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Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
That rustling on the bushy clift above,
With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb:
Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet
to climb,

E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness—
How more than sweet, if some dear friend
should bless
up the path sublime
the glad landscape
increasing without

Th'advent'rous toil, and
Now lead, now follow

Wide and more wide

O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's

Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now t'unlock
The treasur'd heart; arm link'd in friendly


Save if the one, his muse's witching charm Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;

Till high o'er head his beck'ning friend

And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears
That shadowing PINE its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain th' enamoured sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,

Where INSPIRATION, his diviner strains
Low murmuring, lay; and starting from
the rocks

Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of

And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world up-lifted high,
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply)
There, while the prospect through the gazing

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Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light; ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF
And haply, bason'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected

Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by
the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the


HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe, O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear! To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear: To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm


leaves strew'd,

Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from Pace round some widow's grave, whose

the mount,

To some lone mansion, in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye, DOMESTIC BLISS
Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's

Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore,
The Hill of Knowledge I essay'd to trace;
That verd'rous hill with many a resting-place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters

dearer part

Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs

The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then,
while thy heart
Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young

What nature makes thee mourn, she bids
thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave life's common-

To glad and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.


And many a fancy-blest and holy sod

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Ir dead, we cease to be; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
But are their whole of being! If the breath
Be life itself, and not its task and tent,
If ev'n a soul like Milton's can know death:
O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant,
Yet drone-hive strange of phantom-purposes,
Surplus of nature's dread activity,
Which, as she gaz'd on some nigh-finish'd

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The counter-weights!-Thy laughter and thy tears Mean but themselves, each fittest to create And to repay the other! Why rejoices Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good, Why cowl thy face beneath the Mourner's hood,

Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,

Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, That such a thing, as thou, feelst warm or cold!

Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold These costless shadows of thy shadowy self? Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun! Thou hast no reason why! Thou can'st have none,!

Thy being's being is contradiction.


Composed before day-light, on the morning appointed for the departure of a very worthy, but not very pleasant Visitor, whom it was feared the rain might detain.

I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once open'd the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Tho' sick and sore for want of sleep:
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, The clash hard by, and the murmur all


You know, if you know aught, that we,
For days, and months, and almost years,
Both night and day, but ill agree:
Have limp'd on thro' this vale of tears,
Since body of mine and rainy weather
Have liv'd on easy terms together.
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
Though you should come again to-morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Tho' stomach should sicken, and knees
should swell-

I'll nothing speak of you but well.
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
But only now for this one day,

Dear Rain! I ne'er refus'd to say You're a good creature in your way;

Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Shewing, how very good you are-
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

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

We three, you mark! and not one more!
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners-
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

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

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

But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.



NEVER, believe me, Appear the Immortals,

Never alone:

Scarce had I welcom'd the Sorrow-beguiler, Jacchus! but in came Boy Cupid, the Smiler; Lo! Phœbus, the Glorious, descends from his Throne!

They advance, they float in, the Olympians


With Divinities fills my Terrestrial Hall!

How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial Quire?

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While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,

Still cling around our hearts-
Between let ocean roll,

To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? To be beloved is all I need,

Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: And whom I love, I love indeed.

Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech, "We are One."



ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,

In humble Trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,

No wish conceived, no thought expressed!
Only a sense of supplication,
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I pray'd aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,

And whom I scorn'd, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! mad'ning brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know,
Whether I suffered, or I did:

For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame!

So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Sadden'd and stunn'd the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.

The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued ·
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stain'd with sin:
For aye entempesting anew
Th' unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,




Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured
Beneath whose shadowy banners, wide un-
Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling hosts.

Such symphony requires best instrument. Seize, then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome

The Harp which hangeth high between the

Of Brutus and Leonidas! With that
Strong music, that soliciting spell, force back
Earth's free and stirring spirit that lies

For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use Of all the powers which God for use had


But chiefly this, him first, him last to view
Through meaner powers and secondary things
Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his

For all that meets the bodily sense I deem
Symbolical, one mighty alphabet
For infant minds; and we in this low world
Placed with our backs to bright Reality,
That we may learn with young unwounded

The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love,
Whose latence is the plenitude of All,
Thou with retracted beams and self-eclipse
Veiling revealest thy eternal Sun.

But some there are who deem themselves most free When they within this gross and visible sphere

Chain down the winged thought, scoffing


Proud in their meanness: and themselves they cheat

With noisy emptiness of learned phrase,
Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,]
Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all
Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty
Untenanting creation of its God.

But properties are God: the naked mass (If mass there be, fantastic Guess Ghost!)

Acts only by its inactivity.


Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think
That as one body seems the aggregate
Of Atoms numberless, each organized:
So by a strange and dim similitude
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds
Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs
With absolute ubiquity of thought
(His one eternal self-affirming Act!)
All his involved Monads, that yet seem
With various province and apt agency
Each to pursue its own self-centering end.
Some nurse the infant-diamond in the mine;
Some roll the genial juices through the oak;
Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in

And rushing on the storm with whirlwind-


Yoke the red lightning to their vollying car.
Thus these pursue their never-varying
No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild,
With complex interests weaving human fates,
Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,
Evolve the process of eternal good.

And what if some, rebellious, o'er dark

Arrogate power? yet these train up to God,
And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day,
Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom.
As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head
The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun
Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows,
While yet the stern and solitary Night
Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn
With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam,
Guiding his course or by Niemi lake
Or Balda-Zhiok, or the mossy stone
Of Solfar-Kapper, while the snowy blast
Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge,
Making the poor babe at its mother's back
Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while
Wins gentle solace as with upward eye
He marks the streamy banners of the North,
Thinking himself those happy spirits shall

Who there in floating robes of rosy light
Dance sportively. For Fancy is the Power
That first unsensualizes the dark mind,
Giving it new delights; and bids it swell
With wild activity; and, peopling air,
By obscure fears of Beings invisible,
Emancipates it from the grosser thrall
Of the present impulse, teaching Self-con-

Till Superstition with unconscious hand
Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not

Whether of pitying Spirits that make their


O'er slaughter'd infants, or that Giant-Bird
VUOKнO, of whose rushing wings the noise
Is Tempest, when the unutterable shape
Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters


That shriek, which never Murderer heard,
and lived.

Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance
Pierces the untravelled realms of Ocean's bed
(Where live the innocent as far from cares
As from the storms and overwhelming waves
Dark tumbling on the surface of the deep),
Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave
By mis-shaped prodigies beleaguered, such
As Earth ne'er bred, nor Air, nor the upper

There dwells the Fury-Form, whose unheard name


With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath,
And lips half-opening with the dread of sound,
Unsleeping SILENCE guards, worn out with
Lest haply escaping on some treacherous blast
The fateful word let slip the Elements
And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,
Armed with Torngarsuck's power, the Spi-
rit of Good,


Forces to unchain the foodful progeny
Of the Ocean stream.—Wild phantasies! yet
On the victorious goodness of high God
Teaching reliance, and medicinal hope,
Till, from Bethabra northward, heavenly

With gradual steps winning her difficult way,
Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.

If there be Beings of higher class than Man,
I deem no nobler province they possess,
Than by disposal of apt circumstance
To rear up Kingdoms: and the deeds they
Distinguishing from mortal agency,
They chuse their human ministers from such


As still the Epic Song half fears to name,
Repelled from all the Minstrelsies that strike
The palace-roof and sooth the Monarch's

And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if
Witnessed by answering deeds may claim
our faith)

Held commune with that warrior-maid of

Who scourg'd the Invader. From her infant-

Nor yet without permitted power impress'd, With Wisdom, Mother of retired Thoughts,
I deem those legends terrible, with which Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to
The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng:

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