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True beanty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unremoved 1'ill heart with heart in concord beats,

And the lover is beloved.* [1824.


0 Blithe N'cw-comer! I have heard,

1 hear thee and rejoice.

0 Cnckoot uh-All 1 call thee Bird,
Of but a \\ andering Voice ?

While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
Ai once far off and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thon art in urn

Ko bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days

1 listen'd to; that Cry

Which made mo look a thousand ways la bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thon wert still a hope, a love;
Still long'd for, never seen.

And I cnn listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That gulden timB again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace

Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faeiy place;

That is flt home for Thee 1 [1304.



Let us quit the leafy arbour,
And the torrent murmuring by;
Foi the Sun is in his harbour,
Weary of the open sky.

4 These stanzas are supposed to be addressed to the author's wile.

Evening now unbinds the fetters
Fashion'd by the glowing light;
All that breathe are thankful debtors
To the harbinger of night.

Yet by some grave thoughts attended
Eve renews her calm career;
For the day that now is ended
Is the longest of the year.

Dora I sport, as now thou sportnst.
On this platform, light and free;
Take thy bliss, while longest, shortett,
Are indifferent to thee.

Who would check the happy feeling
That inspires the linnet's song?
Who would stop the swallow, wheeling
On her pinions swill and strong?

Yet, at this impressive eeason,
Words which tenderness can speak
From the truths at homely reason,
Alight exalt the loveliest cheek;

And, while shades to shades succeeding
Steal the landscape from the sight,
1 would urge this moral pleading.
Last forerunner of " Good nightl "

SL'MMERebbs; — each day that follows
Is a reflux from on high,
Tending to the darksome hollows
Where the frosts of Winter lie.

He who governs the ereation,
In His providence, assign'd
-Such a gradual declination
To the life of human kind.

Yet we mark it not; — fruits redden.
Fresh flowers blow, as flowers ha?«


And the heart is loth to deaden
Hopes that she so long hath known.

Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden I
And, when thy decline shall come.
Let not (lowers, or boughs fruit-laden,
Hide the knowledge of thy doom.

Now, even now, ere wrapp'd in slumber
Fix thine eyes upon the sea
That absorbs time, space, and number;
Look thou to Eternity!

Follow thou the flowing river
On whose breast arc thither borne
All deceived, and each deceiver,
Through the gates of night and morn;

Through the year's successive portals;
Through the bounds which many a star
Marks, not mindless of frail mortals,
When his light returns from far.

Thus when thou with Time hast travell'd
Toward the mighty gulf of things,
And the mazy stream unravellM
Wilh thy best imaginings;

Think, if thou on beanty leanest,
Think how pitiful that stay,
Did not virtue give the meanest
Charms superior to decay.

Duty, like a strict preceptor,
Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown;
Choose her thistle lor thy sceptre,
While youth's roses are thy erown.

Grasp it, —ifthou shrink and tremble.
Fairest damsel of the green,
Thou wilt lack the only symbol
That proclaims a genuine queen;

And ensures those palms of honour
Which selected spirits wear.
Bending low before the Donor,
Lord of Heaven's unchanging year IB


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"To-night -will be a stormy night,—
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

" That, Father, will I gladly do:
'Tis scareely afternoon;
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the Moon I"

At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapp'd a fagot-hand;
He plied his work; — and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Xot blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like sniuke.

The storm came on before its time:
She wander'd up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reach'd the town.

The wretehed parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor eight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlook'd the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept; and, turning homeward.
' In Heaven we all shall meet;" [eried,
When in the snnw the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's
They track'd the footmarks small; [edge >
And through the broken hawthorn hedge I
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open HoM they erossW:
The marks were Htill the same;
They track'd them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They follow'd from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none 1

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.9 [1799


- A simple Child,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death ?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That cluster'd round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beanty made me glad.

" Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
" How many ? Seven in all," she said,
And wondering look'd at me.

" And where are they ? I pray you tell."
She answer'd, " Seven arc we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
\ml two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the chureh-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the chureh-yanl cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

" Yon say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven 1 — I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
•' Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the chureh-yard lie,
Beneath the chureh-yard tree."

6 Founded on a circumstance related to mo by my sister, of a little girl who, not far from Halifax in Yorkshire, was bewildered in a snow-storm. Her footsteps were traced by her parents to the middle of the lock of a canal, and no other vestige of her, backward or forward, could be traced. Her body however was found in the canal. — Author's Kottt.

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My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground 1 sit,
And sing a song to them.

And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
1 take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was sister Jane:
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

So In the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry.
Together round her grave we play'd,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with
And I could run and slide, [sno\v,

My brother John was foreed to go;
And he lies by her side."

" How many are you, then," said I,
" If they two are in Heaven? "
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
O Master I we are seven."

" But they are dead; those two are dead I
Their spirits are in Heaven I "—
Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven I"' [17!8.

7 The author tells us that he composed 'Ma poem while walking in a grove at AU bxden, and that the little Kirfwho is the ieroine was met by him within the area of Goodrich Castle m 1793. The piece was published in the first volume of Lyrical Ballads, 17!i8. — In his notes, the anthor relates how a friend, who had got «i;rht of the poem as it was going through llm >ress, remonstrated with him agaiiist ,rinting it: ."One evening he came lime with a grave face, and said,' Wordiworth, I have seen the volume that yu

TO ,



Inmate of a mountain-dwelling,
Thou hast clomb aloll, and gazed
From the wateh-towers of Helvellyn;
Awed, delighted, and amazed I

Potent was the spell that bound thee
Not unwilling to obey;
For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee,
Still'd the pantings of dismay.

J.o! the dwindled woods and meadows;
What a vast abyss is therel
.I.o I the clouds, the solemn shadows,
And the glistenings—heavenly fair I

And a record of commotion
Which a thousand ridges yield;
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean
Gleaming like a silver shield!

Maiden, now take flight;—inherit
Alps or Andes,—they are thine I
With the morning's roseate Spirit,
Sweep their length of snowy line;

Or survey their bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest
Flung from off the purple pinions,
Evening spreads throughout the West I

Thine are all the coral fountains
Warbling in each sparry vanlt
Of th' untrodden lunar mountains;
Listen to their songs I — or halt,

To Niphates' top invited,
Whither spiteful Satan steer'd;

are about to publish. There is one poem in it which I earnestly entreat you will cancel; for, i!'published, it will make you everlastingly ridiculous.' I answered that I felt much obliged by the interest he took in my good name as a writer, and begged to know what was the unfortunate piece he alluded to. He said, • It is called We are Seven.' Nay, said 1, that shall take its chance however; and he lellmo in despair. 1 have only to add that in the Spring of 1S41 1 revisited Goodrich Castle, not having seen that part of the Wye since 1 met the little girl therein 17!i3. It would have given me greater ]"leasnrc to have found in the neighbourmg hamlet some traces of one who had interested me so much; but thai was impossible, as unlbrnately 1 did not even know her name."

Or descend where th' ark alighted.
When the green earth re-appcarM;

For the power of hills is on thee,
As was witness'd through thine eye
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee
To confess their majesty I • [ is is

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament:
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To hannt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, iu«I

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,

A Traveller between life and death; ''

The reason firm, the temperate will.

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd I

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light." [1801.

8 The ladv was Miss Blackett, then residing with far. Montague Burgoyne at Fox-Ghyll. We were tempted to remain oo long upon the mountain; and I, nnH'udently. with the hope of shortening .he way, led her among the erags and lown a steep slope, which entangled iis n difiiculties that were met by her with uuch spirit and courage.'—Author's AVifc,s.

ii This great little poem, for such it ruly is, refers, throughout, to the author's vile. He himself says, "it was written rom my heart, as is sufficiently obvious.>' — See p'age 130, note -t.

0 Nightingale I thou surely art

A. ereature of a " fiery heart":— [pierce
These notes of thine, they pieree am
Tumultuous harmony and fierce 1
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had help'd thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.

1 heard a Stock-dove sing or say
ffls homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come-at by the breeze:

He did not cease; but coo'd and coo'd;
And somewhat pensively he woo'd:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee:
That was the song—the song for me I


Three years she grew in sun and shower
Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower
On Earth was never sown:
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and 1 will make
A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse: and with me

The Girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,

Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee aeross the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute, insensate things.

The floating clouds their state shall lend
To iier; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

ITie stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
n many a seeret place [round,

Vhere rivulets fiance their wayward

And beanty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin bosom swell :

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake,—The work was douo;

How soon my Lucy's race was runl

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;

The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.1 [1709i

I Wander"!) lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a erowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They strcteh'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

.n such a jocund company:

gazed—and gazed —but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
n vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Vhich is the bliss of solitude; *

1 Another great little poem. I have ometimes thought it the happiest of all

Wordsworth's smaller pieces; nor do I ee how felicity of thought and language an go further. Ituskin justly aseribes to ', the quality of "exquisite Tightness."

2 These two lines have been laulteu, erhaps justly, as being disproportionate o the occasion. Coleridge, in the superb riticism on Wordsworth m bis ftiographia Atemria, cites them as an instance of

thoughts and images too great for the ubject." " It is a well-known fact," says e, '' that bright colours in motion both nakc and leave the strongest impressions n the eye. Nothing is more likely, too.

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