Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way, And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. Thus all in vain exhorted and reproved, She perished; and, as for a wilful crime, By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved, Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.
Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, As fondly he believes. - Upon the side Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died; And ever, when such stature they had gained 171 That Ilium's walls were subject to their view, The trees' tall summits withered at the sight; A constant interchange of growth and blight!
TO A SKY-LARK
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
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 reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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 cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802
Earth has not anything to show 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 splendour, 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!
ON THE SEA-SHORE NEAR CALAIS
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 broods o'er the Sea: 5 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 untouched by solemn thought, 10 Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worship'st at the temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells;
THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US 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; 5 The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, 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 rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
The old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferred to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken; a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where thou, of placid mien, Innocuous as a firstling of the flock, And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, Shalt change thy temper; and with many a shock Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!
I thought of thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away. Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; Still glides the Stream, and shall forever glide;' The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish; - be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's tran-
We feel that we are greater than we know.
To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: 10 With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING
Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide. Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide, And sullenness avoid, as now they shun Pale twilight's lingering glooms, — and in the sun Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied; Or gambol - each with his shadow at his side, Varying its shape wherever he may run. As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew All turn, and court the shining and the green, 10 Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen; Why to God's goodness cannot We be true, And so, His gifts and promises between, Feed to the last on pleasures ever new?
A Poet! He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
The feast was over in Branksome tower, And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower;
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