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WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE,

IN THE HARTZ FOREST

hears a rustling o'er the brook, sees far off a swinging bough! 'is He! 'Tis my betrothed Knight!

Lord Falkland, it is Thou !" e springs, she clasps him round the

neck, e sobs a thousand hopes and fears, ir kisses glowing on his cheeks She quenches with her tears.

I STOOD on Brocken's sovran height, and

saw

My friends with rude ungentle words ley scoff and bid me fly to thee! give me shelter in thy breast !

O shield and shelter me ! My Henry, I have given thee much, gave what I can ne'er recall! gave my heart, I gave my peace,

O Heaven! I gave thee all.”
he Knight made answer to the Maid,
Vhile to his heart he held her hand,
Nine castles hath my noble sire,

None statelier in the land.
The fairest one shall be my love's,
"he fairest castle of the nine !
Vait only till the stars peep out,

The fairest shall be thine :
* Wait only till the hand of eve
Iath wholly closed yon western bars,
And through the dark we two will steal

Beneath the twinkling stars !”— * The dark ? the dark ? No! not the

dark ! The twinkling stars? How, Henry ?

How?
O God! 'twas in the eye of noon

He pledged his sacred vow !
"And in the eye of noon my love
Shall lead me from my mother's door,
Sweet boys and girls all clothed in white

Strewing flowers before :
“ But first the nodding minstrels go
With music meet for lordly bowers,
The children next in snow-white vests,

Strewing buds and flowers !
And then my love and I shall pace,
My jet black hair in pearly braids,
Between our comely bachelors

And blushing bridal maids."

Woods crowding upon woods, hills over

hills, A surging scene, and only limited By the blue distance. Heavily my way Downward I dragged through fir groves

evermore, Where bright green moss heaves in

sepulchral forms Speckled with sunshine ; and, but sel

dom heard, The sweet bird's song became an hollow

sound : And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, Preserved its solemn murmur most dis

tinct From many a note of many a waterfall, And the brook's chatter ; 'mid whose

islet-stones The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat Sat, his white beard slow waving. I

moved on In low and languid mood : for I had

found That outward forms, the loftiest, still

receive Their finer influence from the Life

within ;Fair cyphers else : fair, but of import

vague Or unconcerning, where the heart not

finds History or prophecy of friend, or child, Or gentle maid, our first and early love, Or father, or the venerable name Of our adored country! O thou Queen, Thou delegated Deity of Earth, O dear, dear England ! how my longing

eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady

clouds Thy sands and high white cliffs !

66

My native Land ! Filled with the thought of thee this

heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears : that

all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody

bills, Floated away, like a departing dream,

1798. 1834.

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Feeble and dim! Stranger, these im

pulses Blame thou not lightly ; nor will I

profane, With hasty judgment or injurious

doubt, That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who

framed Mankind to be one mighty family, Himself our Father, and the World our

Home.
May 17, 1799. September 17, 1799.

ODE TO TRANQUILLITY
TRANQUILLITY ! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame !
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue, or factious rage ;
For oh ! dear child of thoughtful

Truth,

To thee I gave my early youth, And left the bark, and blest the stead

fast shore, Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me

with its roar.
Who late and lingering seeks thy

shrine,
On him but seldom, Power divine,
Thy spirit rests ! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope

And dire Remembrance interlope, To vex the feverish slumbers of the

mind : The bubble floats before, the spectre

stalks behind.
But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed

mead :
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat ;
And when the gust of Autumn

crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight

clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the

heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the

gliding moon.
The feeling heart, the searching

soul,
To thee I dedicate the whole !
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan

WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise,

who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick

Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not

go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier

trade Than those which mould you cloud in

lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans

and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian

lute, Which better far were mute. For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, (With swimming phantom light o'er

spread But rimmed and circled by a silver

thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming-on of rain and squally

blast, And ob ! that even now the gust were

swelling, And the slant night-shower driving

loud and fast ! Those sounds which oft have raised me.

whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse

give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it

move and live!

1 This Ode was originally written to William Wordsworth, who was addressed as “Edmund" in the poem when first printed, on the day of Wordsworth's marriage, October 4, 1802. In that copy, the name “Eamund" oceurs at every point where "Lady" is found in the later versions and also where the name “Otway" occurs, in the Seventh stanza ; there is a corresponding difference of the personal pronouns, and some other slight differences of text, the most important of which is in the conclusion, as noted below.

II

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask

of me What this strong music in the soul may

be ! What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous

mist, This beautiful and beauty-making

power. Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er

was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest

hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once

and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in

dower, A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the

proudJoy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous

cloud

We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear

or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colors a suffusion from that light.

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and

drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no re

lief,

In word, or sigh, or tearO Lady! in this wan and heartless niood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle

wood, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And its peculiar tint of yellow green ; And still I gaze--and with how blank

an eye ! And those thin clouds above, in flakes

and bars, That give away their motion to the stars : Those stars, that glide behind them or

between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but al

ways seen ;
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are !

III
My genial spirits fail ;

And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off

my breast ?
It were a vain endeavor,

Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the

west ; I may not hope from outward forms to

win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live ; Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her

shroud ! And would we aught behold, of higher

worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah ! from the soul itself must issue

forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the EarthAnd from the soul itself must there be'

sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own

birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element !

VI

There was a time when, though my path

was rough, This joy within me dallied with dis

tress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of

happiness : For hope grew round me, like the twin

ing vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own,

seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to

earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my

mirth;

But oh! each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my

birth, My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must

feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal

From my own nature all the natural

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'Tis of a little child

Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost it

way ; And now moans low in bitter grief an

fear, And now SC ms loud, and hopes

make her mother hear.

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VIII

or

VII Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around

my mind,

Reality's dark dream ! I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed.

What a scream Of agony by torture lengthened out That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that

rav'st without, Bare

crag, or mountain-tairn,

blasted tree, Or pine-grove whither woodman never

clomb, Or lonely house, long held the witches'

home, Methinks were fitter instruments for

thee, Mad Lutanist! who in this month of

showers, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping

flowers, Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than

wintry song, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves

among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic

sounds! Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold !

What tellist thou now about?

'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout, With groans of trampled men, with

smarting woundsAt once they groan with pain, and

shudder with the cold ! But hush! there is a pause of deepest

silence ! And all that noise, as of a rushing

crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings

-all is overIt tells another tale, with sounds less

deep and loud! A tale of less affright,

And tempered with delight, As Otway's 1 self had framed the tender

lay.

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have

I of sleep: Full seldom may my friend such vigile

keep! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings

healing, And may this storm be but a moun

tain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her

dwelling, Silent as though they watched the

sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,

Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her

voice; To her may all things live, from pole to

pole, Their life the eddying of her living soul!

O simple spirit, guided from above, Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my

choice, Thus mayest thou ever, evermore re

joice.
April 4, 1802. October 4, 1802.

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE

VALE OF CHAMOUNI

Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the glaciers the Gentiata Major grows in immense numbers, with its * flowers of loveliest lue." (Coleridge.) Hast thou a charm to stay the morning

star In his steep course? So long he seems

to pause

1 In the first printed copy, “ Edmund's,” referring to Wordsworth. The following lines are evidently an allusion to Wordsworth's Lucy Gray. The conclusion is as follows in the first printed copy :

With light heart may he rise,

Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, And sing his lofty song, and teach me to rejoice!

O EDMUND, friend of my devoutest choice,
O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care,
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere,
Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice,
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul !
O simple spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love,
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st Thou ever, evermore rejoice!

Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy

light? Who made thee parent of perpetual

streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely

glad! Who called you forth from night and

utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you

forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged

rocks, For ever shattered and the same for

ever ? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury,

and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? And who commanded (and the silence

came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have

rest?

sense,

en

On thy bald awful head, O sovran

BLANC! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful

Form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial,

black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest

it, As with a wedge! But when I look

again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal

shrine, Thy habitation from eternity! o dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon

thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily Didst vanish from my thought :

tranced in prayer I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening

to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending

with my Thought, Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret

joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing--there As in her natural form, swelled vast to

Heaven! Awake. my soul ! not only passive

praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling

tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart,

awake! Green rales and icy cliffs, all join my

Hymn. Thon first and chief, sole sovereign of

the Vale! O struggling with the darkness all the

night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when

they sink: Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the

dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter

praise ! Who sank. thy sunless pillars deep in

Earth?

Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the moun

tain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty

voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest

plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the Gates of

Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade

the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with

living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at

your feet? GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of

nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo,

GOD! GOD ! sing ye meadow-streams with

gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul

like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of

snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder,

GOD!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal

frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's

nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain

storm!

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