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Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?

Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

9. O joy! that in our embers is something that doth live, That nature yět remembers what was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed

10.

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 endeavor,
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 shōre,

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

11. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young lambs bound 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 for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower-
We will grieve not, rather find

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.

12. And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yět in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight

To live beneath your mōre 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

Do take a sober coloring from an eye

That hath kept watch ō'er man's mortality;

Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tendernèss, its joys, and fears-
To me the meanèst flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. WORDSWORTH.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the greatest of metaphysical poets, and one of the purest and most blameless of men, was born at Cockermouth, Cumberland county, England, April 7, 1770. He read much in boyhood, and wrote some verses. He received his early education at the endowed school of Hawkshead; entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1787, and graduated in 1791. In the close of the same year he went to France, where he passed nearly a year; and there he wrote the poem called "Descriptive Sketches," which, with "The Evening Walk," was published in 1793 In 1795 he received a legacy

of £900 from his friend, Raisley Calvert, and at the close of the same began to live with his sister, their first residence being at Racedown, Dorsetshire. He here made the acquaintance of Coleridge, and wrote many of the fine passages that afterward appeared in "The Excursion." In the autumn of 1798 he published the first edition of his "Lyrical Ballads," and then went to Germany with his sister and Coleridge; and, the party separating, Miss Wordsworth and her brother passed the winter at Goslar, in Hanover. Here were written "Lucy Gray," and several beautiful pieces.. His long residence among the lakes of his native district began immediately after his return to England. His second volume of "Lyrical Ballads" appeared at the close of 1800. In 1802 he married Mary Hutchinson, of Penrith, to whose amiability his poems pay warm and beautiful tributes. In the spring of 1813, after various changes of residence, he took up his abode at Rydal Mount, two miles from Grasmere, which was his home for 37 years, and the scene of his death. There, too, he was appointed distributor of stamps for Westmoreland; an office which was executed by a clerk, and yielded about £500 a year. In the summer of 1814 was published "The Excursion," a poem which, if judged by its best passages, has hardly an equal in our language. The following year appeared "The White Doe of Rylstone." From his 50th to his 80th year the poet traveled much, suffered a great deal, and wrote but little. In 1842 he resigned his distributorship in favor of one of his two sons, and received from Sir Robert Peel, a pension of £300 a year. In 1843 he was appointed poet-laureate. He died April 23, 1850.

105. AT THE GRAVE.

ND do our loves all perish with our frames?

AND

Do those that took their root and put forth buds,

And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth

Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,

Then fade and fall, like fair, unconscious flowers?

Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give speech
And make it send fōrth winning harmonies-
That to the cheek do give its living glow,

And vision in the eye the soul intense
With that for which there is no utterance-
Are these the body's accidents?—no mōre ?-
To live in it, and, when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame?

O, listen, man!
A voice within us speaks the startling word,
"Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls: according harps,
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound fōrth still
The song of our great immortality:

Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,

The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.

3. O, listen ye, our spirits; drink it in

From all the air! "Tis in the gentle moonlight;
'Tis floating 'midst day's setting glōries; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears:
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.

The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.

4. Why call we, then, the square-built monument,
The upright column, and the low-laid slab,
Tokens of death, memorials of decay?
Stand in this solemn, still assembly, man,
And learn thy proper nature; for thou seest,
In these shaped stones and lettered tablets, figures
Of life. Then be they to thy soul as those
Which he who talked on Sinai's mount with God
Brought to the old Judeans-types are these
Of thine eternity.

I thank Thee, Father,
That at this simple grave, on which the dawn
Is breaking, emblem of that day which hath

No close, Thou kindly unto my dark mind
Hast sent a sacred light, and that away
From this green hillock, whither I had come
In sorrow, Thou art leading me in joy.

R. H. DANA.

ABAFT, 313.
Academe, 149.
Achilles, 459.

INDEX TO
TO NOTES.

The figures refer to the pages where the words are to be found.

Cerberus, 288.
Cestus, 388.

Doth, 87.
Doughty, 176.

Chaleur Bay, 127.

Hieroglyphic, 276.
Hoary, 104.