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My frame hath often trembled with delight
When hope presented some far-distant good,
That seemed from heaven descending, like
the flood

Of yon pure waters, from their aery height,
Hurrying with lordly Duddon to unite;
Who, 'mid a world of images imprest
On the calm depth of his transparent breast,
Appears to cherish most that Torrent white,

The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all!
And seldom hath ear listen'd to a tune
More lulling than the busy hum of Noon,
Swoln by that voice-whose murmur musical
Announces to the thirsty fields a boon
Dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall.

XX.

Innocuous as a firstling of a flock,
And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky,
Shalt change thy temper; and, with many
a shock
Given and received in mutual jeopardy,
Dance like a Bacchanal from rock to rock,
Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!

XXI.

WHENCE that low voice?-A whisper from the heart,

That told of days long past when here I
roved
With friends and kindred tenderly beloved;
Some who had early mandates to depart,
Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart
By Duddon's side; once more do we unite,
Once more beneath the kind Earth's tranquil
light;

And smother'd joys into new being start.
From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall
Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory;
Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and
free

As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall On gales that breathe too gently to recal Aught of the fading year's inclemency!

XXII.

A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time, Came to this hidden pool, whose depths

surpass

In crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass ; And, gazing, saw that rose, which from the prime

Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound:
Derives its name, reflected as the chime
The starry treasure from the blue profound
She long'd to ravish;—shall she plunge, or
climb
The humid precipice, and seize the guest
Of April, smiling high in upper air?
Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare
To prompt the thought?-Upon the steep
rock's breast

Untouched memento of her hapless doom!
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom,

XXIII.

THE old inventive Poets, had they seen,
Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains SAD thoughts, avaunt!-the fervour of the
Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flow'ry

plains,

The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferr'd to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken; a rough course remains,

Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien,

year, Poured on the fleece - encumbered flock, invites

To laving currents, for prelusive rites Duly performed before the Dales-men shear Their panting charge. The distant mountains hear,

Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites Clamour of boys with innocent despites

fear.

Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange | Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous,keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green, Poured down the hills, a choral multitude! Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains;

Meanwhile, if Duddon's spotless breast receive
Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise
Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive
Such wrong; nor need we blame the licensed
joys

Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise:
Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.

XXIV.

MID-NOON is past;-upon the sultry mead
No zephyr breathes, no cloud its shadow
throws:

If we advance unstrengthen'd by repose,
Farewell the solace of the vagrant reed.
This Nook, with woodbine hung and strag-
gling weed,

Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose,
Half grot, half arbour, proffers to enclose
Body and mind, from molestation freed,
In narrow compass-narrow as itself:
Or if the Fancy, too industrious Elf,
Be loth that we should breathe awhile exempt
From new incitements friendly to our task,
There wants not stealthy prospect, that may
tempt

Loose Idless to forego her wily mask.

XXV.

METHINKS 'twere no unprecedented feat
Should some benignant Minister of air
Lift, and encircle with a cloudy chair,
The One for whom my heart shall ever beat
With tenderest love; or, if a safer seat
Atween his downy wings be furnished, there
Would lodge her, and the cherish'd burden
bear

O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat!
Rough ways my steps have trod; too rough
and long
For her companionship; here dwells soft ease:
With sweets which she partakes not some

distaste

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They taught me random cares and truant
joys,

That shield from mischief and preserve from
stains
Vague minds, while men are growing out.
of boys;

Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise
Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile

XXVII.

reins.

I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest,
Crowded together under rustling trees,
Brushed by the current of the water-breeze;
And for their sakes, and love of all that rest,
On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest;
For all the startled scaly tribes that slink
Into his coverts, and each fearless link
Of dancing insects forged upon his breast;
For these, and hopes and recollections worn
Close to the vital seat of human clay;
Glad meetings-tender partings—that upstay
The drooping mind of absence, by vows

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Of heroes fall'n, or struggling to advance,
Till doubtful combat issued in a trance

Of victory, that struck through heart and
reins,

Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains, And lightened o'er the pallid countenance. Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie Mingles, and lurking consciousness of In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn, Languish the flowers; the waters seem to The passing Winds memorial tribute pay; The Torrents ehaunt their praise, inspiring

waste

wrong;

Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to please.

XXVI.

RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued,
Even when a child, the Streams- unheard,

unseen;

Through tangled woods, impending rocks
between;
Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed
The sullen reservoirs whence their bold
brood,

scorn

Of power usurp'd, with proclamation high,
And glad acknowledgment of lawful sway.

XXIX.

Wno swerves from innocence, who makes
divorce

Of that serene companion-a good name,
Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame,
With doubt, with fear, and haply with

remorse.

| And oft-times he, who, yielding to the force

Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, | The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast From chosen comrade turns, or faithful Where all his unambitious functions fail.

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And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be

free,

The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance, to advance like Thee, Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity!

XXXIII.

I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.-Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; | Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;

The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied

Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky;
Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high
O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent;
Or the Indian tree whose branches, down-The elements, must vanish;—be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have

ward bent,

Take root again, a boundless canopy.
How sweet were leisure! could it yield no

more

Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard to recline, From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine;

Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Sooth'd by the unseen River's gentle roar.

XXXI.

NoT hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands

And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands
Held; but in radiant progress tow'rd the
Deep

Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep
Sink, and forget their nature;-now expands
Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands,
Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep!
Beneath an ampler sky a region wide
Is opened round him;-hamlets, towers,
and towns,
And blue-topp'd hills, behold him from afar;
In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied,
Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs,
With Commerce freighted or triumphant
War.

XXXII.

BUT here no cannon thunders to the gale;
Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast
A crimson splendour; lowly is the mast
That rises here, and humbly spread the sail;
While less disturbed than in the narrow Vale
Through which with strange vicissitudes
he pass'd,

power

To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go, Thro' love, thro' hope, and faith's transcendant dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.

I.

NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room; And Hermits are contented with their Cells; And Students with their pensive Citadels: Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom,

High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove-bells: In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be)

Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find short solace there, as I have found.

II.

O GENTLE Sleep! do they belong to thee,
These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love
To sit in meckness, like the brooding Dove,
A Captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me

A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove
Upon a fretful rivulet, now above,
Now on the water vexed with mockery.
I have no pain that calls for patience, no;
Hence am I cross and peevish as a child:
And pleas'd by fits to have thee for my foe,
Yet ever willing to be reconciled:
O gentle Creature! do not use me 80,
But once and deeply let me be beguiled.

III.

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and
pure sky;

I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodics
Must hear, first utter'dfrom my orchard-trees;
And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more,
I lay,

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without Thee what is all the morning's
wealth?

Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous

IV.

health!

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XI.

GREAT Men have been among us; hands
that penn'd
And tongues that utter'd wisdom,better none:
The later Sydney, Marvel, Harrington,
Young Vane, and others who call'd Milton
Friend.

These Moralists could act and comprehend:
They knew how genuine glory was put on;
Taught us how rightfully a nation shone
In splendor: what strength was, that would
not bend

But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange,

Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then

Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single Volume paramount, no code,
But equally a want of Books and Men!
No master-spirit, no determined road;

XII.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS.

August, 1802.

FAIR Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink

On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Shouldst be my Country's emblem; and shouldst wink,

Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest

In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory! I, with many a fear

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,

OF SWITZERLAND.

Two Voices are there: one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou foughtst against Him; but hast vainly striven;

Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven,

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: Then cleave, oh cleave to that which still is left! For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be

That mountain-floods should thunder as before,

And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!

Among Men who do not love her, linger here.

XIII.

September, 1802.

O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For shew; mean handywork of craftsman,
cook,

Or groom! We must run glittering like a brook

In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expence,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:

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