Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth, By their endowments, good or great, that they Have had, as thou reportest, miracles
Wrought for them in old time: yea, not unmoved, When thinking on my own beloved friend,
I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed Divine Comates, by his impious lord Within a chest imprisoned; how they came Laden from blooming grove or flowery field, And fed him there, alive, month after month, Because the goatherd, blessed man! had lips Wet with the Muses' nectar.
The pensive moments by this calm fireside, And find a thousand bounteous images To cheer the thoughts of those I love, and mine. Our prayers have been accepted; thou wilt stand On Etna's summit, above earth and sea, Triumphant, winning from the invaded heavens Thoughts without bound, magnificent designs, Worthy of poets who attuned their harps
In wood or echoing cave, for discipline
Of heroes; or, in reverence to the gods,
'Mid temples, served by sapient priests, and choirs 460 Of virgins crowned with roses.
Those temples, where they in their ruins yet
Survive for inspiration, shall attract
Thy solitary steps: and on the brink
Thou wilt recline of pastoral Arethuse;
Or, if that fountain be in truth no more,
Then, near some other spring-which by the name
Thou gratulatest, willingly deceived
I see thee linger a glad votary,
And not a captive pining for his home.
IMAGINATION AND TASTE, HOW IMPAIRED AND RESTORED
ONG time have human ignorance and guilt Detained us, on what spectacles of woe
Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts,
Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed,
And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself
And things to hope for! Not with these began Our song, and not with these our song must end.- Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides
Whose subtle intercourse with breathing flowers, Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty race How without injury to take, to give
Without offence; ye who, as if to show The wondrous influence of power gently used, Bend the complying heads of lordly pines,
And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds Through the whole compass of the sky; ye brooks, Muttering along the stones, a busy noise By day, a quiet sound in silent night;
Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore, Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm; And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is To interpose the covert of your shades, Even as a sleep, between the heart of man And outward troubles, between man himself, Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart: Oh! that I had a music and a voice Harmonious as your own, that I might tell What ye have done for me. The morning shines, Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring returns,— I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice,
In common with the children of her love, Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields, Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven On wings that navigate cerulean skies. So neither were complacency, nor peace, Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good Through these distracted times; in Nature still Glorying, I found a counterpoise in her, Which, when the spirit of evil reached its height, Maintained for me a secret happiness.
This narrative, my Friend! hath chiefly told Of intellectual power, fostering love, Dispensing truth, and, over men and things, Where reason yet might hesitate, diffusing Prophetic sympathies of genial faith : So was I favoured---such my happy lot— Until that natural graciousness of mind
Gave way to overpressure from the times And their disastrous issues. What availed, When spells forbade the voyager to land, That fragrant notice of a pleasant shore Wafted, at intervals, from many a bower Of blissful gratitude and fearless love? Dare I avow that wish was mine to see, And hope that future times would surely see, The man to come, parted, as by a gulph,
From him who had been; that I could no more Trust the elevation which had made me one With the great family that still survives To illuminate the abyss of ages past,
Sage, warrior, patriot, hero; for it seemed
That their best virtues were not free from taint
Of something false and weak, that could not stand The open eye of Reason. Then I said, 'Go to the Poets, they will speak to thee More perfectly of purer creatures;-yet If reason be nobility in man,
Can aught be more ignoble than the man Whom they delight in, blinded as he is By prejudice, the miserable slave
Of low ambition or distempered love?'
In such strange passion, if I may once more Review the past, I warred against myself—
A bigot to a new idolatry—
Like a cowled monk who hath forsworn the world,
Zealously laboured to cut off my heart
From all the sources of her former strength;
And as, by simple waving of a wand,
The wizard instantaneously dissolves
Palace or grove, even so could I unsoul As readily by syllogistic words
Those mysteries of being which have made, And shall continue evermore to make,
Of the whole human race one brotherhood.
What wonder, then, if, to a mind so far Perverted, even the visible Universe
Fell under the dominion of a taste
Less spiritual, with microscopic view
Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral world?
O Soul of Nature! excellent and fair!
That didst rejoice with me, with whom I, too,
Rejoiced through early youth, before the winds And roaring waters, and in lights and shades That marched and countermarched about the hills In glorious apparition, Powers on whom
I daily waited, now all eye and now All ear; but never long without the heart Employed, and man's unfolding intellect : O Soul of Nature! that, by laws divine Sustained and governed, still dost overflow With an impassioned life, what feeble ones Walk on this earth! how feeble have I been When thou wert in thy strength! Nor this through stroke
Of human suffering, such as justifies Remissness and inaptitude of mind,
But through presumption; even in pleasure pleased Unworthily, disliking here, and there
Liking; by rules of mimic art transferred
To things above all art; but more, for this, Although a strong infection of the age, Was never much my habit-giving way To a comparison of scene with scene, Bent overmuch on superficial things, Pampering myself with meagre novelties Of colour and proportion; to the moods Of time and season, to the moral power, The affections and the spirit of the place, Insensible. Nor only did the love Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt My deeper feelings, but another cause, More subtle and less easily explained, That almost seems inherent in the creature, A twofold frame of body and of mind. I speak in recollection of a time When the bodily eye, in every stage of life The most despotic of our senses, gained Such strength in me as often held my In absolute dominion. Gladly here, Entering upon abstruser argument, Could I endeavour to unfold the means Which Nature studiously employs to thwart This tyranny, summons all the senses each To counteract the other, and themselves,
And makes them all, and the objects with which all Are conversant, subservient in their turn To the great ends of Liberty and Power. But leave we this: enough that my delights
(Such as they were) were sought insatiably. Vivid the transport, vivid though not profound; I roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock, Still craving combinations of new forms, New pleasure, wider empire for the sight, Proud of her own endowments, and rejoiced To lay the inner faculties asleep.
Amid the turns and counterturns, the strife And various trials of our complex being, As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid, A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds; Her eye was not the mistress of her heart; \ Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste, Or barren intermeddling subtleties,
Perplex her mind; but, wise as women are When genial circumstance hath favoured them,
She welcomed what was given, and craved no more; Whate'er the scene presented to her view
That was the best, to that she was attuned
By her benign simplicity of life,
And through a perfect happiness of soul, Whose variegated feelings were in this
Sisters, that they were each some new delight. Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field, Could they have known her, would have loved ; methought
Her very presence such a sweetness breathed, That flowers, and trees, and even the silent hills, And everything she looked on, should have had An intimation how she bore herself Towards them and to all creatures. God delights In such a being; for, her common thoughts Are piety, her life is gratitude.
Even like this maid, before I was called forth From the retirement of my native hills,
I loved whate'er I saw nor lightly loved, But most intensely; never dreamt of aught More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed Than those few nooks to which my happy feet Were limited. I had not at that time Lived long enough, nor in the least survived The first diviner influence of this world, As it appears to unaccustomed eyes.
Worshipping then among the depth of things, As piety ordained; could I submit
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