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Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitivel The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction; not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:— Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
X Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound 170 As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find 180 Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and
Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight 191 To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels
fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Won. 200 Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE WENETIAN REPUBLIC”
Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
Milton' thou should'st be living at this hour:
THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
1 Wordsworth's sister, Dorothy. 2 See Luke xvi, 22.
* Venice threw off the yoke of the Eastern Empire as early as 809 and remained a republic or an oligarchy until , conquered by Napoleon in 1797. At one time she had extensive possessions and colonies in the Levant.
t The ancient Doges annually, on Ascension Day. threw a ring into the Adriatic in formal #. of this espousal, or of perpetual dominion.
f Written in despondency over the inert attitude of England toward the ho and ideals of the revolutionists and the opponents of Napoleon.
§ The conclusion of a series of sonnets to the
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which
f From the publication, in 1798, of the Lyrical Ballads, the joint production of Coleridge and Wordsworth. may be dated very definitely the recognition of the new spirit in English literature which is commonly spoken of as the Romantic Revival. See Eng. Lit., pp. 232-235. Coleridge, in the fourteenth chapter of his Biographia Literaria, writes of the occasion of the Lyrical Ballads as follows:
“During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty, by the modifying colours of the imagination. The sudden charm, which accidents of light and shade, which moonlight or sunset, diffused over a known and familiar landscape, appeared to represent the practicability of combining both. These are , the poetry of nature. The thought suggested itself (to which of us I do not recollect) that a series of poems might be composed of two sorts. In the one, the incidents and agents were to be. in part at least, supernatural ; and, the excellence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany, such situations, supposing them real. And real in this sense they have been to every human being who, from whatever source of delusion, has at any time believed
himself under supernatural agency. For the
archaic, as the Argument, which was not retained in the later edition, shows. Wordsworth gives the following information :
“Much the greatest part of the story was Mr. Coleridge's invention, but certain parts I suggested ; for example, some crime was to be committed which should bring upon the Old Navigator, as Coleridge afterward delighted to call him, the spectral persecution, as a consequence of that crime and his own wanderings. had been reading in Shelvocke's Voyages a day or two before, that, while doubling Cape Horn, they frequently saw albatrosses in that latitude, the largest sort of sea-fowl, some extending their wings twelve or thirteen feet. “Suppose," said I, ‘you represent him as having killed one of these birds on entering , the South Sea, and that the tutelary spirits of these re#o take upon them to avenge the crime.” he incident was thought fit for the purpose .” Wordsworth also espe
“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
The sun came up upon the left,
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—” 30
And now there came both mist and snow,
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
and adopted accordingly
1 at once
13-21. The Wedding-Guest eye of , the old seafaring man, hear his tale. 21-30. The Mariner tells how the shi Southward with a good wind and fair weat it reached the line. $31-40. The Wedding Guest heareth the bridal music : but the Mariner continueth his tale. 41-50. . The ship driven by a storm toward the South pole. 51-62. The land of ice, where no living thing was
is spell-bound by the and constrained to
Sailed er, till
and of fearful sounds, to be seen.
63-70. Till a
reat sea bird, called the Albatross, came throug
the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. 71-78. And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice. 79-82. The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious hird of good omen. 83-96. His shipmates cry out against the , ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck. 97-102. But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, , and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime. 103-106. The fair breeze continues: the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line. 2 swoon. dream 8 “The marineres gave it biscuit-worms” (1798 ed.) 4 nine evenings