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Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen; Insight as keen as frosty star
Nor interrupts her frolic graces
When she is, far from these wild places,
O the charm that manners draw,
Nature, from thy genuine law!
If from what her hand would do,
Untoward or unfit ;
She, in benign affections pure,
In self-forgetfulness secure,
Sheds round the transient harm or vague mis
A light unknown to tutored elegance :
Her's is not a cheek shamne-stricken,
But her blushes are joy-flushes ;
And the fault (if fault it be)
Only ministers to quicken
Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free
As if she knew that Oberon king of Faery
Had crossed her purpose with some quaint vagary,
Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands.
“ Last of the Three, though eldest born,
Touched by the skylark's earliest note,
Ere humbler gladness be afloat.
Of Dawn-or Eve, fair vision of the west,
Come with each anxious hope subdued
By woman's gentle fortitude,
Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand
Among the glories of a happier age."
Her brow hath opened on me—see it there,
Brightening the umbrage of her hair ;
So gleams the crescent moon, that loves
To be descried through shady groves.
Tenderest bloom is on her cheek ;
Wish not for a richer streak;
Nor dread the depth of meditative eye ;
Of thoughtfulness and beauty, yield
Its homage offered up in purity.
What would'st thou more ? In sunny glade,
Inquire not if the faery race
Ere northward they retired ; If here a warrior left a spell, Panting for glory as he fell ;
Or here a saint expired.
Was such a stillness e'er diffused
Enough that all around is fair, Composed with Nature's finest care,
And in her fondest lovePeace to embosom and contentTo overawe the turbulent,
The selfish to reprove.
Yea! even the Stranger from afar, Reclining on this moss-grown bar,
Unknowing, and unknown, The infection of the ground partakes, Longing for his Belov'd—who makes
All happiness her own.
Then why should conscious Spirits fear The mystic stirrings that are here,
The ancient faith disclaim? The local Genius ne'er befriends Desires whose course in folly ends,
Whose just reward is shame.
In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old high-way lead
ing to Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the Wishing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favourable issue.
Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, If some, by ceaseless pains outworn,
Here crave an easier lot; If some have thirsted to renew A broken vow, or bind a true,
With firmer, holier knot.
The laughter of the Christmas hearth
Ye feelingly reprove;
And exercise of love.
When some great change gives boundless scope
Oft, startled and made wise
Of bitter contraries.
The form and rich habiliments of One
Ye daunt the proud array of war,
As sail hath been unfurled;
Fetched from the shadowy world.
'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense, Emboldened by a keener sense ;
That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year
Should knell them to the tomb.
Beneath the shadow of his purple wings
Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Truth shows a glorious face,
Sage Spirits ! by your grace.
“No wintry desolations,
God, who instructs the brutes to scent
Whose wisdom fixed the scale
When lights of reason fail.
What if those bright fires
Themselves to lose their light, or pass away
Like clouds before the wind,
Be thanks poured out to Him whose hand bestows,
That vision of endurance and repose.
-And though to every draught of vital breath When all the fields with freshest green were dight, Renewed throughout the bounds of earth or ocean, Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye The melancholy gates of Death That aids or supersedes our grosser sight, Respond with sympathetic motion ;