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astward, were sparkling clear, and in
the west he orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired ito a silent bay, or sportively lanced sideway, leaving the tumult
uous throng, 'o cut across the reflex of a staro; mage, that, flying still before me,
gleamed Jpon the glassy plain : and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the
wind, And all the shadowy banks on either
train, Frebler and feebler, and I stood and
watched Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.
Of jocund din! And, when there came
and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years
old. Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the church
yard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school ; And through that church-yard when my
way has led On summer-evenings, I believe, that
there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies !
THERE WAS A BOY
Written in Germany. This is an extract from the poein on my own poetical education. (Wordstorth. The poein referred to is The Prelude.)
Written in Germany ; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but strnek out as not being wanted there.
THERE was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye
It seems a day cliffs
(I speak of one from many singled out) And islands of Winander!-many a time, One of those heavenly days that cannot Atevening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders And there, with fingers interwoven, both slung, hands
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned Pressed closely palm to palm and to his
my steps mouth
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, quaint, Plew mimic bootings to the silent owls., Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off That they iniglit answer him.--And they
weeds would shout
Which for that service had been husAcross the watery vale, and shout again,
banded, Responsive to his call, with quivering By exhortation of my frugal Damepeals,
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile And long halloos, and screams, and At thorns, and brakes, and brambles-echoes loud
and, in truth, Redoubled and redoubled ; concourse More ragged than need was !
The silent trees, and saw the intruding
sky.Then, dearest Maiden, move along these
shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch--for there is a spirit in the woods
STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE
Through beds of matted fern, and tan
gled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, un
gracious sign Of devastation ; but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with tempting clusters
hung, A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the
heart As joy delights in ; and, with wise re
straint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet ;-or beneath the trees I
sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers
I played ; A temper known to those, who, after
long And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose
leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam, And--with my cheek on one of those
green stones That, fleeced with moss, under the shady
trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of
sheepI heard the murmur and the murmuring
sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves
The next three poems were written in
Germany. (Wordsworth.) STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening-moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea ; With quickening pace my horse drew
nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot: And, as we climbed the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon ! And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon. My horse moved on ; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped : When down behind the cottage rooi, At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will
slide Into a Lover's head!
O mercy!” to myself I cried, “ If Lucy should be dead!”
Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent
things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and
stones And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And tagged to earth both branch and
bough, with crash And merciless ravage : and the shady
nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy
bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the
past ; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of
kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ;
Ihall no human fears : She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force ;
She neither hears nor sees ; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.
* THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN
A POET'S EPITAPH
ART thou a Statist in the van
A Lawyer art thou ?-draw not nigh !
Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Or art thou one of gallant pride,
-Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Physician art thou ? one all eyes, Philosopher! a fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave ?
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, () turn aside,-and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, Thy ever-dwindling soul away!
A Moralist perchance appears ;
In the School of - is a tablet, on which are inscribed in gilt letters, the Names of the sev. eral persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the Author wrote the following lines,
Such a Tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to our time. This and other poems connected with Matthew would not gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in "The Excursion," this Schoolmaster was made up of several both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, being true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a mamer not unworthy of a Poet's calling. (Wordsuorth.)
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can
cling Nor form, nor feeling, great or small ! A reasoning, self-suflicing thing, An intellectual All-in-all!
If Nature, for a favorite child,
Shut close the door; press down the
Read o'er these lines; and then review
But who is he, with modest looks,
He is retired as noontide dew,
- When through this little wreck of
fame, Cipher and syllable! thine eve llas travelled down to Matthew's name. Pause with no common sympathy. And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Then be it neither checked nor stayed : For Matthew a request I make Which for himself he hath not made. Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Is silent as a standing pool ; Far from the chimney's merry roar, And murmur of the village school. The sighs which Matthew heaved were
sighis Of one tired out with fun and madness ;
In common things that round us lie
“No fountain from its rocky cave
“There came from me a sigh of pain
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
A village schoolmaster was he,
Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
With rod and line I sued the sport
“ Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade,