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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 !

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 zephyrs 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 !"

And is She brought within the power Of vision ?-o'er this tempting flower 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 curvèd 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 unknown, 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

Iv.

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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-drowsèd sense Sinks, hardly conscious of the influenceTo 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,

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 aërial harmonies ; From humble violet-modest thymeExhaled, 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.

N

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, 0 Man! to their appeal
And thirst for no inferior zeal,
Thou, who canst think, as well as feel.

Where birds and brooks from leafy dells
Chime forth unwearied canticles,
And vapours magnify and spread
The glory of the sun's bright head-
Still constant in her worship, still
Conforming to the eternal Will,
Whether men sow or reap the fields,
Divine monition Nature yields,
That not by bread alone we live,
Or what a hand of flesh can give ;
That every day should leave some part
Free for a sabbath of the heart :
So shall the seventh be truly blest,
From morn to eve, with hallowed rest.

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A

Mount from the earth ; aspire ! aspire !
So pleads the town's cathedral quire,
In strains that from their solemn height
Sink, to attain a loftier flight;
While incense from the altar breathes
Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths ;
Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds
The taper-lights, and curls in clouds
Around angelic Forms, the still
Creation of the painter's skill,
That on the service wait concealed
One moment, and the next revealed.

-Cast off your bonds, awake, arise,
And for no transient ecstasies !
What else can mean the visual plea
Of still or moving imagery-
The iterated summons loud,
Not wasted on the attendant crowd,
Nor wholly lost upon the throng
Hurrying the busy streets along?

THE CUCKOO-CLOCK. Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken

Alight, By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell, How far-off yet a glimpse of morning light, And if to lure the truant back be well, Forbear to covet a Repeater's stroke, That, answering to thy touch, will sound the hour; Better provide thee with a Cuckoo-clock For service hung behind thy chamber-door ; And in due time the soft spontaneous shock, The double note, as if with living power, Will to composure lead-or make thee blithe as

bird in bower.

Alas! the sanctities combined By art to unsensualise the mind, Decay and languish ; or, as creeds And humours change, are spurned like weeds : The priests are from their altars thrust; Temples are levelled with the dust; And solemn rites and awful forms Founder amid fanatic storms. Yet evermore, through years renewed In undisturbed vicissitude Of seasons balancing their flight On the swift wings of day and night, Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door Wide open for the scattered Poor. Where flower-breathed incense to the skies Is wafted in mute harmonies ; And ground fresh-cloven by the plough Is fragrant with a humbler vow;

| List, Cuckoo-Cuckoo !-oft tho' tempests howl,
| Or nipping frost remind thee trees are bare,
How cattle pine, and droop the shivering fowl,
Thy spirits will seem to feed on balmy air :
I speak with knowledge,-by that Voice beguiled,
Thou wilt salute old memories as they throng
Into thy heart ; and fancies, running wild
Through fresh green fields, and budding groves

among,
Will make thee happy, happy as a child ;
Of sunshine wilt thou think, and flowers, and song,
And breathe as in a world where nothing can go

wrong.

And know-that, even for him who shuns the day
And nightly tosses on a bed of pain ;
Whose joys, from all but memory swept away,
Must come unhoped for, if they come again ;

Possing your splendours high share the bends
Of worshippers kneeling to their risen God!
Whence, whence, ye Conds! this eagerness of

Know-that, for him whose saking thoughts, severe
As his distress is shar, would soon by theme,
The mnimie putes, striking upon his est
In sleep, sad intermingling with his dream,
Could from sad regions send him to a dest
Delightfal land of verdure, shower sad pleson,
To mock the aundering voice beside some bsunted

stream.

O bounty without measure! while the grace
Of Heaven doth in such wise, from humblest

springs,
Pour pleasure forth, and solaces that trace
A mazy course along familiar things
Well may our hearts have faith that blessings oume,
Streaming from founts above the starry sky,
With angels when their own untroubled hone
They leare, and speed on nightly embassy
To visit earthly chambers, and for wbom!
Yea, both for souls who God's forbearance try
And those that seek his help, and for his merey sigh.

XLVIII.

TO THE CLOUDS. ARMT of Clouds! ye winged Host in troops Ascending from behind the motionless brow Of that tall rock, as from a hidden world, O whither with such eagerness of speed! What seek ye, or what shun ye! of the gale Companions, fear ye to be left behind, Or racing o'er your blue ethereal field Contend ye with each other! of the sea Children, thus post ye over vale and height To sink upon your mother's lap—and rest! Or were ye rightlier hailed, when first mine eyes Beheld in your impetuous march the likeness Of a wide army pressing on to meet Or overtake some unknown enemy! Bat your smooth motions suit a peaceful aim ; And Fancy, not less aptly pleased, compares Your squadrons to an endless flight of birds Aerial, upon due migration bound To milder climes; or rather do ye urge In caravan your hasty pilgrimage To pause at last on more aspiring heights Than these, and utter your devotion there With thunderous voice! Or are ye jubilant, And would ye, tracking your proud lord the Sun, Be present at his setting; or the pomp of Persian mornings would ye fill, and stand

Spest, silent creatures. They sre gone, are bed,
Buried together in yon gloomy mass
That loads the middle heaven; and clear and bright
And racant doth the region which they thronged
Appear; a calm descent of sky conducting
Down to the unspruchaisle abyss
Down to that hidden galf from which they rose
To vanish-Beet as days and months and years,
Fleet as the generations of mankind,
Power, glors, empire, as the world itself,
The lingering world, when time bath cessed to be
But the winds roar, shaking the rooted trees,
And see! a bright precursor to a train
Perchance as numerous, overpeen the rock
That sullenly refuses to partake
Of the wild impulse. From a fount of life
Invisible, the long procession mores
Luminous or gloomy, welcome to the rale
Which they are entering, welcome to mine eye
That sees them, to my soul that owns in them,
And in the bosom of the firmament
O'er which they more, wherein they are contained,
A type of her capacious self and all
Her restless progeny.

A humble walk
Here is my body doomed to tread, this path,
A little hoary line and faintly traced,
Work, shall we call it, of the shepherd's foot
Or of his flock !-joint vestige of them both.
I pace it unrepining, for my thoughts
Admit no bondage and my words have wings.
Where is the Orphean lyre, or Druid harp,
To accompany the verse! The mountain blast
Shall be our hand of music; he shall sweep
The rocks, and quivering trees, and billowy lake,
And search the fibres of the caves, and they
Shall answer, for our song is of the Clouds
And the wind loves them; and the gentle gales-
Which by their aid re-clothe the naked lawn
With annual verdure, and revive the woods,
And moisten the parched lips of thirsty flowers
Love them; and every idle breeze of air
Bends to the favourite burthen. Moon and stars
Keep their most solemn vigils when the Clouds
Watch also, shifting peaceably their place
Like bands of ministering Spirits, or when they lie,
As if some Protean art the change had wrought,
In listless quiet o'er the ethereal deep

Scattered, a Cyclades of various shapes ! And all degrees of beauty. O ye Lightnings !

Ye are their perilous offspring; and the Sun- . A sense of seemingly presumptuous wrong
Source inexhaustible of life and joy,

Gave the first impulse to the Poet's song;
And type of man's far-darting reason, therefore But, of his scorn repenting soon, he drew
In old time worshipped as the god of verse, A juster judgment from a calmer view;
A blazing intellectual deity-

And, with a spirit freed from discontent,
Loves his own glory in their looks, and showers Thankfully took an effort that was meant
Upon that unsubstantial brotherhood

Not with God's bounty, Nature's love, to vie, Visions with all but beatific light

Or made with hope to please that inward eye Enriched-—too transient were they not renewed Which ever strives in vain itself to satisfy, From age to age, and did not, while we gaze But to recal the truth by some faint trace In silent rapture, credulous desire

Of power ethereal and celestial grace, Nourish the hope that memory lacks not power

That in the living Creature find on earth a place. To keep the treasure unimpaired. Vain thought ! Yet why repine, created as we are For joy and rest, albeit to find them only Lodged in the bosom of eternal things ?

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GENIUS of Raphael ! if thy wings

Might bear thee to this glen,
With faithful memory left of things

To pencil dear and pen,
Thou would'st forego the neighbouring Rhine,

And all his majesty
A studious forehead to incline

O'er this poor family.

The Mother-her thou must have seen,

In spirit, ere she came
To dwell these rifted rocks between,

Or found on earth a name;
An image, too, of that sweet Boy,

Thy inspirations give
Of playfulness, and love, and joy,

Predestined here to live.

The gentlest Poet, with free thoughts endowed,
And a true master of the glowing strain,
Might scan the narrow province with disdain
That to the Painter's skill is here allowed.
This, this the Bird of Paradise ! disclaim
The daring thought, forget the name;
This the Sun's Bird, whom Glendoveers might

own
As no unworthy Partner in their flight
Through seas of ether, where the ruffling sway
Of nether air's rude billows is unknown;
Whom Sylphs, if e'er for casual pastime they
Through India's spicy regions wing their way,
Might bow to as their Lord. What character,
O sovereign Nature! I appeal to thee,
Of all thy feathered progeny
Is so unearthly, and what shape so fair?
So richly decked in variegated down,
Green, sable, shining yellow, shadowy brown,
Tints softly with each other blended,
Hues doubtfully begun and ended;
Or intershooting, and to sight
Lost and recovered, as the rays of light
Glance on the conscious plumes touched here and

there?
Full surely, when with such proud gifts of life
Began the pencil's strife,
O’erweening Art was caught as in a snare.

Downcast, or shooting glances far,

How beautiful his eyes,
That blend the nature of the star

With that of summer skies !
I speak as if of sense beguiled;

Uncounted months are gone,
Yet am I with the Jewish Child,

That exquisite Saint John.

I see the dark brown curls, the brow,

The smooth transparent skin,
Refined, as with intent to show

The holiness within ;

The grace of parting Infancy

By blushes yet untamed;
Age faithful to the mother's knee,

Nor of her arms ashamed.

Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,
And whispers for the heart, their slave;
And shrieks, that revel in abuse
Of shivering flesh; and warbled air,
Whose piercing sweetness can unloose
The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile
Into the ambush of despair ;
Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle,
And requiems answered by the pulse that beats
Devoutly, in life's last retreats!

Two lovely Sisters, still and sweet

As flowers, stand side by side ;
Their soul-subduing looks might cheat

The Christian of his pride:
Such beauty hath the Eternal poured

Upon them not forlorn,
Though of a lineage once abhorred,

Nor yet redeemed from scorn.

Mysterious safeguard, that, in spite

Of poverty and wrong,
Doth here preserve a living light,

From Hebrew fountains sprung;
That gives this ragged group to cast

Around the dell a gleam Of Palestine, of glory past,

And proud Jerusalem !

The headlong streams and fountains
Serve Thee, invisible Spirit, with untired powers ;
Cheering the wakeful tent on Syrian mountains,
They lull perchance ten thousand thousand flowers.
That roar, the prowling lion's Here I am,
How fearful to the desert wide !
That bleat, how tender! of the dam
Calling a straggler to her side.
Shout, cuckoo !—let the vernal soul
Go with thee to the frozen zone;
Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone bell-bird, toll !
At the still hour to Mercy dear,
Mercy from her twilight throne
Listening to nun's faint throb of holy fear,
To sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea,
Or widow's cottage-lullaby.

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III.
ARGUMENT.
The Ear addressed, as occupied by a spiritual functionary,

Ye Voices, and ye Shadows in comununion with sounds, individual, or combined in And Images of voice-to hound and horn studied harmony.-Sources and effects of those sounds From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows (to the close of 6th Stanza).-The power of music,

Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn--whence proceeding, exemplified in the idiot.--Origin of music, and its effect in early ages—how produced (to the

On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells middle of 10th Stanza).-The mind recalled to sounds A greeting give of measured glee; acting casually and severally.-Wish uttered (11th And milder echoes from their cells Stanza) that these could be united into a scheme or

Repeat the bridal symphony. system for moral interests and intellectual contemplation.-(Stanza 12th). The Pythagorean theory of

Then, or far earlier, let us rove numbers and music, with their supposed power over the Where mists are breaking up or gone, motions of the universe-imaginations consonant with And from aloft look down into a cove auch a theory.-Wish expressed (in 11th Stanza) realised,

Besprinkled with a careless quire, in some degree, by the representation of all sounds under the form of thanksgiving to the Creator.-(Last Stanza)

| Happy milk-maids, one by one the destruction of earth and the planetary system-the Scattering a ditty each to her desire, survival of audible harmony, and its support in the A liquid concert matchless by nice Art, Divine Nature, as revealed in Holy Writ.

A stream as if from one full heart.

iv.

Tay functions are ethereal,
As if within thee dwelt a glancing mind,
Organ of vision! And a Spirit aërial
Informs the cell of Hearing, dark and blind;
Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought
To enter than oracular cave;

Blest be the song that brightens
The blind man's gloom, exalts the veteran's mirth;
Unscorned the peasant's whistling breath, that

lightens
| His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth.

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