Part 16

Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain springs With a soft inland murmur.--Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 5 Which on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10 These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts, Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Mid groves and copses. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 15 Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20 Or of some hermit’s cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms Through a long absence have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye: 25 But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind 30 With tranquil restoration:--feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts 35 Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessèd mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight 40 Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened:--that serene and blessèd mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,-- Until, the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood, 45 Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. 50 If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55 Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer through the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60 With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 65 That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides 70 Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever Nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 75 And their glad animal movements all gone by,) To me was all in all.--I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80 Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite: a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, 85 And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned 90 To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 95 A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, 100 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, 105 And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In Nature and the language of the sense, 110 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more 115 Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read 120 My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray 125 The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed 130 With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb 135 Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, 140 When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 145 If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance, If I should be where I no more can hear 150 Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came, 155 Unwearied in that service; rather say With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 160 And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake. _William Wordsworth._

CCXIX

_DEDICATION OF THE REVOLT OF ISLAM TO HIS WIFE._

So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, And I return to thee, mine own heart’s home; As to his Queen some victor Knight of Faëry, Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome; Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become 5 A star among the stars of mortal night, If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom, Its doubtful promise thus I would unite With thy belovèd name, thou Child of love and light.

The toil which stole from thee so many an hour, 10 Is ended,--and the fruit is at thy feet! No longer where the woods to frame a bower With interlacèd branches mix and meet, Or where with sound like many voices sweet, Water-falls leap among wild islands green, 15 Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen: But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been.

Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst 21 My spirit’s sleep: a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why; until there rose From the near school-room voices, that, alas! 25 Were but one echo from a world of woes-- The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.

And then I clasped my hands and looked around-- But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground-- So without shame I spake:--‘I will be wise, 31 And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannise Without reproach or check.’ I then controlled 35 My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold.

And from that hour did I with earnest thought Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore, Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught I cared to learn, but from that secret store 40 Wrought linkèd armour for my soul, before It might walk forth to war among mankind; Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more Within me, till there came upon my mind A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined. 45

Alas, that love should be a blight and snare To those who seek all sympathies in one!-- Such once I sought in vain; then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone:-- 50 Yet never found I one not false to me, Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone, Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be Aught but a lifeless clog, until revived by thee.

Thou Friend, whose presence on my wintry heart 55 Fell, like bright spring upon some herbless plain, How beautiful and calm and free thou wert In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain Of Custom thou didst burst and rend in twain, And walked as free as light the clouds among, 60 Which many an envious slave then breathed in vain From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long.

No more alone through the world’s wilderness, Although I trod the paths of high intent, 65 I journeyed now: no more companionless, Where solitude is like despair, I went.-- There is the wisdom of a stern content, When Poverty can blight the just and good, When Infamy dares mock the innocent, 70 And cherished friends turn with the multitude To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood!

Now has descended a serener hour, And, with inconstant fortune, friends return; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power 75 Which says:--Let scorn be not repaid with scorn; And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life’s beaming morn; And these delights, and thou, have been to me 80 The parents of the Song I consecrate to thee.

Is it, that now my inexperienced fingers But strike the prelude of a loftier strain? Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers Soon pause in silence, ne’er to sound again, 85 Though it might shake the Anarch Custom’s reign, And charm the minds of men to Truth’s own sway, Holier than was Amphion’s? I would fain Reply in hope--but I am worn away, And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey.

And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: 91 Time may interpret to his silent years. Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek, And in the light thine ample forehead wears, And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, 95 And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy Is whispered, to subdue my fondest fears: And through thine eyes, even in thy soul I see A lamp of vestal fire burning internally.

They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, 100 Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child: I wonder not--for one then left this earth, Whose life was like a setting planet mild, Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled Of its departing glory; still her fame 105 Shines on thee through the tempests dark and wild, Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name.

Truth’s deathless voice pauses among mankind! If there must be no response to my cry-- 110 If men must rise and stamp with fury blind On his pure name who loves them--thou and I, Sweet Friend! can look from our tranquillity Like lamps into the world’s tempestuous night,-- Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by 115 Which wrap them from the foundering seaman’s sight, That burn from year to year with unextinguished light. _Percy Bysshe Shelley._

CCXX

_FRANCE: AN ODE, 1797._

Ye clouds! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may control! Ye ocean-waves! that, wheresoe’er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, 5 Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches swinging Have made a solemn music of the wind! Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, 10 How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o’er flowering weeds I wound, Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! O ye loud waves! and O ye forests high! 15 And O ye clouds that far above me soared! Thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing sky! Yea, every thing that is and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe’er ye be, With what deep worship I have still adored 20 The spirit of divinest Liberty.

When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, Stamped her strong foot, and said she would be free, Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! 25 With what a joy my lofty gratulation Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, Like fiends embattled by a wizard’s wand, The Monarchs marched in evil day 30 And Britain joined the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion And flung a magic light o’er all her hills and groves; 35 Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delayed and vain retreat! For ne’er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; 40 But blessed the pæans of delivered France, And hung my head and wept at Britain’s name.

‘And what,’ I said, ‘though Blasphemy’s loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove? Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove 45 A dance more wild than e’er was maniac’s dream? Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The sun was rising, though ye hid his light!’ And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright; When France her front deep-scarred and gory 51 Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior’s tramp; While timid looks of fury glancing, 55 Domestic Treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproached my fears that would not flee; ‘And soon,’ I said, ‘shall Wisdom teach her lore In the low huts of them that toil and groan! 60 And, conquering by her happiness alone, Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own.’

Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams! I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, 65 From bleak Helvetia’s icy caverns sent-- I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams! Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished, And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished 70 One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes! To scatter rage and traitorous guilt, Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot-race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; 75 And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer-- O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils, Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind? 80 To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To’ insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn? to tempt and to betray?

The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, 85 Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain! O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; 90 But thou nor swell’st the victor’s strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe’er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) Alike from Priestcraft’s harpy minions, 95 And factious Blasphemy’s obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! And there I felt thee!--on that sea-cliff’s verge, Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, 100 Had made one murmur with the distant surge! Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea, and air, Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. 105 _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

CCXXI

_ODE TO THE WEST WIND._

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, 5 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill 10 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air,) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!

Thou on whose stream, ’mid the steep sky’s commotion, 15 Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, Angels of rain and lightning; there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 20 Of some fierce Mænad, ev’n from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith’s height-- The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 25 Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O hear!

Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave’s intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 35 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 45 The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed 50 Scarce seemed a vision, I would ne’er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 55 One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

Make me thy lyre, ev’n as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 60 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! be thou me, impetuous One! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth; And, by the incantation of this verse, 65 Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If winter comes, can spring be far behind? 70 _Percy Bysshe Shelley._

CCXXII

_ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE._

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 5 But being too happy in thy happiness,-- That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10

O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delvèd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stainèd mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 20

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, 35 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40