Composed 1826-34.—Published 1835
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
Though many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain 5
Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
Are grateful and rejoice!
Delicious odours! music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away! 10
Oh for a deathless song to meet
The soul's desire—a lay
That, when a thousand years are told,
Should praise thee, genial Power!
Through summer heat, autumnal cold, 15
And winter's dreariest hour.
Earth, sea, thy presence feel—nor less,
If yon ethereal blue
With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too. 20
The inmost heart of man if glad
Partakes a livelier cheer;
And eyes that cannot but be sad
Let fall a brightened tear.
Since thy return, through days and weeks 25
Of hope that grew by stealth,
How many wan and faded cheeks
Have kindled into health!
The Old, by thee revived, have said,
"Another year is ours;" 30
And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed,
Have smiled upon thy flowers.
Who tripping lisps a merry song
Amid his playful peers?
The tender Infant who was long 35
A prisoner of fond fears;
But now, when every sharp-edged blast
Is quiet in its sheath,
His Mother leaves him free to taste
Earth's sweetness in thy breath. 40
Thy help is with the weed that creeps
Along the humblest ground;
No cliff so bare but on its steeps
Thy favours may be found;
But most on some peculiar nook 45
That our own hands have drest,
Thou and thy train are proud to look,
And seem to love it best.
And yet how pleased we wander forth
When May is whispering, "Come! 50
"Choose from the bowers of virgin earth
"The happiest for your home;
"Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread
"From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,
"Drops on the mouldering turret's head, 55
"And on your turf-clad graves!"
Such greeting heard, away with sighs
For lilies that must fade,
Or "the rathe primrose as it dies
Forsaken"[426] in the shade! 60
Vernal fruitions and desires
Are linked in endless chase;
While, as one kindly growth retires,
Another takes its place.
And what if thou, sweet May, hast known 65
Mishap by worm and blight;
If expectations newly blown
Have perished in thy sight;
If loves and joys, while up they sprung,
Were caught as in a snare; 70
Such is the lot of all the young,
However bright and fair.
Lo! Streams that April could not check
Are patient of thy rule;
Gurgling in foamy water-break, 75
Loitering in glassy pool:
By thee, thee only, could be sent
Such gentle mists as glide,
Curling with unconfirmed intent,
On that green mountain's side. 80
How delicate the leafy veil
Through which yon house of God
Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale[427]
By few but shepherds trod!
And lowly huts, near beaten ways, 85
No sooner stand attired
In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise
Peep forth, and are admired.
Season of fancy and of hope,
Permit not for one hour, 90
A blossom from thy crown to drop,
Nor add to it a flower!
Keep, lovely May, as if by touch
Of self-restraining art,
This modest charm of not too much, 95
Part seen, imagined part!
Composed 1826.—Published 1827
"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme."
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Percy's Reliques.—W. W.
["No faculty yet given me to espy
The dusky Shape within her arms imbound."
Afterwards, when I could not avoid seeing it, I wondered at
this, and the more so because, like most children, I had been
in the habit of watching the moon through all her changes, and
had often continued to gaze at it when at the full till half
blinded.—I. F.]
From 1827 to 1842, one of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems."
In 1845 transferred to the "Miscellaneous Poems."—Ed.
Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy
The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost 5
Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost.
Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appeared was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim; 10
To expectations spreading with wild growth,
And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.
I saw (ambition quickening at the view)
A silver boat launched on a boundless flood;
A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw 15
Its brightest splendour round a leafy wood;
But not a hint from under-ground, no sign
Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine.[428]
Or was it Dian's self[428] that seemed to move
Before me?—nothing blemished the fair sight; 20
On her I looked whom jocund Fairies love,
Cynthia,[428] who puts the little stars to flight,
And by that thinning magnifies the great,
For exaltation of her sovereign state.
And when I learned to mark the spectral Shape 25
As each new Moon obeyed the call of Time,
If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape;
Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime,
To see or not to see, as best may please
A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease. 30
Now, dazzling Stranger! when thou meet'st my glance,
Thy dark Associate ever I discern;
Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance
While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern;
Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain 35
Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain.
So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;
A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring
The timely insight that can temper fears,
And from vicissitude remove its sting; 40
While Faith aspires to seats in that domain
Where joys are perfect—neither wax nor wane.
Composed 1826.—Published 1835[429]
[The walk is what we call the Far-terrace, beyond the
summerhouse at Rydal Mount. The lines were written when
we were afraid of being obliged to quit the place to which we
were so much attached.—I.F.]
One of the "Inscriptions."—Ed.
The massy Ways, carried across these heights[430]
By Roman perseverance,[431] are destroyed,
Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms.
How venture then to hope that Time will spare[432]
This humble Walk? Yet on the mountain's side 5
A Poet's hand first shaped it; and the steps
Of that same Bard—repeated to and fro
At morn, at noon,[433] and under moonlight skies
Through the vicissitudes of many a year—
Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line. 10
No longer, scattering to the heedless winds
The vocal raptures of fresh poesy,
Shall he frequent these precincts; locked no more
In earnest converse with beloved Friends,
Here will he gather stores of ready bliss, 15
As from the beds and borders of a garden
Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may spring
Out of a farewell yearning—favoured more
Than kindred wishes mated suitably
With vain regrets—the Exile would consign 20
This Walk, his loved possession, to the care
Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse.[434]
FAREWELL LINES[435]
Composed 1826.—Published 1842
[These lines were designed as a farewell to Charles Lamb
and his sister, who had retired from the throngs of London to
comparative solitude in the village of Enfield—I.F.]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.
"High bliss is only for a higher state,"[436]
But, surely, if severe afflictions borne
With patience merit the reward of peace,
Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,
Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here 5
With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof
To you accorded, never be withdrawn,
Nor for the world's best promises renounced.
Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend,
Fresh from the crowded city, to behold 10
That lonely union, privacy so deep,
Such calm employments, such entire content.
So when the rain is over, the storm laid,
A pair of herons oft-times have I seen,
Upon a rocky islet, side by side, 15
Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;
And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen,
Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,
As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light,
Each with the other, on the dewy ground, 20
Where He that made them blesses their repose.—
When wandering among lakes and hills I note,
Once more, those creatures thus by nature paired,
And guarded in their tranquil state of life,
Even, as your happy presence to my mind 25
Their union brought, will they repay the debt,
And send a thankful spirit back to you,
With hope that we, dear Friends! shall meet again.
1827
The poems composed in 1827 were for the most part sonnets.
But several of those first published in 1827 evidently belong to
an earlier year, the date of which it is impossible to discover.—Ed.
THE WORK OF E. M. S.[437]
Composed 1827.—Published 1827
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.
Frowns are on every Muse's face,
Reproaches from their lips are sent,
That mimicry should thus disgrace
The noble Instrument.
A very Harp in all but size! 5
Needles for strings in apt gradation!
Minerva's self would stigmatize
The unclassic profanation.
Even her own needle that subdued
Arachne's rival spirit,[438] 10
Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood,
Such honour[439] could not merit.
And this, too, from the Laureate's Child,
A living lord of melody!
How will her Sire be reconciled 15
To the refined indignity?
I spake, when whispered a low voice,
"Bard! moderate your ire;
Spirits of all degrees rejoice
In presence of the lyre. 20
The Minstrels of Pygmean bands,[440]
Dwarf Genii, moonlight-loving Fays,
Have shells to fit their tiny hands
And suit their slender lays.
Some, still more delicate of ear, 25
Have lutes (believe my words)
Whose framework is of gossamer,
While sunbeams are the chords.
Gay Sylphs[B] this miniature will court,
Made vocal by their brushing wings, 30
And sullen Gnomes[441] will learn to sport
Around its polished strings;
Whence strains to love-sick maiden dear,
While in her lonely bower she tries
To cheat the thought she cannot cheer, 35
By fanciful embroideries.
Trust, angry Bard! a knowing Sprite,
Nor think the Harp her lot deplores;
Though 'mid the stars the Lyre shine[442] bright,
Love stoops as fondly as he soars."[443] 40
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS
DEDICATION
Composed 1827.—Published 1827
[In the cottage, Town-end, Grasmere, one afternoon in 1801,
my Sister read to me the Sonnets of Milton. I had long been
well acquainted with them, but I was particularly struck on
that occasion by the dignified simplicity and majestic harmony
that runs through most of them,—in character so totally different
from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's fine
Sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced
three Sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote
except an irregular one at school. Of these three, the only one
I distinctly remember is "I grieved for Buonaparté." One was
never written down: the third, which was, I believe, preserved,
I cannot particularise.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown
In perfect shape (whose beauty Time shall spare
Though a breath made it) like a bubble blown
For summer pastime into wanton air;
Happy the thought best likened to a stone 5
Of the sea-beach, when, polished with nice care,
Veins it discovers exquisite and rare,
Which for the loss of that moist gleam atone
That tempted first to gather it. That here,
O chief of Friends![445] such feelings I present, 10
To thy regard, with thoughts so fortunate,
Were a vain notion; but the hope is dear,[446]
That thou, if not with partial joy elate,
Wilt smile upon this gift with[447] more than mild content![448]
Composed 1827.—Published 1827
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Her only pilot the soft breeze, the boat
Lingers, but Fancy is well satisfied;
With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side,
And the glad Muse at liberty to note
All that to each is precious, as we float 5
Gently along; regardless who shall chide
If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide,
Happy Associates breathing air remote
From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse,
Why have I crowded this small bark with you 10
And others of your kind, ideal crew!
While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues
To flesh and blood; no Goddess from above,
No fleeting Spirit, but my own true Love?[449]
Composed 1827.—Published 1827
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
"Why, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings—
Dull, flagging notes that with each other jar?"
"Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far
From its own country, and forgive the strings."
A simple answer! but even so forth springs, 5
From the Castalian fountain of the heart,[450]
The Poetry of Life, and all that Art
Divine of words quickening insensate things.
From the submissive necks of guiltless men
Stretched on the block, the glittering axe recoils; 10
Sun, moon, and stars, all struggle in the toils
Of mortal sympathy; what wonder then
That[451] the poor Harp distempered music yields
To its sad Lord, far from his native fields?
Composed 1827.—Published 1827
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Excuse is needless when with love sincere
Of occupation, not by fashion led,
Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread;
My nerves from no such murmur shrink,—tho' near,
Soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant ear, 5
When twilight shades darken[453] the mountain's head.[454]
Even She who toils to spin[455] our vital thread[456]
Might smile on work, O Lady, once so dear[457]
To household virtues. Venerable Art,
Torn from the Poor![458] yet shall kind Heaven protect 10
Its own; though Rulers, with undue respect,
Trusting to crowded factory and mart[459]
And[460] proud discoveries of the intellect,
Heed not[461] the pillage of man's ancient heart.