With easy force it opens all the cells Where mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard And with it all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, It seem'd not always short; the rugged path, That we might try the ground again, where once 15 20 25 30 When most severe, and mus'tring all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love; Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might low'r, And utter now and then an awful voice, But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 35 Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant. That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd That converse which we now in vain regret. 40 1 And feel a parent's presence no restraint. And makes the World the wilderness it is. 50 And, seeking grace t' improve the prize they hold, 55 The night was winter in its roughest mood; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 60 The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue The dazzling splendour of the scene below. And through the trees I view th' embattled tow'r, 65 The soothing influence of the wafted strains, The walks, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 70 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 75 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 85 And learning wiser grow without his books. The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 95 100 By which the magick art of shrewder wits Surrender judgment hood-wink'd. Some the style While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear And swallowing, therefore; without pause or choice 105 110 And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn root, Deceive no student. Wisdom there and truth, Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 115 By slow solicitation, seize at once The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 120 Familiar with th' effect, we slight the cause, And renovation of a faded world, See nought to wonder at. Should God again, How would the world admire! But speaks it less An agency divine, to make him know His moment when to sink and when to rise, 125 130 Age after age, than to arrest his course? All we behold is miracle; but seen So duly, all is miracle in vain. Where now the vital energy, that mov'd While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 135 But let the months go round, a few short months, 140 And all shall be restor'd. These naked shoots, Barren as lances, among which the wind Makes wintry musick, sighing as it goes, Shall put their graceful foliage on again, And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 145 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. Then each in its peculiar honours clad, Shall publish even to the distant eye Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure 150 The scentless and the scented rose; this red And throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew, 155 That the wind severs from the broken wave; The lilack, various in array, now white, Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set Studious of ornament, yet unresolv'd The Guelder Rose. 160 Which hue she most approv'd, she chose them all; Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, 165 170 The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 175 Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, And flush into variety again. 180 From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man In heav'nly truth; evincing, as she makes The grand transition, that their lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 185 The beauties of the wilderness are his, That makes so gay the solitary place, Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, He sets the bright procession on its way, 190 He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, Russet and rude, folds up And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, Some say that in the origin of things, 195 |