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INSCRIPTION FOR A SEAT IN THE What wonder if his being thus became

Sublime and comprehensive! Low desires,

Low thoughts had there no place; yet was his heart BENEATI yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound, | Lowly; for he was meek in gratitude, Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground,

Oft as he call'd those ecstasies to mind, squired Stand yet-but, stranger! hidden from thy view-| And whence they flow'd; and from them he acThe ivied ruins of forlorn Grace Dieu;

Wisdom, which works through patience; thence he Erst a religious house, which day and night In oft recurring hours of sober thought, learn'd With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite:

To look on nature with an humble heart, And when those rites had ceased, the spot gave birth | Self-question'd where it did not understand, To honourable men of various worth:

And with a superstitious eye of love. There, on the margin of a streamlet wild, Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child; There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks, Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their flocks; EVENING IN THE MOUNTAINS. Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams Has not the soul, the being of your life, Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage, Received a shock of awful consciousness, With which his genius shook the buskin'd stage. In some calm season, when these lofty rocks, Communities are lost, and empires die,

At night's approach, bring down th' unclouded sky And things of holy use unhallow'd lie;

To rest upon their circumambient walls; They perish ;-but the intellect can raise,

A temple framing of dimensions vast,
From airy words alone, a pile that ne'er decays. And yet not too enormous for the sound

Of human anthems—choral song, or burst
Sublime of instrumental harmony,

To glorify the Eternal! What if these

Did never break the stillness that prevails

Here, if the solemn nightingale be mute,

And the soft woodlark here did never chant
For the growing youth,

Her vespers, Nature fails not to provide
What soul was his, when from the naked top Impulse and utterance. T'he whispering air
Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun

Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights, Rise up, and bathe the world in light! He look’d

And blind recesses of the cavern'd rocks; Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth

The little rills and waters numberless, And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay

Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd,

With the loud streams: and often, at the hour And in their silent faces could he read

When issue forth the first pale stars, is beard, Unutterable love. Sound needed none,

Within the circuit of this fabric huge, Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank

One voice-one solitary raven, flying The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form

Athwart the concave of the dark-blue dome, All melted into him; they swallowed up

Unseen, perchance above the power of sightHis animal being: in them did he live,

An iron knell! With echoes from afar,
And by them did he live; they were his life. Faint, and still fainter.
In such access of mind, in such high hour
Of visitation from the living God,
Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.
No thanks he breathed, he proffer'd no request;

Rapt into still communion that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,

Not seldom from the uproar I retired
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power

Into a silent bay, or sportively That made him ; it was blessedness and love! Glanced sideways, leaving the tumultuous throng, A herdsman on the lonely mountain top,

To cross the bright reflection of a star, Such intercourse was his, and in this sort

Image that, dying still before me, gleam'd Was his existence oftentimes possessed.

Upon the glassy plain : and oftentimes Oh then how beautiful, how bright appear'd

When we had given our bodies to the wind, The written promise! Early had he learned And all the shadowy banks on either side To reverence the volume that displays

Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The mystery, the life which cannot die;

The rapid line of motion, then at once But in the mountains did he feel his faith. Have I, reclining back upon my heels, All things, responsive to the writing, there

Stopp'd short; yet still the solitary cliffs Breathed immortality, revolving life,

Wheeld by me, even as if the earth had rollid, And greatness still revolving; infinite;

With visible motion, her diurnal round! There littleness was not; the least of things Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Seem'd infinite; and then his spirit shaped Feebler and feebler; and I stood and watch'd Her prospects, nor did he believe,-he saw. Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.


And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts TAESE beauteous forms,

Have follow'd; for such loss I would believe Through a long absence, have not been to me Abundant recompense. For I have learn'd As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:

To look on nature, not as in the hour But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din

Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,

The still sad music of humanity, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

Not harsh nor grating, but of amplest power Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

To soften and subdue. And I have felt And passing even into my purer mind,

A passion that disturb'd me with the joy With tranquil restoration :-feelings, too,

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, Of something far more deeply interposed, As have no slight or trivial influence

Whose dwelling is the light of setting sun, [ On that best portion of a good man's life,

And the round ocean, and the living air, ! His little, nameless, unremember'd acts

And the blue sky, and on the mind of man: Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, A motion and a spirit, that impels To them I may have owed another gift

All thinking things, all objects and all thought, Of aspect more sublime ; that blesses most

And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still In which the burden of the mystery,

A lover of the meadows and the woods, In which the heavy and the weary weight

And mountains; and of all that we behold Of all this unintelligible world

From this green earth; of all the mighty world Is lighten'd:--that serene and blessed mood, Of eye and ear, both what they half create In which the affections gently lead us on

And what perceive; well-pleased to recognise, Until the breath of this corporeal frame,

In nature and the language of the sense, And even the motion of our human blood

The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul In body, and become a living soul;

Of all my moral being.
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of barmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things. If this

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In dark ness, and amid the many shapes

-A SINGLE step which freed me from the skirts Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

Of the blind vapour, open'd to my view Unprofitable, and the fever of the world

Glory beyond all glory ever seen Has hung upon the beatings of my heart

By waking sense or by the dreaming soul-
How oft, in spirit, have I turn'd to thee,

The appearance instantaneously disclosed,
O silvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods, Was of a mighty city-boldly say
How often has my spirit turn'd to thee!

| A wilderness of building, sinking far
And now with gleams of half-extinguish'd thought, And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth
With many recognitions dim and faint,

Far sinking into splendour-without end ! And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

Fabric it seem'd of diamond and of gold, The picture of the mind revives again :

With alabaster domes and silver spires; While here I stand, not only with the sense And blazing terrace upon terrace high Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts, Uplifted : here serene pavilions bright That in this moment there is life and food

In avenues disposed; there towers begirt For future years. And so I dare to hope, sfirst With battlements that on their restless fronts Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when Bore stars, illumination of all gems! I came among these hills; when like a roe Oh 'twas an unimaginable sight;

turf, I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks, and emerald Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky, Wherever nature led: more like a man

| Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed, Flying from something that he dreads, than one Molten together, and composing thus, Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then Each lost in each, that marvellous array (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, | Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge And their glad varied moments all gone by) Fantastic pomp of structure without name, To me was all in all. I cannot paint

In fleecy folds voluminous enwrapp'd. What then I was. The sounding cataract Right in the midst, where interspace appear'd Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

Of open court, an object like a throne The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Beneath a shining canopy of state Their colours and their forms, were then to me Stood fix'd ; and fix'd resemblances were seen An appetite; a feeling and a love

To implements of ordinary use, That had no need of a remoter charm,

But vast in size, in substance glorified ; By thought supplied, nor any interest

Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld Unborrow'd from the eye. That time is past, In vision-forms uncouth of mightiest power, And all its aching joys are now no more,

For admiration and mysterious awe!


CHATTERTON. 'Tis nature's law

I Thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, That none, the meanest of created things,

The sleepless soul that perish'd in his pride; Of forms created the most vile and brute,

Of him who walk'd in glory and in joy The dullest or most noxious, should exist

Following his plough, along the mountain side; Divorced from good-a spirit and pulse of good,

By our own spirits we are deified; A life and soul, to every mode of being

We poets in our youth begin in gladness, Inseparably link'd. Then be assured

But thereof come in the end despondency and That least of all can aught—that ever own'd

The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime
Which man is born to—sink, howe'er depress'd,
So low as to be scorn'd without a sin;

Without offence to God cast out of view;
Like the dry remnant of a garden flower

The aged man
Whose seeds are shed, or as an implement

Had placed his staff across the broad, smooth stone Worn out and worthless.

That overlays the pile; and from a bag
All white with flour, the dole of village dames,
He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one,

And scann'd them with a fix'd and serious look OBEDIENCE AND HUMILITY. Of idle computation. In the sun, - Glorious is the blending

Upon the second step of that small pile,

Surrounded by these wild, unpeopled hills, Of light affections climbing or descending

He sat, and ate his food in solitude; Along a scale of light and life, with cares

And ever, scatter'd from his palsied hand, Alternate; carrying holy thoughts and prayers

That, still attempting to prevent the waste, Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High;

Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers Descending to the worm in charity;

Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds, Like those good angels whom a dream of night

Not venturing yet to pick their destined meal, Gave, in the field of Luz, to Jacob's sight;

Approach'd within the length of half his staff.
All, while he slept, treading the pendant stairs
Earthward or heavenward, radiant messengers,
That, with a perfect will in one accord

Of strict obedience, served the Almighty Lord;
And with untired humility forbore

ARABIAN fiction never fill'd the world
To speed their errand by the wings they wore,

With half the wonders that were wrought for him.
Earth breathed in one great presence of the spring;

Life turn'd the meanest of her implements

Before his eyes to price above all gold;

The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine; - EVERMORE

Her chamber window did surpass in glory
Her eyelids droop'd, her eyes were downward cast, The portal of the dawn; all paradise
And, when she at her table gave me food,

Could, by the simple opening of a door,
She did not look at me! Her voice was low,

Let itself in upon him; pathways, walks, Her body was subdued. In every act

Swarm’d with enchantment, till his spirit sank, Pertaining to her house affairs, appear'd

Surcharged, within him-overblest to move
The careless stillness of a thinking mind

Beneath a sun that walks a weary world
Self-occupied ; to which all outward things To its dull round of ordinary cares;
Are like an idle matter. Still she sigh'd,

A man too happy for mortality.
But yet no motion of the breast was seen,
No heaving of the heart. While by the fire
We sate together, sighs came on my ear,

LONGING FOR REUNION WITH THE I knew not how, and hardly whence they came.

DEAD. - I return'd, And took my rounds along this road again

- Full oft the innocent sufferer sees Ere on its sunny bank the primrose flower

Too clearly; feels too vividly; and longs Peep'd forth, to give an earnest of the spring. To realize the vision with intense I found her sad and drooping; she had learn'd And over-constant yearning; there—there lies No tidings of her husband; if he lived,

The excess by which the balance is destroy'd. She knew not that he lived ; if he were dead, | Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh, She knew not he was dead. She seem'd the same This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, In person and appearance; but her house

Though inconceivably endow'd, too dim,
Bespake a sleepy hand of negligence.

For any passion of the soul that leads
Her infant babe

To ecstasy; and, all the crooked paths
Had from its mother caught the trick of grief, Of time and change disdaining, takes its course
And sigh'd among its playthings!

Along the line of limitless desires.



I HAVE seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell; To which, in silence hush'd, his very soul Listen'd intensely! and his countenance soon Brighten'd with joy; for murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences ! whereby, To his belief, the monitor express'd Mysterious union with its native sea. Even such a shell the universe itself Is to the ear of faith.

- NATURE never did betray The heart that loved her: 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy : for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, nor disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure ; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory, be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies ; oh! then If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations !




- Thou, dread source Prime, self-existing cause and end of all That in the scale of being fill their place; Above our human region, or below, Set and sustain'd;--Thou, who didst wrap the

cloud Of infancy around us, that Thyself,

Therein with our simplicity a while | Might'st hold, on earth, communion undisturb'd;

Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep,
Or from its deathlike void, with punctual care,
And touch as gentle as the morning light,
Restorest us, daily, to the powers of sense,
And reason's steadfast rule-Thou, Thou alone
Art everlasting, and the bless'd spirits,
Which thou includest, as the sea her waves :
For adoration thou endurest; endure
For consciousness the motions of thy will;
For apprehension those transcendent truths
of the pure intellect, that stand as laws
(Submission constituting strength and power)
Even to Thy Being's infinite majesty!
This universe shall pass away—a work
Glorious! because the shadow of thy might,
A step, or link, for intercourse with thee.
Ah! if the time must come, in which my feet
No more shall stray where meditation leads,
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild,
Loved haunts like these ; the unimprison'd mind
May yet have scope to range among her own,
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires.
If the dear faculty of sight should fail,
Still, it may be allow'd me to remember
What visionary powers of eye and soul
In youth were mine ; when, station'd on the top
Of some huge hill-expectant I bebeld
The sun rise up, from distant climes return'd
Darkness to chase, and sleep; and bring the day
His bounteous gift! or saw him toward the deep
Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds
Attended; then, my spirit was entranced
With joy exalted to beatitude;
The measure of my soul was fill'd with bliss,
And holiest love; as earth, sea, air, with light,
With pomp, with glory, with magnificence!

-The gift to King Amphion

That wall’d a city with its melody
Was for belief no dream :—thy skill, Arion !

Could humanize the creatures of the sea, Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves,

Leave for one chant;-the dulcet sound Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,

And listening dolphins gather round. Self-cast, as with a desperate course,

Mid that strange audience, he bestrides A proud one, docile as a managed horse ;

And singing, while the accordant hand Sweeps his harp, the master rides;

So'shall he touch at length a friendly strand, And he, with his preserver, shine star-bright In memory, through silent night. The pipe of Pan, to shepherds

Couch'd in the shadow of Mænalian pines, Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the leopards

That in high triumph drew the Lord of Vines, How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!

While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground In cadence,-and Silenus swang

This way and that, with wild flowers crown'd. To life, to life give back thine ear:

Ye who are longing to be rid
Of fable, though to truth subservient, hear

The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell
Echoed from the coffin-lid;

The convict's summons in the steeple's knell ; « The vain distress-gun” from a leeward shore Repeated-heard and heard no more!

Fair is the swan, whose majesty, prevailing

O'er breezeless water, on Locano's lake,
Bears him on, while proudly sailing

He leaves behind a moon-illumined wake:
Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;
An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings

Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs,
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings

A flaky weight of winter's purest snows!
Behold! as with a gushing impulse heaves
That downy prow, and softly cleaves
The mirror of the crystal flood,
Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,
And pendent rocks, where'er, in gliding state,
Winds the mute creature without visible mate
Or rival, save the queen of night
Showering down a silver light,
From heaven, upon her chosen favourite !
So pure, so bright, so fitted to embrace,
Where'er he turn'd, a natural grace
Of haughtiness without pretence,
And to unfold a still magnificence,
Was princely Dion, in the power
And beauty of his happier hour.

Nor less the homage that was seen to wait
On Dion's virtues, when the lunar beam

Of Plato's genius, from its lofty sphere,
Fell round him in the grove of Academe,

Softening their inbred dignity austere ;
That he, not too elate
With self-sufficing solitude,
But with majestic lowliness endued,
Might in the universal bosoin reign,
And from affectionate observance gain

Help, under every change of adverse fate.

Five thousand warriors-ob, the rapturous day! Each crown'd with flowers, and arm'd with spear

and shield, Or ruder weapon which their course might yield,

To Syracuse advance in bright array.
Who leads them on?-The anxious people see

Long-exiled Dion marching at their head,
He also crown'd with flowers of Sicily,

And in a white, far-beaming corslet clad ! Pure transport, undisturb’d by doubt or fear,

The gazers feel; and, rushing to the plain,

Salute those strangers as a holy train
Or blest procession (to the immortals dear)

That brought their precious liberty again.
Lo! when the gates are enter'd, on each hand,

Down the long street, rich goblets fill'd with wine In seemly order stand, On tables set, as if for rites divine ;

And, as the great deliverer marches by, He looks on festal ground with fruits bestrown; And flowers are on his person thrown

In boundless prodigality; Nor doth the general voice abstain from prayer, Invoking Dion's tutelary care, As if a very deity he were !

Mourn, hills and groves of Attica ! and mourn
Illyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads
Youronce sweet memory,studious walksand shades!
For him who to divinity aspired,

Not on the breath of popular applause,

But through dependence on the sacred laws Framed in the schools where wisdom dwelt retired, Intent to trace the ideal path of right (More fair than heaven's broad causeway paved

with stars) Which Dion learn'd to measure with delight;

But he hath overleap'd the eternal bars; And, following guides whose craft holds no consent With aught that breathes the ethereal element, Hath stain'd the robes of civil power with blood, Unjustly shed, though for the public good. Whence doubts that come too late, and wishes vain, Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain; And oft his cogitations sink as low

As, through the abysses of a joyless heart, The heaviest plummet of despair can go;

But whence that sudden check! that fearful start! He hears an uncouth sound

Anon his lifted eyes
Saw at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound

A shape of more than mortal size
And hideous aspect, stalking round and round!
A woman's garb the phantom wore,
And fiercely swept the marble floor,
Like Auster whirling to and fro,

His force on Caspian foam to try;
Or Boreas when he scours the snow

That skins the plains of Thessaly,
Or when aloft on Mænalus he stops
His flight mid eddying pine-tree tops !
So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping,

The sullen spectre to her purpose bow'd,
Sweeping-vehemently sweeping-

No pause admitted, no design avow'd! « Avaunt, inexplicable guest!-avaunt !"

Exclaim'd the chieftain,-“Let me rather see
The coronal that coiling vipers make;
The torch that flames with many a lurid flake,

And the long train of doleful pageantry
Which they behold, whom vengeful furies haunt;

Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee, Move where the blasted soil is not unworn, And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have

borne! But shapes that come not at an earthly call,

Will not depart when mortal voices bid;

Lords of the visionary eye, whose lid
Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall !
Ye gods, thought he, that servile implement
Obeys a mystical intent!
Your minister would brush away

The spots that to my soul adhere;
But should she labour night and day,

They will not, cannot disappear;
Whence angry perturbations,--and that look
Which no philosophy can brook !
Ill-fated chief! there are whose hopes are built

Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;

* See Plutarch.

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