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 transcendent hour!

IV.

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.

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 ;

Oh, 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 splendor fades ;
And night approaches with her shades.

60

70

80

NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE.

1818. - 1820.

TROUBLED long with warring notions,
Long impatient of thy rod,

I resign my soul's emotions
Unto Thee, mysterious God!

SEPTEMBER, 1819.

1819. — 1820.

DEPARTING Summer hath assumed

An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.

No faint and hesitating trill-
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:-
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!

Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;

Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;

Which, haply, kindred souls may prize

ΙΟ

20

Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion's feverish dreams.

For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;

But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.

Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain's earliest dawn:

Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil

Of nature was withdrawn !

Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;

Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.

And not unhallowed was the page
By winged Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit ;

Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own Eolian lute.

30

40

TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. (WITH THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON.)

THE minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;

While, smitten by a lofty moon,

The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings :
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;

ΙΟ