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126

LONDON MDCCCII

METOA thou shouldst be living at this hour:

England a of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, have forfeited their ancient English dower of inward happiness. We are selfish men: O! raise us up, return to us again; and give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free; so didst thou travel on life's common way in cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart the lowliest duties on herself did lay.

W. WORDSWORTH

WHILE

127

SEPTEMBER 1815
CHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,

with ripening harvest prodigally fair,
in brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
his icy scimitar, a foretaste yields
of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
and whispers to the silent birds, 'Prepare
against the threatening foe your trustiest shields.'
For me, who under kindlier laws belong
to Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry
through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
announce a season potent to renew,
mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
and nobler cares than listless summer knew.

W. WORDSWORTH 128 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT

FROM ABBOTSFORD FOR NAPLES

A of rain

nor of the setting sun's pathetic light engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain for kindred Power departing from their sight: while Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, saddens his voice again, and yet again,

Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
blessings and prayers in nobler retinue
than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
ye winds of Ocean, and the midland sea,
wafting your charge to fair Parthenope.

W. WORDSWORTH

129

ONCE

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC
NCE did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;

and was the safeguard of the west: the worth
of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice the eldest child of liberty.
She was a maiden city, bright and free;
no guile seduced, no force could violate ;
and when she took unto herself a Mate,
she must espouse the everlasting Sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
those titles vanish, and that strength decay ;
yet shall some tribute of regret be paid,
when her long life hath reached its final day:
men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
of that which once was great is pass'd away.

W. WORDSWORTH

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OT Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell

of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change,
nor Duty, struggling with afflictions strange-
not these alone inspire the tuneful shell ;
but where untroubled peace and concord dwell,
there also is the Muse not loth to range,
watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange
sky-ward ascending from a woody dell.
Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour,
and sage content, and placid melancholy;
she loves to gaze upon a crystal river-
diaphanous because it travels slowly;
soft is the music that would charm for ever ;
the flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

W. WORDSWORTH

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OT song, nor beauty, nor the wondrous power

nor the wide ocean, turn the hearts of men
to love, nor give the world-embracing dower
of inward gentleness: up from the bed
blest by chaste beauty, men have risen to blood,
and life hath perished in the flow'ry wood,
and the poor traveller beneath starlight bled.
Thus that musician, in his wealth of song
pouring his numbers, even with the sound
swimming around them would the heartless throng
have thrust into his death; but with a bound

spurning the cursed ship, he sought the wave,
and Nature's children did her poet save.

132

SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER

DEA

EAR native brook! wild streamlet of the West !

how many various-fated years have past,
what happy, and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
numbering its light leaps ! yet so deep imprest
sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes

I never shut amid the sunny ray,
but straight with all their tints thy waters rise,

thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey, and bedded sand that, veined with various dyes, gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,

visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs: ah! that once more I were a careless child !

S. T. COLERIDGE TO APRIL

133

in varying vest along the shadowy skies, now bidding summer's softest zephyrs rise, anon recalling winter's stormy gale, and pouring from the cloud her sudden hail; then, smiling through the tear that dims her eyes, while Iris with her braid the welkin dyes,

promise of sunshine, not so prone to fail.
So to us, sojourners in life's low vale,
the smiles of Fortune flatter to deceive,
while still the Fates the web of misery weave:
so Hope exultant spreads her airy sail,
and from the present gloom the soul conveys
to distant summers and far happier days.

H, K. WHITE

134

TO CAPEL LOFFT ESQ.

OFFT, unto thee one tributary song

bring;

she longs to lisp thee to the listening throng,
and with thy name to bid the woodlands ring.
Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth,
thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild,
would say how thou didst foster kindred worth,
and to thy bosom snatched Misfortune's child:
firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal,
upright and learned as the Pylian sire,
would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the lyre,
and show thy labours for the public weal,
ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme,
but ah! she shrinks abashed before the arduous theme.

H. K. WHITE

135

TO CONSUMPTION

WEET to the gay of heart is Summer's smile,

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but ah! my soul far other scenes beguile,
where gloomy storms their sullen shadows fling.
Is it for me to strike the Idalian string,
raise the soft music of the warbling wire,
while in my ears the howls of furies ring
and melancholy wastes the vital fire?
Away with thoughts like these!—To some lone cave
where howls the shrill blast and where sweeps the

wave,
direct my steps; there, in the lonely drear,
I'll sit remote from worldly noise and muse,
till through my soul shall Peace her balm insuse,
and whisper sounds of comfort in my ear.

H. K. WHITE
F. S. II.

4

136

THE PAINS OF MEMORY

WHAT

HAT time my heart unfolded its fresh leaves

in spring-time gay, and scattered flowers around, a whisper warned of earth's unhealthy ground, and all that there faith's light and pureness grieves;

sun's ray and canker-worm,

and sudden-whelming storm :-
but, ah! my self-will smiled, nor recked the gracious

sound.
So now defilement dims life's morning springs;

I cannot hear an early-cherished strain,

but first a joy, and then it brings a painfear and self-hate, and vain remorseful stings:

tears lull my grief to rest,

not without hope, this breast may one day lose its load, and youth yet bloom again.

LYRA APOSTOLICA

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NO

OW sober Cynthia spreads her lucid beam,

with quivering ray the silent glen pervades,
tints the brown wood that crowns yon silvery stream,
and darts fine lustres on the full cascades:
through drear autumnal scenes her rays diffuse
that gentle charm which soothes the pensive sigh:
now Spring no more presents her blushing hues,
and Summer's gaudy pageants fading fly!
'tis thus, sweet Hope! through sorrow's blasting day
thy meek-eyed light kind solace can impart,
give to departing joy a lingering ray
and cheer with promised good the drooping heart;

with radiant hands life's sable clouds remove,
and ere the future dawns its blessings prove.

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WH

THY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death,

to stop a wretch's breath,
that calls on thee and offers her sad heart

a prey unto thy dart?

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