« AnteriorContinuar »
Through no disturbance of my soul,
But in the quietness of thought :
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires :
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh
To humbler functions, awful Power!
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a 'fiery heart' :—
These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce ;
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
Yet to be come-at by the breeze:
THE MOUNTAIN ECHO.
Yes, it was the mountain Echo,
To a babbling wanderer sent;
Hears not also mortal Life?
Have not we too?-yes, we have
Such rebounds our inward ear
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF
The Child is father of the Man;
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore ;-
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday ;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all.
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm :—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear !
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
And cometh from afar :
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
At length the Man perceives it die away,
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,