Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

"Oh! it was a time forlorn When the fatherless was bornGive her wings that she may fly, Or she sees her infant die! Swords that are with slaughter wild Hunt the mother and the child. Who will take them from the light? Yonder is a man in sightYonder is a house--but where? No, they must not enter there. To the caves, and to the brooks, To the clouds of heaven she looks; She is speechless, but her eyes Pray in ghostly agonies. Blissful Mary, mother mild, Maid and mother undefiled, Save a mother and her child!

"Now who is he that bounds with joy On Carrock's side, a shepherd boy? No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass Light as the wind along the grass. Can this be he who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame? O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter, and a poor man's bread! God loves the child; and God hath willed That those dear words should be fulfilled, The lady's words, when forced away, The last she to her babe did say. My own, my own, thy fellow-guest I may not be; but rest thee, rest, For lowly shepherd's life is best!'

Again he wanders forth at will,
And tends a flock from hill to hill:
His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
Such garb with such a noble mien ;
Among the shepherd grooms no mate
Hath he, a child of strength and state!
Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee,
And a cheerful company,

That learned of him submissive ways;
And comforted his private days.

To his side the fallow-deer
Came, and rested without fear;

The eagle, lord of land and sea,
Stooped down to pay him fealty;
And both the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-Tarn* did wait on him,
The pair were servants of his eye
In their immortality;

They moved about in open sight,
To and fro, for his delight.

He knew the rocks which angels haunt
On the mountains visitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing;
And the caves where faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By voices how men lived of old.
Among the heavens his eye can see
Face of thing that is to be;
And, if men report him right,
He could whisper words of might.
Now another day is come,
Fitter hope, and nobler doom:
He hath thrown aside his crook,
And hath buried deep his book;
Armour rusting in his halls
On the blood of Clifford calls; -
the Scot,' exclaims the lance-
Bear me to the heart of France,
Is the longing of the shield-
Tell thy name, thou trembling field;
Field of death, where'er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!
Happy day, and mighty hour,
When our shepherd, in his power,

groves,Quell

"Alas! when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long. The boy must part from Mosedale's And leave Blencathara's rugged coves, And quit the flowers that summer brings To Glenderamakin's lofty springs; Must vanish, and his careless cheer Be turned to heaviness and fear. Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! Hear it, good man, old in days! Thou tree of covert and of rest For this young bird that is distrest; Among thy branches safe he lay, And he was free to sport and play, When falcons were abroad for prey.

"A recreant harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford's ear! I said, when evil men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth! Our Clifford was a happy youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up to manhood's prime.

It is imagined by the people of the country that there are two immortal fish, inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains not far from Threlkeld. -Blencathara, mentioned before is the old and proper name of the mountain vulgarly called Saddle-back.

The martial character of the Cliffords is well known to the readers of English history: but it may not be improper here to say, by way of comment on these lines, and what follows, that, besides several others who perished in the same manner, the four immediate progenitors of the person in whose hearing this is supposed to be spoken, all died in the field.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

strain,

To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted (Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege! to All independent of the leafy spring. [sing Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; [flood Whence thou dost pour upon the world a Of harmony, with rapture more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of heaven and home!

It is no spirit who from heaven hath flown,
And is descending on his embassy;
Nor traveller gone from earth the heavens
to espy!

'Tis Hesperus-there he stands with glittering crown,

First admonition that the sun is down! For yet it is broad daylight! clouds pass by.

A few are near him still-and now the sky,
He hath it to himself-'tis all his own.
O most ambitious star! thy presence
brought

A startling recollection to my mind
Of the distinguished few among mankind,
Who dare to step beyond their natural

race,

As thou seem'st now to do: nor was a thought

Denied that even I might one day trace Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above,

My soul, an apparition in the place, Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove!

FRENCH REVOLUTION,

AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT.* REPRINTED FROM THE FRIEND.'

Он! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars, which then stood

Upon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven !-Oh!
times,

In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The attraction of a country in romance!
When reason, seemed the most to assert her
rights,

When most intent on making of herself
A prime enchantress-to assist the work,
Which then was going forward in her name!
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole
earth,

[sets The beauty wore of promise-that which (To take an image which was felt no doubt Among the bowers of paradise itself) The budding rose above the rose full blown. What temper at the prospect did not wake To happiness unthought of? The inert Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,

The playfellows of fancy, who had made
All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and
strength
(stirred
Their ministers,-who in lordly wise had
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
And dealt with whatsoever they found there
As if they had within some lurking right
To wield it ;-they, too, who of gentle mood
Had watched all gentle motions, and to

these

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where !

But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us,-the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all!

THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE.

WITHIN the mind strong fancies work,
A deep delight the bosom thrills,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills:
Where, save the rugged road, we find
No appanage of human kind;
Nor hint of man; if stone or rock
Seem not his handy-work to mock
By something cognizably shaped ;
Mockery-or model roughly hewn,
And left as if by earthquake strewn,
Or from the flood escaped :—
Altars for Druid service fit ;
(But where no fire was ever lit,
Unless the glow-worm to the skies
Thence offer nightly acrifice ;
Wrinkled Egyptian monument;
Green moss-grown tower; or hoary tent;
Tents of a camp that never shall be raised;
On which four thousand years have gazed i

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes!
Ye snow-white lambs that trip
Imprisoned 'mid the formal props
Of restless ownership!

Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall
To feed the insatiate prodigal !
Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields,
All that the fertile valley shields;
Wages of folly-baits of crime,-
Of life's uneasy game the stake,
Playthings that keep the eyes awake
Of drowsy, dotard time-
O care! O guilt !-O vales and plains,
Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains,
A genius dwells, that can subdue
At once all memory of you,-
Most potent when mists veil the sky,
Mists that distort and magnify; [breeze,
While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping
Sigh forth their ancient melodies!

List to those shriller notes! that march
Perchance was on the blast,
When, through this height's inverted arch,
Rome's earliest legion passed!
They saw, adventurously impelled,
And older eyes than theirs beheld,

This block-and yon, whose church-like | Time was when field and watery cove

frame

Gives to the savage pass its name.
Aspiring road! that lov'st to hide
Thy daring in a vapoury bourn,
Not seldom may the hour return
When thou shalt be my guide;
And I (as often we find cause,
When life is at a weary pause,
And we have panted up the hill
Of duty with reluctant will)
Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of constraint;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
That choice lacked courage to bestow.

My soul was grateful for delight
That wore a threatening brow;
A veil is lifted-can she slight
The scene that opens now!
Though habitation rone appear,

The greenness tells, man must be there;
The shelter-that the perspective
Is of the clime in which we live ;
Where toil pursues his daily round;
Where pity sheds sweet tears, and love,
In woodbine bower or birchen grove,
Inflicts his tender wound.

Who comes not hither ne'er shall know
How beautiful the world below;
Nor can he guess how lightly leaps
The brook adown the rocky steeps.
Farewell, thou desolate domain !
Hope, pointing to the cultured plain,
Carols like a shepherd-boy;

And who is she?-Can that be joy!
Who, with a sunbeam for her guide,
Smoothly skims the meadows wide;
While faith, from yonder opening clou
To hill and vale proclaims aloud,
'Whate'er the weak may dread,
wicked dare,

[ocr errors]

the

Thy lot, O man, is good, thy portion fair!"

EVENING ODE,

COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EX

TRAORDINARY SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY.

HAD this effulgence disappeared

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

But 'tis endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail mortality may see-
What is ?-ah no, but what can be!

With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;

Theight,

Or, ranged like stars along 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 god-like 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!

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 shoulder seem to play;
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze (raise
On those bright steps that heavenward
Their practicable way.

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,

And see to what fair countries ye are bourd!
And if some traveller, weary of his road,
Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy
Ye genii! to his covert speed; [ground,
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 my eye,

[blocks in formation]

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 coined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth;

Tis past, the visionary splendour 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 vapours, or sunny haze-in the present in stance, by the latter cause. Allusions to the ode entitled "Intimations of Immortality," pervade the last stanza of the foregoing poem.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din'
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
And passing even into my purer mind,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
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
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
Of all this unintelligible world,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
[mood,
Is lightened-that serene and blessed
In which the affections gently lead us on,-
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
While with an eye made quiet by the power
We see into the life of things.

If this

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh ! how oft-
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
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,

With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

The river is not affected by the tides a few The picture of the mind revives again : miles above Tintern.

While here I stand, not only with the sense

« PredošláPokračovať »