Then eyed our cottage, and gaz'd round again, And sigh'd, and said, it was a blessed place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisper'd tones I've said to my Beloved, "Such, sweet Girl! The inobtrusive song of Happiness- Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the Soul seeks to hear; when all is hush'd And the Heart listens !"
From that low Dell steep up the stony Mount I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top, O what a goodly scene! Here the bleak Mount, The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep; Grey Clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields; And River, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd Now winding bright and full, with naked banks; And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey, and the Wood, And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire: The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Ocean- It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought, Had built him there a Temple; the whole World Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference.
No wish profan'd my overwhelmed Heart. Blest hour! It was a Luxury-to be!
Ah quiet Dell! dear Cot! and Mount sublime! I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, While my unnumber'd Brethren toil'd and bled, That I should dream away the trusted Hours
On rose-leaf Beds, pampr'ing the coward Heart With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the Tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of one, he lifts from earth: And He, that works me good with unmov'd face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My Benefactor, not my Brother Man!
Yet even this, this cold Beneficence
Seizes my Praise, when I reflect on those, The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe!
Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies!
I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ. Yet oft when after honourable toil
Rests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to dream, My Spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot! Thy Jasmin and thy window-peeping Rose, And Myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. And I shall sigh fond wishes-sweet Abode ! Ah-had none greater! And that all had such ! It might be so-but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father! Let thy Kingdom come!
WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGWATER SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL.
[The first Stanza alludes to a Passage in the Letter.]
NOR travels my meand'ring eye The starry wilderness on high; Nor now with curious sight I mark the glow-worm, as I pass, Move with "
green radiance" thro' the grass,
An Emerald of Light.
O ever-present to my view! My wafted spirit is with you,
And sooths your boding fears: I see you all oppress'd with gloom Sit lonely in that cheerless room— Ah me! You are in tears!
Beloved Woman! did you fly Chill'd Friendship's dark disliking eye, Or Mirth's untimely din? With cruel weight these trifles press A temper sore with Tenderness,
When aches the void within.
The expression "green radiance" is borrowed from Mr. Wordsworth, a Poet whose versification is occasionally harsh, and his diction too frequently obscure; but whom I deem unrivalled among the writers of the present day, in manly sentiment, novel imagery, and vivid colouring.
But why with sable wand unbless'd Should Fancy rouse within my breast Dim-visag'd shapes of Dread? Untenanting its beauteous clay My Sara's soul has wing'd its way, And hovers round my head!
I felt it prompt the tender Dream, When slowly sunk the day's last gleam; You rous'd each gentler sense, As sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume With viewless influence.
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans Thro' yon reft house! O'er rolling stones With broad impetuous sweep,
The fast encroaching tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark-red'ning from the channel'd Isle *
(Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
The Watchfire, like a sullen star, Twinkles to many a dozing Tar Rude-cradled on the mast.
Ev'n there-beneath that light-house tower
In the tumultuous evil hour
Ere Peace with Sara came,
I should have thought it sweet
The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel.
To count the echoings of my feet, And watch the troubled flame.
And there in black and jaundic'd fit A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit, And listen to the roar:
When mountain Surges bellowing deep With an uncouth monster leap Plung'd foaming on the shore.
Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark; Her vain distress-guns hear: And when a second sheet of light Flash'd o'er the blackness of the night-
To see no Vessel there!
But Fancy now more gaily sings; Or if awhile she droop her wings,
As sky-larks mid the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast: Th' oblivious Poppy o'er her nest
Nods, till returning morn..
O mark those smiling tears, that swell The open'd Rose! From heaven they fell, And with the sun-beam blend;
Blest visitations from above:
Such are the tender woes of Love Fost'ring the heart, they bend!
When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound, To me your arms you'll stretch:
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