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Of beamy radiance, that imbues,
Whate'er it strikes, with gem-like hues!
In vision exquisitely clear,
Herds range along the mountain side;
And glistening antlers are descried;
And gilded flocks appear.
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
- From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won;
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which British shepherds tread !

- Brook and road Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, The stationary blasts of waterfalls, And in the narrow rent, at every turn, Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, Black drizzling crags that spa ke by the wayside As if a voice were in them, the sick sight And giddy prospect of the raving stream, The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, Tumult and peace, the darkness and the lightWhere all like workings of one mind, the features of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, Characters of the great Apocalypse, The types and symbols of Eternity, Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.

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And if there be whom broken ties
Afflict, or injuries assail,
Yon hazy ridges to their eyes *
Present a glorious scale,
Climbing suffused with sunny air,
To stop - no record hath told where !
And tempting fancy to ascend,
And with immortal spirits blend !

- Wings at my shoulders seem to play; t
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze
On those bright steps that heaven-ward raise
Their practicable way.
Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,
And see to what fair countries ye are bound !
And if some traveller, weary of his road,
Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground,
Ye Genii! to his covert speed;
And wake him with such gentle heed
As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendant hour!

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Such hues from their celestial Urn
Were wont to stream before mine eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn
Of blissful infancy.
This glimpse of glory, why renewed ?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;
For, if a vestige of those gleams
Survived, 't was only in my dreams.


Had this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;
But 't is endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail mortality may see —
What is! - ah no, but what can be !
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,
Struins suitable to both. - Such holy rite,
Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle – the gleam —
The shadow — and the peace supreme!


No sound is uttered, – but a deep
And olemn harmony pervades
The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.
Paradistant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency

* The multiplication of mountain-ridges described at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode, as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapours, or sunny haze ;-in the present instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode, entitled “Intimations of Immortality,' pervade the last stanza of the foregoing Poem.

† In these lines I am under obligation to the exquisite picture of “ Jacob's Dream," by Mr. Allston, now in America. It is pleasant to make this public acknowledgment to a man of genius, whom I have the honour to rank among my friends.

Dread Power ! whom peace and calmness serve
No less than nature's threatening voice,
If aught unworthy be my choice,
From Thee if I would swerve;
O, let thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored ;
Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored ;
My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth!

– 'Tis past, the visionary splendour fades;
And night approaches with her shades.

The lingering world, when time hath ceased to be.
But the winds roar, shaking the rooted trees,
And see! a bright precursor to a train
Perchance as numerous, overpeers the rock
That sullenly refuses to partake
Of the wild impulse. From a fount of life
Invisible, the long procession moves
Luminous or gloomy, welcome to the vale
Which they are entering, welcome to mine eye
That sees then, to my soul that owns in them,
And in the bosom of the firmament
O'er which they move, wherein they are contained,
A type of her capacious self and all
Her restless progeny.

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A humble walk

Here is my body doomed to tread, this path,

A little hoary line and faintly traced, ARMy of Clouds! ye winged Host in troops

Work, shall we call it, of the shepherd's foot Ascending from behind the motionless brow

Or of his flock ? - joint vestige of them both. Of that tall rock, as from a hidden world,

I pace it unrepining, for my thoughts O whither with such eagerness of speed ?

Admit no bondage and my words have wings. What seek ye, or what shun ye? of the gale Where is the Orphean lyre, or Druid harp, Companions, fear ye to be left behind,

To accompany the verse ? The mountain blast Or racing o'er your blue ethereal field

Shall be our hand of music; he shall sweep Contend ye with each other ? of the sea

The rocks, and quivering trees, and billowy lake, Children, thus post ye over vale and height

And search the fibres of the caves, and they
To sink upon your mother's lap- and rest ?

Shall answer, for our song is of the clouds
Or were ye rightlier hailed, when first mine eyes And the wind loves them; and the gentle gales –
Beheld in your impetuous march the likeness

Which by their aid re-clothe the naked lawn
Of a wide army pressing on to meet

With annual verdure, and revive the woods, Or overtake some unknown enemy?

And moisten the parched lips of thirsty flowersBut your smooth motions suit a peaceful aim;

Love them; and every idle breeze of air And Fancy, not less aptly pleased, compares

Bends to the favourite burthen. Moon and stars Your squadrons to an endless flight of birds

Keep their most solemn vigils when the clouds Aerial, upon due migration bound

Watch also, shifting peaceably their place To mildor climes; or rather do ye urge

Like bands of ministering spirits, or when they lie, In caravan your hasty pilgrimage

As if some Protean art the change had wrought, To puse at last on more aspiring heights

In listless quiet o'er the ethereal deep
Than these, and utter your devotion there

Scattered, a Cyclades of various shapes
With thunderous voice! Or are ye jubilant, And all degrees of beauty. Oye lightnings!
And would ye, tracking your proud lord the Sun, Ye are their perilous offspring; and the sun-
Bo present at his setting; or the pomp

Source inexhaustible of life and joy,
Of' l'ersian mornings would ye fill, and stand

And type of man's far-darting reason, therefore l'oring your splendours high above the heads

In old time worshipped

the god of verse,
Of worshippers kneeling to their up-risen God? A blazing intellectual deity –
Whence, whence, yo clouds! this eagerness of speed? Loves his own glory in their looks, and showers
Spek, milent creatures. --- They are gone, are fled, Upon that unsubstantial brotherhood
Burive together in yon gloomy mass

Visions with all but beatific light
That land the middle heaven; and clear and bright Enriched too transient were they not renewed
And vacant doth the region which they thronged From age to age, and did not while we gaze
Appear; a calm descent of sky conducting

In silent rapture, credulous desire
Town to the unapproachable abyss,

Nourish the hope that memory lacks not power Town to that hidden gulf from which they rose To keep the treasure unimpaired. Vain thought! Tu vanish lleet ns duys and months and years,

Yet why repine, created as we are Fleet as the generations of mankind,

For joy and rest, albeit to find them only Power, glory, ompire, as the world itself,

Lodged in the bosom of eternal things?




Ye Voices, and ye Shadows,

And Images of voice - to hound and horn

From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows
Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn,

On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells

A greeting give of measured glee;
The Ear addressed, as occupied by a spiritual functionary, in and milder echoes from their cells
communion with sounds, individual, or combined in studied
tartoony. — Sources and effects of those sounds (to the close of Repeat the bridal symphony.
buh Stanza). — The power of music, whence proceeding, exem- Then, or far earlier, let us rove
plified in the idiot. - Origin of music, and its effect in early Where mists are breaking up or gone,
arey - how produced (to the middle of 10th Stanza). — The
mind recalled to sounds acting casually and severally. – Wish And from aloft look down into a cove
uttered (11th Stanza) that these could be united into a scheme Besprinkled with a careless quire,
or system for moral interests and intellectual contemplation. - Happy Milk-maids, one by one
Stanza 12th» The Pythagorean theory of numbers and music, Scattering a ditty each to her desire,
with their supposed power over the motions of the universe
imaginations consonant with such a theory. — Wish expressed A liquid concert matchless by nice Art,
(un !!th Stanza) realized, in some degree, by the representa- A stream as if from one full heart.
twn of all sounds under the form of thanksgiving to the Creator.
- Last Stanza) the destruction of earth and the planetary sys.

tern — the survival of audible harmony, and its support in the
Divine Nature, as revealed in Holy Writ.

Blest be the song that brightens
The blind Man's gloom, exalts the Veteran's mirth.

Unscorned the Peasant's whistling breath, that lighteng 1.

His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth. Tuy functions are etherial,

For the tired Slave, Song lifts the languid oar, As if within thee dwelt a glancing Mind,

And bids it aptly fall, with chime Organ of Vision! And a Spirit aerial

That beautifies the fairest shore, Informs the cell of hearing, dark and blind;

And mitigates the harshest clime. lotricate labyrinth, more dread for thought

Yon Pilgrims see - in lagging file To enter than oracular cave;

They move; but soon the appointed way Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,

A choral Ave Marie shall beguile, And whispers, for the heart, their slave;

And to their hope the distant shrine And shrieks, that revel in abuse

Glisten with a livelier ray: Of shivering flesh; and warbled air,

Nor friendless He, the Prisoner of the Mine, Whose piercing sweetness can unloose

Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast
The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile

Can draw, and sing his griefs to resto
Into the ambush of despair ;
Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle,

5. And requiems answered by the pulse that beats

When civic renovation Devoutly, in life's last retreats!

Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste

Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration 2.

Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast The headlong Streams and Fountains

Piping through cave and battlemented tower; Serve Thee, Invisible Spirit, with untired powers;

Then starts the Sluggard, pleased to meet Cheering the wakeful Tent on Syrian mountains,

That voice of Freedom, in its power They lull perchance ten thousand thousand Flowers.

Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet!
That roar, the prowling Lion's Here I am,

Who, from a martial pageant, spreads
Incitements of a battle-day,
Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless heads,
Even She whose Lydian airs inspire
Peaceful striving, gentle play
Of timid hope and innocent desire
Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move
Fanned by the plausive wings of Love.

How fearful to the desert wide!
That blent, how tender! of the Dam
Calling a straggler to her side.
Shout, Cuckoo! let the vernal soul
Go with thee to the frozen zone;
Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone Bell-bird, toll!
At the still hour to Mercy dear,
Merey from her twilight throne
Listening to Nun's faint sob of holy fear,
To Sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea,
Or Widow's cottage lullaby.

How oft along thy mazes,
Regent of Sound, have dangerous Passions trod !

O Thou, through whom the Temple rings with praises, And listening Dolphins gather round.
And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God, Self-cast, as with a desperate course,
Betray not by the cozenage of sense

'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides Thy Votaries, wooingly resigned

A proud One docile as a managed horse; To a voluptuous influence

And singing, while the accordant hand That taints the purer, better mind;

Sweeps his harp, the Master rides; But lead sick Fancy to a harp

So shall he touch at length a friendly strand, That hath in noble tasks been tried;

And he, with his Preserver, shine star-bright And, if the Virtuous feel a pang too sharp,

In memory, through silent night. Soothe it into patience, - stay

10. The uplifted arm of Suicide; And let some mood of thine in firm array

The pipe of Pan, to Shepherds Knit every thought the impending issue needs,

Couched in the shadow of Menalian Pines, Ere Martyr burns, or Patriot bleeds!

Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the Leopards, 7.

That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines, As Conscience, to the centre

How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang! Of Being, smites with irresistible pain,

While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter

In cadence, — and Silenus swang The mouldy vaults of the dull Idiot's brain,

This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned. Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled

To life, to lise give back thine Ear: Convulsed as by a jarring din;

Ye who are longing to be rid And then aghast, as at the world

Of Fable, though to truth subservient, hear Of reason partially let in

The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell By concords winding with a sway

Echoed from the coffin lid; Terrible for sense and soul !

The Convict's summons in the steeple knell. Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay.

“The vain distress-gun," from a leeward shore, Point not these mysteries to an Art

Repeated — heard, and heard no more !
Lodged above the starry pole ;

Pure modulations flowing from the heart
Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth, For terror, joy, or pity,
With Order dwell, in endless youth?

Vast is the compass, and the swell of notes :

From the Babe's first cry to voice of regal City, 8.

Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats Oblivion may not cover

Far as the woodlands — with the trill to blend All treasures hoarded by the Miser, Time.

Of that shy Songstress, whose love-tale Orphean Insight! Truth's undaunted Lover,

Might tempt an Angel to descend, To the first leagues of tutored passion climb,

While hovering o'er the moonlight vale. When Music deigned within this grosser sphere

O for some soul-affecting scheme Her subtle essence to enfold,

Of moral music, to unite And Voice and Shell drew forth a tear

Wanderers whose portion is the faintest dream Softer than Nature's self could mould.

Of memory!- that they might stoop to bear Yet strenuous was the infant Age:

Chains, such precious chains of sight Art, daring because souls could feel,

As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear! Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage

O for a balance fit the truth to tell
Of rapt imagination sped her march

Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well !
Through the realms of woe and weal:
Hell to the lyre bowed low; the


Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse
Her wan disasters could disperse.

By one pervading Spirit

Of tones and numbers all things are controlled, 9.

As Sages taught, where faith was found to merit The Gift to King Amphion

Initiation in that mystery old That walled a city with its melody

The Heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still Was for belief no dream; thy skill, Arion !

As they themselves appear to be, Could humanise the creatures of the sea,

Innumerable voices fill Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves,

With everlasting harmony; Leave for one chant; — the dulcet sound

The towering Headlands, crowned with mist. Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,

Their feet amo billows, know

be iz! Ever waving to and fro,

That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;

All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep Thy pinions, universal Air,

For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured

Into the ear of God, their Lord! its Are delegates of harmony, and bear

14. Strains that support the Seasons in their round: Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

A Voice to Light gave Being ;

To Time, and Man his earth-born Chronicler; 13.

A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing, Break forth into thanksgiving,

And sweep away life's visionary stir; Ye banded Instruments of wind and chords;

The Trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,

Arm at its blast for deadly wars)
Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words ! To archangelic lips applied,
Nor bushed be service from the lowing mead,

The grave shall open, quench the stars.
Nor mute the forest hum of noon;

O Silence! are Man's noisy years Thou too be heard, lone Eagle! freed

No more than moments of thy life? From snowy peak and cloud, attune

Is Harmony, blest Queen of smiles and tears, T'hy hungry barkings to the hymn

With her smooth tones and discords just, Of joy, that from her utmost walls

Tempered into rapturous strife, The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim,

Thy destined Bond-slave ? No! though Earth be dust Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep

And vanish, though the Heavens dissolve, her stay Shouting through one valley calls,

Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.





High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth, the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me,
In sundry moods, 't was pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground:
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.



Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown
In perfect shape, whose beauty Time shall spare
Though a breath made it, like a bubble blown
Por summer pastime into wanton air ;
Happy the thought best likened to a stone
Of the sea-beach, when, polished with nice care,
V’eins it discovers exquisite and rare,
Which for the loss of that moist gleam atone
That tempted first to gather it. O chief
Of Friends ! such feelings if I here present,
Soch thoughts, with others mixed less fortunate ;
Then smile into my heart a fond belief
That thou, if not with partial joy elate,
Receivest the gift for more than mild content!

BEAUMONT! it was thy wish that I should rear
A seemly Cottage in this sunny Dell,
On favoured ground, thy gift, where I might dwell
In neighbourhood with One to me most dear,
That undivided we from year to year
Might work in our high Calling — a bright hope
To which our fancies, mingling, gave free scope
Till checked by some necessities severe.
And should these slacken, honoured BEAUMONT! still
Even then we may perhaps in vain implore
Leavc of our fate thy wishes to fulfil.
Whether this boon be granted us or not,
Old Skiddaw will look down upon the Spot
With pride, the Muses love it evermore.

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