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Lies open : we have heard from You a voice
At every moment softened in its course
By tenderness of heart; have seen your Eye,
Even like an Altar lit by fire from Heaven,
Kindle before us.—Your discourse this day,
That, like the fabled Lethe, wished to flow
In creeping sadness, through oblivious shades
Of death and night, has caught at every turn
The colours of the Sun. Access for

you
Is yet preserved to principles of truth,
Which the Imaginative Will upholds
In seats of wisdom, not to be approached
By the inferior Faculty that moulds,
With her minute and speculative pains,
Opinion, ever changing! I have seen
A curious Child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped Shell;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within
Were heard,-sonorous cadences ! whereby,
To his belief, the Monitor expressed

Mysterious union with its native Sea.
Even such a Shell the Universe itself
Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times,
I doubt not, when to You it doth impart
Authentic tidings of invisible things ;
Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power ;
And central peace, subsisting at the heart
Of endless agitation. Here you stand,
Adore, and worship, when you know it not;
Pious beyond the intention of your thought ;
Devout above the meaning of your will.
-Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel.
The estate of Man would be indeed forlorn
If false conclusions of the reasoning Power
Made the Eye blind, and closed the passages
Through which the Ear converses with the heart.
Has not the Soul, the Being of your Life
Received a shock of awful consciousness,
In some calm season, when these lofty Rocks
At night's approach bring down the unclouded Sky,
To rest upon their circumambient walls ;
A Temple framing of dimensions vast,
And yet not too enormous for the sound

Of human anthems,-choral song, or burst Sublime of instrumental harmony, To glorify the Eternal! What if these Did never break the stillness that prevails Here, if the solemn Nightingale be mute And the soft Woodlark here did never chaunt Her vespers, Nature fails not to provide Impulse and utterance. The whispering Air Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights, And blind recesses of the caverned rocks ; The little Rills, and Waters numberless, Inaudible by day-light, blend their notes With the loud Streams: and often, at the hour When issue forth the first pale Stars, is heard, Within the circuit of this Fabric huge, One Voice—the solitary Raven, flying A thwart the concave of the dark-blue dome, Unseen, perchance above the power of sightAn iron knell! with echoes from afar, Faint-and still fainter—as the cry, with which The wanderer accompanies her flight Through the calm region, fades upon the ear, Diminishing by distance till it seemed

co

To expire, yet from the Abyss is caught again,
And yet again recovered !

But descending
From these Imaginative Heights, that yield
Far-stretching views into Eternity,
Acknowledge that to Nature's humbler

power Your cherished sullenness is forced to bend Even here, where her amenities are sown With sparing hand. Then trust yourself abroad To range her blooming bowers, and spacious fields, Where on the labours of the happy Throng She smiles, including in her wide embrace City, and Town, and Tower,--and Sea with Ships Sprinkled,—be our Companion while we track Her rivers populous with gliding life; While, free as air, o'er printless sands we march, And pierce the gloom of her majestic woods ; Roaming, or resting under grateful shade In peace and meditative chearfulness ; Where living Things, and Things inanimate, Do speak, at Heaven's command, to eye and ear, And speak to social Reason's inner sense, With inarticulate language.

-For the Man,
Who, in this spirit, communes with the Forms
Of Nature, who with understanding heart,
Doth know and love, such Objects as excite
No morbid passions, no disquietude,
No vengeance,

and no hatred, needs must feel
So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught
Less

pure and exquisite, he cannot choose
But seek for objects of a kindred love
In Fellow-natures, and a kindred joy.
Accordingly, he by degrees perceives
His feelings of aversion softened down;
A holy tenderness pervade his frame.
His sanity of reason not impaired,
Say rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear,
From a clear Fountain flowing, he looks round
And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks :
Until abhorrence and contempt are things
He only knows by name; and, if he hear
From other mouths, the language which they speak,
He is compassionate; and has no thought,
No feeling, which can overcome his love.

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