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Now lead, now follow : the glad landscape round, "ODE TO TRANQUILLITY.

Wide and more wide, increasing without bound! TRANQUILLITY! thou better name Than all the family of fame!

O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age

The berries of the half uprooted ash To low intrigue, or factious rage;

Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dasn, For 0! dear child of thoughtful truth, i Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark, To thee I gave my early youth,

Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock; And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, In social silence now, and now t' unlock Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its The treasured heart; arm link'd in friendly arm, roar.

Save if the one, his muse's witching charm

Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag; Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, Till high o’erhead his beckoning friend appears, On him but seldom, power divine,

And from the forehead of the topmost crag Thy spirit rests! Satiety

Shouts eagerly : for haply there uprears And sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,

That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs, Mock the tired worldling. Idle hope

Which latest shall detain th' enamour'd sight And dire remembrance interlope,

Seen from below, when eve the valley dims, no vex the severish slumbers of the mind :

Tinged yellow with the rich departing light; The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind. And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,

A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears, But me thy gentle hand will lead

Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale! At morning through th' accustom'd mead; Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, And in the sultry summer's heat

Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine, Will build me up a mossy seat;

And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, And when the gust of autumn crowds

Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, While west winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd: Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon. Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the

mount, The feeling heart, the searching soul,

To some lone mansion, in some woody dale, To thee I dedicate the whole !

Where smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss And while within myself I trace

Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss! The greatness of some suture race, Aloof with hermit eye I scan

Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, The present works of present man

The hill of knowledge I essay'd to trace ;
A wild and dreamlike trade of blood and guile, That verdurous hill with many a resting-place,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile! And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour

To glad and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,

And many a fancy-blest and holy sod,
TO A YOUNG FRIEND,

Where inspiration, his diviner strains

Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE

Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks AUTHOR.

Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age, COMPOSED IN 1796.

And bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage ! A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep,

But a green mountain variously up-piled, O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime; Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;

And from the stirring world uplifted high, Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; (Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash

To quiet musings shall attune the mind, Dance brightend the red clusters of the ash;

And oft the melancholy theme supply,) Beneath wbose boughs, by those still sounds be There, while the prospect through the gazing guiled,

eye Calm pensiveness Inight muse herself to sleep; Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,

We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame, That rustling on the bushy clift above,

Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, With melancholy bleat of anxious love,

As neighbouring fountains image, each the Made meek inquiry for her wandering lamb.

whole: Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to Then, when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth, climb,

We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, E’en while the bosom ached with loneliness Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. How more than sweet, if some dear friend should They whom I love shall love thee. Honour'd bless

youth! Th’adventurous toil, and up the path sublime Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!

LINES TO W. L., ESQ.,
WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC.
WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,

And I have many friends who hold me dear;

L ! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,

For which my miserable brethren weep!

But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie

With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-

guide,
Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died !

SONNET
COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR

HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTA

OF A SON, SEPTEMBER 20, 1796.
Oft O'er my brain does that strange fancy roll
Which makes the present (while the flash doth

last)
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,
Mix'd with such feelings, as perplex the soul
Self-question'd in her sleep; and some have said

We lived ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.

O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
If heavy looks shall tell me thou art dead,

(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear,) I think that I should struggle to believe

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere
Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve;
Didst scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick

reprieve,
While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FOR

TUNE,

WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND

SONNET
CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY.

TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE HENCE that fantastic wantonness of wo

NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO YE. O youth to partial fortune vainly dear!

CHARLES ! my slow heart was only sad, when first To plunder'd want's half-shelter'd hovel go,

I scann'd that face of feeble infancy: Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear

For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst Moan haply in a dying mother's ear:

All I had been, and all my child might be ! Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood

| But when I saw it on its mother's arm, O'er the rank churchyard with sere elm leaves And hanging at her bosom (she the while strew'd,

Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile,) Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part | Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs

Iinpress'd a father's kiss: and all beguiled The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while

Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, thy heart

I seem'd to see an angel form appearGroans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,

| 'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild ! Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)

"! So for the mother's sake the child was dear, What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!

And dearer was the mother for the child.
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave life's commonweal
A prey to tyrants, murderers of mankind.

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE HYMN.
COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A

CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY.
SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.

DORMI, Jesu! Mater ridet,
DEAR native brook! wild streamlet of the west !

Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt, How many various-fated years have past,

Dormi, Jesu! blandule ! What happy, and what mournful hours, since last

Si non dormis, Mater plorat, I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,

Inter fila cantans orat
Numbering its light leaps ! yet so deep imprest

Blande, veni, somnule.
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I nover shut amid the sunny ray,

ENGLISH
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling, Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows

Mother sits beside thee smiling: gray,

Sleep, my darling, tenderly! And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my

Singing as her wheel she turneth : way,

Come, soft slumber, balmily! Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs : 1 Hy tov nuwy n worn aply cv TWDE to avpuriVW Ab! that once more I were a careless child! adet yevcodat.

PLAT. in Phadon.

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It chanced, I pass’d again that way

In autumn's latest hour, And wondering saw the selfsame spray

Rich with the selfsame flower.

Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud

Alike in shape, place, name, Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud,

Another and the same!

Thou mother of the Prince of peace,

Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,

O why should this thy soul elate ?
Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story,
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory

And is not war a youthful king,

A stately hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;

Him earth's majestic monarchs hail
Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sughi.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

Its balmy lips the infant blest Relaxing from its mother's breast, How sweet it heaves the happy sigh Of innocent satiety!

« Tell this in some more courtly scene,

To maids and youths in robes of state ! I am a woman poor and mean,

And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child !

And such my infant's latest sigh!
O tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with lullaby.

* A bolanical mistake. The plant which the poet her describes is called the hart's tongue,

“A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,

Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finish'd vase, He kills the sire and starves the son; Retreating slow, with meditative pause, The husband kills, and from her board

She form’d with restless hands unconsciously! Steals all his widow's toil had won ; Blank accident! nothing's anomaly ! Plunders God's world of beauty ; rends away

If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy sears,

The counter-weights -Thy laughter and thy tears “Then wisely is my soul elate,

Mean but themselves, each fittest to create, That strife should vanish, battle cease:

And to repay the other! Why rejoices I'm poor and of a low estate,

Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? The mother of the Prince of peace.

Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood, Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:

Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices, Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of peace is born!"

Image of image, ghost of ghostly elf,
That such a thiog as thou feel'st warm or cold!
Yet what and whence thy gain if thou withhold

These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?
TELL'S BIRTHPLACE.

Be sad! be glad ! be neither! seek, or shun! IMITATED FROM STOLBERG.

Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none :

Thy being's being is a contradiction.
MARK this holy chapel well!
The birthplace, this, of William Tell.
Here, where stands God's allar dread,
Stood his parents' marriage bed.

ELEGY,
Here first, an infant to her breast,

IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK VERSE Him his loving mother prest;

INSCRIPTIONS.
And kiss'd the babe, and bless'd the day,
And pray'd as mothers used to pray:

Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,

Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound, « Vouchsafe him health, O God, and give

Where “sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant The child, thy servant, still to live !"

bed But God has destined to do more

O humbly press that consecrated ground !
Through him, than through an armed power.
God gave him reverence of laws,

For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain! Yet stirring blood in freedom's cause

And there his spirit most delights to rove: A spirit to his rocks akin,

Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain, The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein!

And the sore wounds of ill-requited love. To nature and to holy writ

Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide, Alone did God the boy commit:

And loads the west wind with its soft perfume, Where flash'd and roar'd the torrent, oft His manhood blossom'd: till the faithless pride His soul found wings, and soar'd aloft!

Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.

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THE VISIT OF THE GODS:

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER.

IF dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom

Swallow up life's brief Aash 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 e'en 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,

NEVER, believe me,
Appear the immortals,

Never alone:
Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler,

Lo! Phæbus the glorious descends from his throne! return to his room, found, to his no small surprise They advance, they float in, the Olympians all! and mortification, that though he still retained some With divinities fills my

vague and dim recollection of the general purport Terrestrial hall!

of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight

or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had How shall I yield you

passed away like the images on the surface of a Due entertainment,

stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! Celestial choir ?

without the after restoration of the latter. Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of up

Then all the charm buoyance

Is broken-all that phantom-world go fair Bear aloft to your bomes, to your banquets of joy Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, ance,

And each misshapes the other. Stay a while, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre !

Poor youth! who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes

The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon Ha! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my The visions will return! And lo, he stays, soul !

And soon the fragments dimof lovely foring

Come trembling back, onite, and now once more () give me the nectar!

The pool hecomes a mirror.
O fill me the bowl!

Yet, from the still surviving recollections in his
Give him the nectar!

mind, the author has frequently purposed to finish Pour out for the poet,

for himself what had been originally, as it were, Hebe! pour free!

given to him. Eamepov adıov arw: but the to-morQuicken his eyes with celestial dew,

row is yet to come. That Styx the detested no more he may view, As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a And like one of us gods may conceit him to be!

fragment of a very different character, describing Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! lo pæan, I cry!

with equal fidelity the dream of pain and disease. The wine of th’immortals

--Note to the first edition, 1816.)
Forbids me to die!

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree;

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
KUBLA KHAN;

Through caverns measureless to man,
OR, A VISION IN A DREAM.

Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round : [The following fragment is here published at

And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, the request of a poet of great and deserved celebrity,

Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree; and, as far as the author's own opinions are con

And here were forests ancient as the hills, cerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, than on

Infolding sunny spots of greenery. the ground of any supposed poetic merits.

In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then But O that deep romantic chasm which slanted in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor con- l A savage place! as holy and enchanted fines of Somerset and Devonsbire. In consequence As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been pre- By woman wailing for her demon lover! scribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seethhis chair at the moment that he was reading the

ing, following sentence, or words of the same substance, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, in Purchas's “Pilgrimage:”—“Here the Khan A mighty fountain momently was forced : Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst garden thereunto ; and thus ten miles of fertile Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, ground were enclosed with a wall.” The author | Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever at least of the external senses, during which time It fung up momently the sacred river. he has the most vivid confidence that he could not Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion, have composed less than from two to three hun- | Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, dred lines; if that indeed can be called composition Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man. in which all the images rose up before him as things And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: with a parallel production of the correspondent | And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far expressions, without any sensation, or conscious- | Ancestral voices prophesying war! ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, The shadow of the dome of pleasure and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and Floated midway on the waves; eagerly wrote down the lines that are here pre Where was heard the mingled measure served. At this moments he was unfortunately From the fountain and the caves. called out by a person on business from Porlock, / It was a miracle of rare device, and detained by him above an hour, and on his A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

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