LONDON, 1802 MILTON! thou shouldst 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 cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 1802. 1807. IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF 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," Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 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 Armory of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.-In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 1802 or 1803. April 16, 1803. 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? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, In thee a bulwark for the cause of men : Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 1802 or 1803. Sept. 17, 1803. TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE 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 selfborn carol; Thou faery voyager! that dost float 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; O blessed vision! happy child! I think of thee with many fears Lord of thy house and hospitality; O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! What hast thou to do with sorrow, Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life. 1802. 1807. TO THE DAISY IN youth from rock to rock I went, Most pleased when most uneasy; Thee Winter in the garland wears That she may sun thee; Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Pleased at his greeting thee again; Yet nothing daunted, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Be violets in their secret mews Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, The Poet's darling. If to a rock from rains he fly, Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; A hundred times, by rock or bower, Some apprehension; Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight ; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention. Child of the Year! that round dost run Thy pleasant course,-when day's begun As ready to salute the sun As lark or leveret, Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; Art Nature's favorite.1 1802. 1807. TO THE SAME FLOWER WITH little here to do or see For thou art worthy, Oft on the dappled turf at ease Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising: And many a fond and idle name A nun demure of lowly port; Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest; A little cyclops, with one eye The shape will vanish-and behold I see thee glittering from afar- In heaven above thee! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ;May peace come never to his nest, Who shall reprove thee! See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honors formerly paid to this flower. (Wordsworth.) There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, Lies gathered to his Father's side, Yet one to which is not denied For he is safe, a quiet bed And surely here it may be said And oh for Thee, by pitying grace Sighing I turned away; but ere Chanted in love that casts out fear 1803. 1845. TO A HIGHLAND GIRL AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND This delightful creature and her demeanor are particularly described in my Sister's Journal. (Wordsworth.) SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; |