"A recreant harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford's ear!

I said, when evil men are strong,
No life is good, no pleasure long,
A weak and cowardly untruth!
Our Clifford was a happy Youth,
And thankful through a weary time,
That brought him up to manhood's prime.
-Again he wanders forth at will,
And tends a flock from hill to hill:
His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
Such garb with such a noble mien ;
Among the shepherd grooms no mate
Hath he, a Child of strength and state!
Yet lacks not friends for simple glee,
Nor yet for higher sympathy.
To his side the fallow-deer
Came and rested without fear;
The eagle, lord of land and sea,
Stooped down to pay him fealty;
And both the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him
The pair were servants of his eye
In their immortality;

And glancing, gleaming, dark, or bright,
Moved to and fro, for his delight.

He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
Upon the mountains visitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing:
And into caves where Faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By Voices how men lived of old,
Among the heavens his eye can see
The face of thing that is to be;

And, if that men report him right,
His tongue could whisper words of might.
-Now another day is come,

Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
He hath thrown aside his crook,
And hath buried deep his hook;
Armour rusting in his halls

On the blood of Clifford calls-
Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance-
Bear me to the heart of France,
Is the longing of the Shield-

Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;
Field of death, where'er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!

Happy day, and mighty hour,

When our Shepherd, in his power

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,

To his ancestors restored

Like a reappearing Star,

Like a glory from afar,

First shall head the flock of war!"

Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know How, by Heaven's grace, his Clifford's heart was framed:

How he, long forced in humble walks to go,
Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.

Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky,

The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

In him the savage virtue of the Race,

Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
The wisdom which adversity had bred.

Glad were the vales, and every cottage-hearth :
The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and

more;

And, ages after he was laid in earth,

"The good Lord Clifford " was the name he bore.

TO THOMAS CLARKSON,

ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE. MARCH 1807.

C

LARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb;

How toilsome-nay, how dire-it was, by thee
Is known; by none, perhaps, so feelingly:
But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,
Didst first lead forth that enterprise sublime,
Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat,
Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat,
First roused thee.-O true yoke-fellow of Time,
Duty's intrepid liegeman, see, the palm
Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn!
The blood-stained Writing is for ever torn,
And thou henceforth wilt have a good man's calm,
A great man's happiness: thy zeal shall find
Repose at length, firm friend of human kind!

PASSAGE FROM "THE RECLUSE."

[Wordsworth planned a philosophical Poem containing views of
Man, Nature, and Society, to be entitled "The Recluse;"
as having for its principal subject the sensations and
opinions of a poet living in retirement. The Poem was to
consist of three parts-the first, "The Prelude," a mental
biography; the second, or intermediate part, "The Excur-
sion," more dramatic in form, and referring to passing
events; and "The Recluse," which was to consist chiefly of
the author's own meditations; but this last was never
completed, only one Book of it having been written.
"The
Prelude" is still copyright. The following passage, Words-
worth says, affords a prospectus of the design and scope of
the whole projected work as it existed in his mind. We
shall afterwards present a few quotations from "The
Excursion."]

N Man, on Nature, and on Human Life,
Musing in solitude, I oft perceive

"ON

Fair trains of imagery before me rise,
Accompanied by feelings of delight,

Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed;
And I am conscious of affecting thoughts

And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes
Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh
The good and evil of our mortal state.
-To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come,
Whether from breath of outward circumstance,
Or from the Soul-an impulse to herself-
I would give utterance in numerous verse.
Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope,
And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith;
Of blessed consolations in distress;
Of moral strength, and intellectual Power;
Of joy in widest commonalty spread;
Of the individual Mind that keeps her own

Inviolate retirement, subject there

To Conscience only, and the law supreme
Of that Intelligence which governs all-

I sing 'Fit audience let me find, though few!'

"So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard

In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need

Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such
Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven!
For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink
Deep-and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds
To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil.
All strength-all terror, single or in bands,
That ever was put forth in personal form-
Jehovah with his thunder, and the choir
Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones-
I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not
The darkest pit of lowest Erebus,

Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out
By help of dreams-can breed such fear and awe
As fall upon us often when we look

Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man-
My haunt, and the main region of my song.
-Beauty-a living Presence of the earth,
Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms

Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed
From earth's materials-waits upon my steps;
Pitches her tents before me as I move,

An hourly neighbour. Paradise, and groves
Elysian, Fortunate Fields-like those of old
Sought in the Atlantic Main-why should they be
A history only of departed things,

Or a mere fiction of what never was?