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Thy hungry barkings to the hymn

Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim
Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep
Shouting through one valley calls,

All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured
Into the ear of God, their Lord!


A Voice to Light gave Being;

To Time, and Man his earth-born chronicler;
A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,
And sweep away life's visionary stir;
The trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
Arm at its blast for deadly wars)

To archangelic lips applied.


grave shall open, quench the stars. O Silence, are Man's noisy years

No more than moments of thy life?
Is harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,
Tempered into rapturous strife,

Thy destined bond-slave? No! though Earth be dust
And vanish, though the heavens dissolve, her stay
Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.






HAD this effulgence disappeared

With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;

But 't is endued with power to stay
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see-

What is ?-ah no, but what can be!
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,

While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;

Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign


Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,

Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,

Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,

Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!


No sound is uttered,-but a deep

And solemn harmony pervades

The hollow vale from steep to steep,

And penetrates the glades.

Far-distant images draw nigh,

Called forth by wondrous potency

Of beamy radiance that imbues,

Whate'er it strikes, with gem-like hues!
In vision, exquisitely clear,

Herds range along the mountain-side;
And glistening antlers are descried;
And gilded flocks appear.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as Godlike wish, or Hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
-From worlds not quickened by the sun

A portion of the gift is won;

An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which British shepherds tread!

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And, if there be, whom broken ties

Afflict, or injuries assail,

Yon hazy ridges to their eyes

Present a glorious scale,

Climbing suffused with sunny air,

To stop-no record hath told where!

And tempting Fancy to ascend

And with immortal Spirits blend!
-Wings at my shoulders seem to play;
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze

On those bright steps that heaven-ward raise
Their practicable way.

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad
And see to what fair countries ye are bound!

And if some traveller, weary of his road,

Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground, Ye Genii! to his covert speed;

And wake him with such gentle heed?

As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendent hour!


Such hues from their celestial Urn
Were wont to stream before mine eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn
Of blissful infancy.

This glimpse of glory, why renewed?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;
For, if a vestige of those gleams

Survived, 't was only in my dreams.

Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve
No less than Nature's threatening voice,
If aught unworthy be my choice,

From THEE if I would swerve;

Oh, let thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored;
Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored;
My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth!

-T is past, the visionary splendor fades;
And night approaches with her shades.


Note. The multiplication of mountain-ridges, described at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode, as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapors or sunny haze; in the present instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode, entitled "Intimations of Immortality," pervade the last Stanza of the foregoing Poem


WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,

Her Father took another Mate;

And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;

And, passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore—

A military casque he wore,

With splendid feathers drest

He brought them from the Cherokees

The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung:
But no! he spake the English tongue,
And bore a soldier's name;

And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,

He 'cross the ocean came.

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