CCLIV.

THE RETREAT.

APPY those early days, when I
Shined in my Angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first Love,
And looking back, at that short space
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense,
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence th' enlightened spirit sees
That shady City of Palm trees!
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way :-
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

H. Vaughan.

CCLV.

ODE.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY

CHILDHOOD.

I.

HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and

stream,

The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore :-
Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

II.

The Rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare :
Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth,

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

III.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains strong,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every Beast keep holiday ;-
Thou Child of Joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!

IV.

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ;
My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,

And the Children are culling

On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm :-
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

-But there's a Tree, of many, one,

A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone :
The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn :
Through all the hours of night until the dawn
They sleep, forgetting fear.

The hare sleeps where it lies
With wary half-closed eyes;

The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck :
Only the fox is out, some heedless duck
Or chicken to surprise.

Remote, each single star

Comes out, till there they are

All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp! While close at hand the glowworm lights her lamp Or twinkles from afar.

But evening now is done
As much as if the sun

Day-giving had arisen in the East:

For night has come; and the great calm has ceased, The quiet sands have run.

C. Rossetti.

CCLII.

THE FOUNTAIN.

E talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,

Beside a mossy seat;

And from the turf a fountain broke,

And gurgled at our feet.

'Now, Matthew !' said I, 'let us match This water's pleasant tune

With some old border-song, or catch,
That suits a summer's noon;

Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade.
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made !'

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old man replied,

The grey-haired man of glee :

'No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears;

How merrily it goes!

'Twill murmur on a thousand years,

And flow as now it flows!

And here, on this delightful day,

I cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.

My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears

Which in those days I heard.

Thus fares it still in our decay :

And yet the wiser mind

Mourns less for what age takes away

Than what it leaves behind.

The blackbird amid leafy trees,

The lark above the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please,

Are quiet when they will.