
Of the oaks on the mountain's side,
When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
And the lightning flashes wide.
There's music in the city's hum,
Heard in the noontide glare,
When its thousand mingling voices come
On the breast of the sultry air.
There's music in the forest stream,
As it plays through the deep ravine,
Where never summer's breath or beam
Has pierced the woodland screen.
There's music in the thundering sweep
Of the mountain waterfall,
As its torrents struggle, and foam, and leap
From the brow of its marble wall.
There's music in the dawning morn,
Ere the lark his pinion dries,
In the rush of the breeze through the dewy corn,
Through the garden's perfumed dyes.
There's music on the twilight cloud,
As the clanging wild swans spring;
As homeward the screaming ravens crowd,
Like squadrons on the wing.
There's music in the depth of night,
When the world is still and dim,
And the stars flame out in the pomp of light,
Like thrones of the cherubim!
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