Part I
. XXVI., XXVII.--ED.
[778] At the Revolution, 1792.--ED.
[779] 1840.
Till undiscriminating Ruin swept The Land, and Wrong perpetual vigils kept; With proof before her that on public ends Domestic virtue vitally depends. 1835.
And civic strife, by hourly calling forth Mutual despite, can turn the happiest hearth Into a rankling sore of self-tormented earth. C.
[780] 1840.
Not for his own, but ... 1835.
[781] 1840.
... blind ... 1835.
[782] 1837.
... concede; If ... 1835.
[783] 1837.
... with ... 1835.
[784] See the Fenwick note prefixed to the poem.--ED.
"IF THIS GREAT WORLD OF JOY AND PAIN"
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.
If this great world of joy and pain Revolve in one sure track; If freedom, set, will rise again, And virtue, flown, come back; Woe to the purblind crew who fill 5 The heart with each day's care; Nor gain, from past or future, skill To bear, and to forbear!
ON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND[785]
Easter Sunday, April 7
THE AUTHOR'S SIXTY-THIRD BIRTH-DAY
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
[The lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven while I was on a visit to my son, then rector of the former place. This succession of Voluntaries, with the exception of the 8th and 9th, originated in the concluding lines of the last paragraph of this poem. With this coast I have been familiar from my earliest childhood, and remember being struck for the first time by the town and port of Whitehaven and the white waves breaking against its quays and piers, as the whole came into view from the top of the high ground down which the road (it has since been altered) then descended abruptly. My sister, when she first heard the voice of the sea from this point, and beheld the scene before her, burst into tears. Our family then lived at Cockermouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us as indicating the sensibility for which she was so remarkable.--I. F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. Look round;--of all the clouds not one is moving; 5 'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, The boundless plain of waters seems to lie:-- Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore? No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, 11 Whispering how meek and gentle he _can_ be![786]
Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 15 Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood, Whatever discipline thy Will ordain For the brief course that must for me remain; Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice In admonitions of thy softest voice! 20 Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear, Glad to expand; and, for a season, free 25 From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!
FOOTNOTES:
[785] 1837.
In 1835 the title was "The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire."
[786] Compare the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm_ (1805), vol. iii. p. 54; also the sonnet (written in 1807), "_Two Voices are there; one is of the sea_," vol. iv. p. 61, and the second sonnet on the _Cave of Staffa_, in the poems descriptive of the tour in Scotland in 1833.--ED.
(BY THE SEA-SIDE)
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest; And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers--wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives,[787] A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid, 5 And by the tide alone the water swayed. Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild Of light with shade in beauty reconciled-- Such is the prospect far as sight can range, The soothing recompense, the welcome change. 10 Where now the ships that drove before the blast, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed; And by a train of flying clouds bemocked; Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, 15 Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease; And some, too heedless of past danger, court Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port; But near, or hanging sea and sky between, Not one of all those wingèd powers is seen, 20 Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard; Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, Soft in its temper as those vesper lays Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 25 Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores; A sea-born service through the mountains felt Till into one loved vision all things melt: Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; 30 And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine On British waters with that look benign?[788] 35 Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, May silent thanks at least to God be given With a full heart; "our thoughts are _heard_ in heaven!"[789]
FOOTNOTES:
[787] Compare the previous poem.--ED.
[788] Compare Robert Browning's _Home-thoughts from the Sea_--
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.--ED.
[789] See Young's _Night Thoughts_,