"Fear not a constraining measure! -Yielding to this gentle spell, Lucida! from domes of pleasure,

Or from cottage-sprinkled dell,

Come to regions solitary,

Where the eagle builds her aery,

Above the hermit's long-forsaken cell!"
-She comes!-behold

That Figure, like a ship with snow-white sail!
Nearer she draws; a breeze uplifts her veil;
Upon her coming wait

As pure a sunshine and as soft a gale

As e'er, on herbage covering earthly mold,
Tempted the bird of Juno to unfold

His richest splendour-when his veering gait
And every motion of his starry train
Seem governed by a strain

Of music, audible to him alone.

"O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne!
Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit
Beside an unambitious hearth to sit
Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown;
What living man could fear

The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou near,
Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek,
That its fair flowers may from his cheek
Brush the too happy tear?

-Queen, and handmaid lowly!
Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares,
And banish melancholy

By all that mind invents or hand prepares:
O Thou, against whose lip, without its smile
And in its silence even, no heart is proof;
Whose goodness, sinking deep, would reconcile
The softest Nursling of a gorgeous palace
To the bare life beneath the hawthorn-root
Of Sherwood's Archer, or in caves of Wallace-
Who that hath seen thy beauty could content
His soul with but a glimpse of heavenly day?
Who that hath loved thee, but would lay
His strong hand on the wind, if it were bent
To take thee in thy majesty away?

-Pass onward (even the glancing deer
Till we depart intrude not here ;)

That mossy slope, o'er which the woodbine throws

A canopy, is smoothed for thy repose!"

Glad moment is it when the throng

Of warblers in full concert strong

Strive, and not vainly strive, to rout

And, as if wishful to disarm
Or to repay the potent Charm,
She bears the stringèd lute of old romance,
That cheered the trellised arbour's privacy,
And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered
hall.

How vivid, yet how delicate, her glee!

So tripped the Muse, inventress of the dance; So, truant in waste woods, the blithe Euphrosyne !

But the ringlets of that head
Why are they ungarlanded?
Why bedeck her temples less
Than the simplest shepherdess?
Is it not a brow inviting
Choicest flowers that ever breathed,
Which the myrtle would delight in
With Idalian rose enwreathed?
But her humility is well content

With one wild floweret (call it not forlorn)
FLOWER OF THE WINDS, beneath her bosom

worn

Yet more for love than ornament.

Open, ye thickets! let her fly,

Swift as a Thracian Nymph o'er field and height!

For She, to all but those who love her, shy,
Would gladly vanish from a Stranger's sight;
Though where she is beloved and loves,
Light as the wheeling butterfly she moves;
Her happy spirit as a bird is free,
That rifles blossoms on a tree,
Turning them inside out with arch audacity.
Alas! how little can a moment show
Of an eye where feeling plays
In ten thousand dewy rays;

A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
-She stops-is fastened to that rivulet's side;
And there (while, with sedater mien,
O'er timid waters that have scarcely left
Their birth-place in the rocky cleft
She bends) at leisure may be seen
Features to old ideal grace allied,
Amid their smiles and dimples dignified-
Fit countenance for the soul of primal truth:
The bland composure of eternal youth!

What more changeful than the sea?
But over his great tides

Fidelity presides;

And this light-hearted Maiden constant is as he.
High is her aim as heaven above,

And wide as ether her good-will;
And, like the lowly reed, her love

Met by the rainbow's form divine,

Issuing from her cloudy shrine :-
So may the thrillings of the lyre
Prevail to further our desire,

While to these shades a sister Nymph I call.

"Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce,
Come, youngest of the lovely Three,
Submissive to the might of verse
And the dear voice of harmony,
By none more deeply felt than Thee!"
-I sang; and lo! from pastimes virginal
She hastens to the tents

Of nature, and the lonely elements.

Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen; But mark her glowing cheek, her vesture green!

Insight as keen as frosty star

Is to her charity no bar,

Nor interrupts her frolic graces

When she is, far from these wild places,
Encircled by familiar faces.

O the charm that manners draw,
Nature, from thy genuine law!
If from what her hand would do,
Her voice would utter, aught ensue
Untoward or unfit;

She, in benign affections pure,

In self-forgetfulness secure,

Sheds round the transient harm or vague mis

chance

A light unknown to tutored elegance:

Hers is not a cheek shame-stricken,
But her blushes are joy-flushes;
And the fault (if fault it be)
Only ministers to quicken
Laughter-loving gaiety,

And kindle sportive wit

Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free
As if she knew that Oberon king of Faery
Had crossed her purpose with some quaint
vagary,

And heard his viewless bands

Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands.

"Last of the Three, though eldest born,
Reveal thyself, like pensive Morn
Touched by the skylark's earliest note,
Ere humbler gladness be afloat.

But whether in the semblance drest

Of Dawn-or Eve, fair vision of the west,
Come with each anxious hope subdued
By woman's gentle fortitude,

Each grief, through meekness, settling into rest. --Or I would hail thee when some high-wrought page

Of a closed volume lingering in thy hand
Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand
Among the glories of a happier age."
Her brow hath opened on me--see it there,
Brightening the umbrage of her hair;
So gleams the crescent moon, that loves
To be descried through shady groves.
Tenderest bloom is on her check;
Wish not for a richer streak;

Nor dread the depth of meditative eye;
But let thy love, upon that azure field
Of thoughtfulness and beauty, yield
Its homage offered up in purity.
What would'st thou more? In sunny glade,
Or under leaves of thickest shade,
Was such a stillness e'er diffused
Since earth grew calm while angels mused?
Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth
To crush the mountain dew-drops- soon to melt
On the flower's breast; as if she felt
That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue,
With all their fragrance, all their glistening,
Call to the heart for inward listening-

And though for bridal wreaths and tokens true
Welcomed wisely though a growth

:

Which the careless shepherd sleeps on

As fitly spring from turf the mourner weeps onAnd without wrong are cropped the marble

tomb to strew.

The Charm is over; the mute Phantoms gone,
Nor will return-but droop not, favoured Youth;
The apparition that before thee shone
Obeyed a summons covetous of truth.
From these wild rocks thy footsteps I will guide
To bowers in which thy fortune may be tried,
And one of the bright Three become thy happy
Bride.

1828.

XLI.

THE WISHING-GATE.

In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old high-way leading to Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the Wishing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favourable issue.

HOPE rules a land for ever green :

All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen
Are confident and gay;
Clouds at her bidding disappear

Points she to aught?-the bliss draws near,
And Fancy smooths the way.

Not such the land of Wishes-there
Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer,
And thoughts with things at strife;
Yet how forlorn, should ye depart,
Ye superstitions of the heart,

How poor, were human life!
When magic lore abjured its might,
Ye did not forfeit one dear right,
One tender claim abate;
Witness this symbol of your sway,
Surviving near the public way,
The rustic Wishing-gate!
Inquire not if the faery race
Shed kindly influence on the place,
Ere northward they retired;
If here a warrior left a spell,
Panting for glory as he fell;

Or here a saint expired.
Enough that all around is fair,
Composed with Nature's finest care,
And in her fondest love-
Peace to embosom and content-
To overawe the turbulent,

The selfish to reprove.

Yea! even the Stranger from afar,
Reclining on this moss-grown bar,
Unknowing, and unknown,
The infection of the ground partakes,
Longing for his Beloved-who makes
All happiness her own.

Then why should conscious Spirits fear
The mystic stirrings that are here,
The ancient faith disclaim?
The local Genius ne'er befriends
Desires whose course in folly ends,

Whose just reward is shame.
Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn,
If some, by ceaseless pains outworn
Here crave an easier lot;

If some have thirsted to renew
A broken vow, or bind a true,

With firmer, holier knot.

And not in vain, when thoughts are cast
Upon the irrevocable past,

Some Penitent sincere
May for a worthier future sigh,
While trickles from his downcast eye
No unavailing tear.

The Worldling, pining to be freed
From turmoil, who would turn or speed
The current of his fate,
Might stop before this favoured scene,
At Nature's call, nor blush to lean
Upon the Wishing-gate.

The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak
Is man, though loth such help to seek,
Yet, passing, here might pause,
And thirst for insight to allay
Misgiving, while the crimson day
In quietness withdraws;

gone-with old belief and dream

That round it clung, and tempting scheme
Released from fear and doubt;

And the bright landscape too must lie,
By this blank wall, from every eye,
Relentlessly shut out.

Bear witness ye who seldom passed
That opening-but a look ye cast
Upon the lake below,

What spirit-stirring power it gained
From faith which here was entertained,
Though reason might say no.

Blest is that ground, where, o'er the springs
Of history, Glory claps her wings,

Fame sheds the exulting tear;
Yet earth is wide, and many a nook
Unheard of is, like this, a book
For modest meanings dear.
It was in sooth a happy thought
That grafted, on so fair a spot,

So confident a token

Of coming good-the charm is fled;
Indulgent centuries spun a thread,

Which one harsh day has broken.
Alas! for him who gave the word:
Could he no sympathy afford,

Derived from earth or heaven, To hearts so oft by hope betrayed; Their very wishes wanted aid

Which here was freely given?
Where, for the love-lorn maiden's wound,
Will now so readily be found

A balm of expectation?
Anxious for far-off children, where
Shall mothers breathe a like sweet air
Of home-felt consolation?
And not unfelt will prove the loss
'Mid trivial care and petty cross

And each day's shallow grief,
Though the most easily beguiled
Were oft among the first that smiled

At their own fond belief.

If still the reckless change we mourn,
A reconciling thought may turn

To harm that might lurk here,
Ere judgment prompted from within
Fit aims, with courage to begin,

And strength to persevere.

Not Fortune's slave is Man: our state
Enjoins, while firm resolves await

On wishes just and wise,
That strenuous action follow both,
And life be one perpetual growth
Of heaven-ward enterprise.

So taught, so trained, we boldly face
All accidents of time and place:
Whatever props may fail,

Trust in that sovereign law can spread New glory o'er the mountain's head,

Fresh beauty through the vale. That truth informing mind and heart, The simplest cottager may part,

Ungrieved, with charm and spell: And yet, lost Wishing-gate, to thee The voice of grateful memory Shall bid a kind farewell!

XLIII.

THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK.

A Rock there is whose homely front The passing traveller slights:

Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, Like stars, at various heights:

And one coy Primrose to that Rock

The vernal breeze invites.

What hideous warfare hath been waged,
What kingdoms overthrown.

Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft
And marked it for my own;

A lasting link in Nature's chain
From highest heaven let down!
The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
Their fellowship renew:

The stems are faithful to the root,

That worketh out of view;

And to the rock the root adheres

In every fibre true.

Close clings to earth the living rock,
Though threatening still to fall;
The earth is constant to her sphere;
And God upholds them all:

So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads
Her annual funeral,

Here closed the meditative strain;

But air breathed soft that day,

The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, The sunny vale looked gay.

And to the Primrose of the Rock

gave this after-lay.

I sang-Let myriads of bright flowers,
Like Thee, in field and grove
Revive unenvied ;-mightier far,
Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope,
Is God's redeeming love:

That love which changed-for wan disease,
For sorrow that had bent

O'er hopeless dust, for withered age-
Their moral element,

And turned the thistles of a curse
To types beneficent.

Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
The reasoning Sons of Men.
From one oblivious winter called
Shall rise, and breathe again :
And in eternal summer lose
Our threescore years and ten.
To humbleness of heart descends
This prescience from on high,
The faith that elevates the just,
Before and when they die ;

And makes each soul a separate heaven,
A court for Deity.

1831.

XLIV.

PRESENTIMENTS

PRESENTIMENTS! they judge not right Who deem that ye from open light Retire in fear of shame;

All heaven-born Instincts shun the touch Of vulgar sense,-and, being such,

Such privilege ye claim.

The tear whose source I could not guess,
The deep sigh that seemed fatherless,

Were mine in early days;
And now, unforced by time to part
With fancy, I obey my heart,

And venture on your praise.
What though some busy foes to good,
Too potent over nerve and blood,

Lurk near you-and combine
To taint the health which ye infuse;
This hides not from the moral Muse
Your origin divine.

How oft from you, derided Powers!
Comes Faith that inauspicious hours
Builds castles, not of air:
Bodings unsanctioned by the will
Flow from your visionary skill,
And teach us to beware.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift,

Shall vanish, if ye please,

Like morning mist: and, where it lay,
The spirits at your bidding play

In gaiety and ease.

Star-guided contemplations move

That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year

Should knell them to the tomb. Unwelcome insight! Yet there are Blest times when mystery is laid bare, Truth shows a glorious face, While on that isthmus which commands The councils of both worlds, she stands, Sage Spirits! by your grace.

God, who instructs the brutes to scent All changes of the element,

Whose wisdom fixed the scale

Of natures, for our wants provides
By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,
When lights of reason fail.

1830.

XLV.

VERNAL ODE.

Rerum Natura tota est nusquam magis quam in minimis.-PLIN. NAT. HIST.

I.

BENEATH the concave of an April sky,
When all the fields with freshest green were
dight,

Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye
That aids or supersedes our grosser sight,
The form and rich habıliments of One

Whose countenance bore resemblance to the

sun,

When it reveals, in evening majesty,

Features half lost amid their own pure light.
Poised like a weary cloud, in middle air
He hung, then floated with angelic ease

above

Prognostics that ye rule;
The naked Indian of the wild,
And haply, too, the cradled Child,
Are pupils of your school.

But who can fathom your intents,
Number their signs or instruments?
A rainbow, a sunbeam,

A subtle smell that Spring unbinds,
Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds,
An echo, or a dream.

The laughter of the Christmas hearth With sighs of self-exhausted mirth

Ye feelingly reprove:

And daily, in the conscious breast,
Your visitations are a test

And exercise of love.

Till he had reached a summit sharp and bare, Where oft the venturous heifer drinks the noon

The melancholy gates of Death
Respond with sympathetic motion;
Though all that feeds on nether air,
Howe'er magnificent or fair,
Grows but to perish, and entrust
Its ruins to their kindred dust:

Yet, by the Almighty's ever-during care,
Her procreant vigils Nature keeps
Amid the unfathomable deeps;
And saves the peopled fields of earth
From dread of emptiness or dearth.

Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd the sky
The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty,
The shadow-casting race of trees survive:
Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive
Sweet flowers-what living eye hath viewed
Their myriads?-endlessly renewed,
Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray;
Where'er the subtle waters stray;
Wherever sportive breezes bend

Their course, or genial showers descend!
Mortals, rejoice! the very Angels quit
Their mansions unsusceptible of change,
Amid your pleasant bowers to sit,

And through your sweet vicissitudes to range!"

IV.

O, nursed at happy distance from the cares
Of a too-anxious world, mild pastoral Muse!
That, to the sparkling crown Urania wears,
And to her sister Clio's laurel wreath,
Prefer'st a garland culled from purple heath,
Or blooming thicket moist with morning dews:
Was such bright Spectacle vouchsafed to me?
And was it granted to the simple ear
Of thy contented Votary

Such melody to hear!

Him rather suits it, side by side with thee,
Wrapped in a fit of pleasing indolence,
While thy tired lute hangs on the hawthorn-tree,
To lie and listen-till o'er-drowsed sense
Sinks, hardly conscious of the influence-
To the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee.
-A slender sound! yet hoary Time
Doth to the Soul exalt it with the chime
Of all his years;-a company
Of ages coming, ages gone;
(Nations from before them sweeping,
Regions in destruction steeping,)
But every awful note in unison
With that faint utterance, which tells
Of treasure sucked from buds and bells,
For the pure keeping of those waxen cells;
Where She a statist prudent to confer
Upon the common weal; a warrior bold,
Radiant all over with unburnished gold,
And armed with living spear for mortal fight;
A cunning forager

That spreads no waste; a social builder; one In whom all busy offices unite

With all fine functions that afford delightSafe through the winter storm in quiet dwells!

V.

Of vision ?-o'er this tempting flower
And is She brought within the
power
Hovering until the petals stay
Her flight, and take its voice away -
Observe each wing!-a tiny van!
The structure of her laden thigh,
How fragile yet of ancestry
Mysteriously remote and high;
High as the imperial front of man;
The roseate bloom on woman's cheek;
The soaring eagle's curved beak ;
The white plumes of the floating swan:
Old as the tiger's paw, the lion's mane
Ere shaken by that mood of stern disdain
At which the desert trembles.-Humming Bee!
Thy sting was needless then, perchance un-

known,

The seeds of malice were not sown;

All creatures met in peace, from fierceness free, And no pride blended with their dignity.

- Tears had not broken from their source; Nor Anguish strayed from her Tartarean den; The golden years maintained a course Not undiversified though smooth and even; We were not mocked with glimpse and shadow then,

Bright Seraphs mixed familiarly with men ; And earth and stars composed a universal heaven!

1817.

XLVI.

DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS.

"Not to the earth confined,

Ascend to heaven."

WHERE will they stop, those breathing Powers,
The Spirits of the new-born flowers?
They wander with the breeze, they wind
Where'er the streams a passage find;
Up from their native ground they rise
In mute aerial harmonies;
From humble violet- modest thyme-
Exhaled, the essential odours climb,
As if no space below the sky
Their subtle flight could satisfy:

Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride
If like ambition be their guide.

Roused by this kindliest of May-showers,
The spirit-quickener of the flowers,
That with moist virtue softly cleaves
The buds, and freshens the young leaves,
The birds pour forth their souls in notes
Of rapture from a thousand throats-
Here checked by too impetuous haste,
While there the music runs to waste,
With bounty more and more enlarged,
Till the whole air is overcharged;
Give ear, O Man! to their appeal
And thirst for no inferior zeal,
Thou, who canst think, as well as feel.

Mount from the earth; aspire ! aspire!
So pleads the town's cathedral quire,
In strains that from their solemn height