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The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, Sea:

Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left be. Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

hind And doth with his eternal motion make | Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, A sound like thunder - everlastingly.

and skies; Dear Child ! dear Girll that walkest with There's not a breathing of the common me here,

wind If thou appear untouched by solemn That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; thought,

Thy friends are exultations, agonies, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: And love, and man's unconquerable mind. Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worship’st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1802


This was written immediately after my reVENETIAN REPUBLIC

turn from France to London, when I could not

but be struck, as here described, with the vanity (Pabl. 1807]

and parade of our own country, especially in

great towns and cities, as contrasted with the ONCE did She hold the gorgeous east in fee; l quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the And was the safeguard of the west: the revolution had produced in France. ... worth

O FRIEND! I know not which way I must Of Venice did not fall below her birth,

look Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, She was a maiden City, bright and free; To think that now our life is only drest No guile seduced, no force could violate;

| For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, And, when she took unto herself a Mate,

cook, She must espouse the everlasting Sea.

Or groom ! - We must run glittering like And what if she had seen those glories fade,

a brook Those titles vanish, and that strength de

In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: | cay;

The wealthiest man among us is the best: Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

No grandeur now in nature or in book When her long life hath reached its final Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, day:

This is idolatry; and these we adore: Men are we, and must grieve when even

Plain living and high thinking are no more: the Shade

The homely beauty of the good old cause Of that which once was great, is passed

Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, away.

And pure religion breathing household


LONDON, 1802 [Publ. 1807)

[Publ. 1807] TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men ! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his Milton! thou should'st be living at this plough

hour: Within thy hearing, or thy head be now England hath need of thee: she is a fen Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, den; —

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and O miserable Chieftain ! where and when

bower, Wilt thou find patience ? Yet die not; do Have forfeited their ancient English dower thou

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: / Oh! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us manners, virtue, freedom,

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 berself did lay.

For dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men:
And I by my affection was beguiled:
What wonder if a Poet now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child !


OF »


Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere,

Bold in maternal Nature's care, [Publ. 1807]

And all the long year through the heir

Of joy or sorrow;
It is not to be thought of that the Flood | Methinks that there abides in thee
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Some concord with humanity,
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity Given to no other flower I see
Hath flowed, “ with pomp of waters, un-

The forest thorough! withstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood Is it that Man is soon deprest? Which spurns the check of salutary bands, | A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest, ro That this most famous Stream in bogs and Does little on his memory rest, sands

Or on his reason, Should perish; and to evil and to good And Thou would'st teach him how to find Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung A shelter under every wind, Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: | A hope for times that are unkind We must be free or die, who speak the

And every season ? tongue That Sbakspeare spake; the faith and | Thou wander'st the wide world about, morals hold

Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt, Which Milton held. – In everything we are With friends to greet thee, or without, sprung

Yet pleased and willing;

20 Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. Meek, yielding to the occasion's call,

And all things suffering from all,

Thy function apostolical “WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN

In peace fulfilling.


[Publ. 1807]

[Publ. 1807] WHEN I have borne in memory what has

tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts de

part When men change swords for ledgers, and

desert The student's bower for gold, some fears

unnamed I had, my Country!-- am I to be blamed? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou

art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.

BENEATH these fruit-tree bonghs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread

Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat !
And birds and flowers once more to greet,

My last year's friends together.

One have I marked, the happiest guest | In all this covert of the blest:

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No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands 10
Of travellers in some shady baunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.


(Publ. 1807) While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hut where, in the course of our Tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, “What, you are stepping westward ?" “ Whal, you are stepping westward ?" -.

« Yea." - 'T would be a wildish destiny, If we, who thus together roam In a strange Land, and far from home, Were in this place the gniests of Chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on?

Will no one tell me what she sings ? —
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day ?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could bave no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending; —


I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

O'er hilly path, and open Strath,
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.

“ Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow,
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.


[Publ. 1807] See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning “ Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow! — "
From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my “winsome Marrow,"
“ Whate'er betide, we 'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."

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[Publ. 1807) O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ?

“There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow ?
“ What's Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark lills under ?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder."
- Strange words they seemed of slight and

My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow !

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

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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 thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;

“Oh! green,” said I, “are Yarrow's holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing !
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.

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

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.



(Publ. 1807] Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The Daffodils grew and still grow on the margin of Ullswater, and probably may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of March, nodding their golden heads beside the dancing and foaming waves. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils ; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

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SHE was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed 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 haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company :
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought :


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This ode is on the model of Gray's Ode to Adversity, which is copied from Horace's Ode to Fortune. Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister for having forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern lawgiver. Transgressor indeed I have been, from hour to hour, from day to day: I would

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