The Child is Father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

It retained this longer title and motto in all subsequent editions. In the editions 1807 to 1820, it was placed by itself at the end of the poems, and formed their natural conclusion and climax. In the editions 1827 and 1832, it was inappropriately put amongst “Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems.” The evident mistake of placing it amongst these seems to have suggested to Wordsworth, in 1836, its having a place by itself,—which he gave it then and retained in the subsequent editions of 1842 and 1849,—when it closed the series of minor poems in Volume V., and preceded the Excursion in Volume VI. The same arrangement was adopted in the double-columned single volume edition of 1845.

Mr. Aubrey de Vere has urged me to take it out of its chronological place, and let it conclude the whole series of Wordsworth’s poems, as the greatest, and that to which all others lead up. Mr. De Vere’s wish is based on conversations which he had with the poet himself.

The Ode, Intimations of Immortality, was written at intervals, between the years 1803 and 1806; and it was subjected to frequent and careful revision. No poem of Wordsworth’s bears more evident traces in its structure at once of inspiration and elaboration; of original flight of thought and afflatus on the one hand, and on the other of careful sculpture and fastidious choice of phrase. But it is remarkable that there are very few changes of text in the successive editions. Most of the alterations were made before 1815, and the omission of some feeble lines which originally stood in stanza viii. in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was a great advantage in disencumbering the poem. The main revision and elaboration of this Ode, however—an elaboration which suggests the passage of the glacier ice over the rocks of White Moss Common, where the poem was murmured out stanza by stanza—was all finished before it first saw the light in 1807. In form it is irregular and original. And perhaps the most remarkable thing in its structure, is the frequent change of the keynote, and the skill and delicacy with which the transitions are made. “The feet throughout are iambic. The lines vary in length from the Alexandrine to the line with two accents. There is a constant ebb and flow in the full tide of song, but scarce two waves are alike.” (Hawes Turner, Selections from Wordsworth.)

In the “notes” to the Selections just referred to on Immortality, there is an excellent commentary on this Ode, almost every line of which is worthy of minute analysis and study. Some of the following are suggested by Mr. Turner’s notes.

(1) The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep.

The morning breeze blowing from the fields that were dark during the hours of sleep.

(2) —But there’s a Tree, of many, one.

Compare Browning’s May and Death

Only one little sight, one plant
Woods have in May, etc.
(3) The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat.

French “Pensée.” “Pansies, that’s for thoughts.” Ophelia in Hamlet.

(4) Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

This thought Wordsworth owed, consciously or unconsciously, to Plato. Though he tells us in the Fenwick note that he did not mean to inculcate the belief, there is no doubt that he clung to the notion of a life pre-existing the present, on grounds similar to those on which he believed in a life to come. But there are some differences in the way in which the idea commended itself to Plato and to Wordsworth. The stress was laid by Wordsworth on the effect of terrestrial life in putting the higher faculties to sleep, and making us “forget the glories we have known.” Plato, on the other hand, looked upon the mingled experiences of mundane life as inducing a gradual but slow remembrance (ἀνάμνεσις) of the past. Compare Tennyson’s Two Voices, and Wordsworth’s sonnet, beginning—

Man’s life is like a sparrow, mighty king.
(5) Filling from time to time his “humorous stage”
With all the Persons,

i.e. with the dramatis personæ.

(6) … thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep.

There is an admirable parallel illustration of Wordsworth’s use of this figure (describing one sense in terms of another), in the lines in Airey-Force Valley

A soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs.
(7) Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

Compare with this, the lines in the fourth book of The Excursion, beginning—

Alas! the endowment of immortal power
Is matched unequally with custom, time.
(8) Fallings from us, vanishings.

The outward sensible universe, visible and tangible, seeming to fall away from us, as unreal, to vanish in unsubstantially. See the explanation of this youthful experience in the Fenwick note. That confession of his boyish days at Hawkshead, “many times, while going to school, have I grasped at a wall or tree, to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality” (by which he explains those—

Fallings from us, vanishings, etc.),

suggests a similar experience and confession of Cardinal Newman’s in his Apologia (see p. 67).

The late Rev. Robert Perceval Graves, of Windermere, and afterwards of Dublin, wrote to me in 1850:—“I remember Mr. Wordsworth saying, that at a particular stage of his mental progress, he used to be frequently so rapt into an unreal transcendental world of ideas that the external world seemed no longer to exist in relation to him, and he had to reconvince himself of its existence by clasping a tree, or something that happened to be near him. I could not help connecting this fact with that obscure passage in his great Ode on the Intimations of Immortality, in which he speaks of—

Those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things;
Fallings from us, vanishings; etc.”

Professor Bonamy Price further confirms the explanation which Wordsworth gave of the passage, in a letter written to me in 1881, giving an account of a conversation he had with the poet, as follows:—

Oxford, April 21, 1881.

My dear Sir,—You will be glad, I am sure, to receive an interpretation, which chance enabled me to obtain from Wordsworth himself of a passage in the immortal Ode on Immortality.…

“It happened one day that the poet, my wife, and I were taking a walk together by the side of Rydal Water. We were then by the sycamores under Nab Scar. The aged poet was in a most genial mood, and it suddenly occurred to me that I might, without unwarrantable presumption, seize the golden opportunity thus offered, and ask him to explain these mysterious words. So I addressed him with an apology, and begged him to explain, what my own feeble mother-wit was unable to unravel, and for which I had in vain sought the assistance of others, what were those ‘fallings from us, vanishings,’ for which, above all other things, he gave God thanks. The venerable old man raised his aged form erect; he was walking in the middle, and passed across me to a five-barred gate in the wall which bounded the road on the side of the lake. He clenched the top bar firmly with his right hand, pushed strongly against it, and then uttered these ever-memorable words: ‘There was a time in my life when I had to push against something that resisted, to be sure that there was anything outside of me. I was sure of my own mind; everything else fell away, and vanished into thought.’ Thought, he was sure of; matter for him, at the moment, was an unreality—nothing but a thought. Such natural spontaneous idealism has probably never been felt by any other man.

Bonamy Price.

This, however, was not an experience peculiar to Wordsworth, as Professor Price imagined—and its value would be much lessened if it had been so—but was one to which (as the poet said to Miss Fenwick) “every one, if he would look back, could bear testimony.”

The following is from S.T. Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria (chap. xxii. p. 29, edition 1817)—

“To the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, the poet might have prefixed the lines which Dante addresses to one of his own Canzoni—

Canzone, i’ credo, che saranno radi
Color che tua ragione intendan bene:
Tanto lor sei faticoso ed alto.
O lyric song, there will be few, think I,
Who may thy import understand aright:
Thou art for them so arduous and so high!

But the Ode was intended for such readers only as had been accustomed to watch the flux and reflux of their inmost nature, to venture at times into the twilight realms of consciousness, and to feel a deep interest in modes of inmost being, to which they know that the attributes of time and space are inapplicable and alien, but which yet cannot be conveyed, save in symbols of time and space. For such readers the sense is sufficiently plain, and they will be as little disposed to charge Mr. Wordsworth with believing the Platonic pre-existence in the ordinary interpretation of the words, as I am to believe, that Plato himself ever meant or taught it.

πολλά μοι ὑπ’ ἀγκῶνος ὠκέα βέλη
ἔνδον ἐντὶ φαρέτρας
φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσιν ἐς
δὲ τὸ πᾶν ἑρμηνέων
χατίζει. σοφὸς ὁ πολλὰ εἰδὼς φυᾷ.
μαθόντες δὲ λάβροι
παγγλωσσίᾳ, κόρακες ὥς,
ἄκραντα γαρύετον
Διὸς πρὸς ὄρνιχα θεῖον.
Pindar, Olymp. ii.”[336]

The following parallel passages from The Excursion, The Prelude, Ruskin’s Modern Painters, Keble’s Praelectiones de Poeticae vi Medica (p. 788, Prael. xxxix.), and the Silex Scintillans of Henry Vaughan, are quoted, in an interesting note to the Ode on Immortality, in Professor Henry Reed’s American edition of the Poems (1851).

I
Ah! why in age
Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood—but that there the Soul discerns
The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired
Of her own native vigour—thence can hear
Reverberations; and a choral song,
Commingling with the incense that ascends,
Undaunted, toward the imperishable heavens,
From her own lonely altar?
The Excursion, book ix. ll. 36-44.

II
Our childhood sits,
Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne
That hath more power than all the elements.
I guess not what this tells of Being past,
Nor what it augurs of the life to come; etc.
The Prelude, book v. ll. 507-511.

III

“ … There was never yet the child of any promise (so far as the theoretic faculties are concerned) but awaked to the sense of beauty with the first gleam of reason; and I suppose there are few, among those who love Nature otherwise than by profession and at second-hand, who look not back to their youngest and least learned days as those of the most intense, superstitious, insatiable, and beatific perception of her splendours. And the bitter decline of this glorious feeling, though many note it not, partly owing to the cares and weight of manhood, which leave them not the time nor the liberty to look for their lost treasure, and partly to the human and divine affections which are appointed to take its place, yet have formed the subject, not indeed of lamentation, but of holy thankfulness for the witness it bears to the immortal origin and end of our nature, to one whose authority is almost without appeal in all questions relating to the influence of external things upon the pure human soul.

Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise
But for those obstinate questionings, etc. etc.

And if it were possible for us to recollect all the unaccountable and happy instincts of the careless time, and to reason upon them with the maturer judgment, we might arrive at more right results than either the philosophy or the sophisticated practice of art has yet attained. But we love the perceptions before we are capable of methodising or comparing them.” (Ruskin’s Modern Painters, vol. ii. p. 36, part iii. ch. v. sec. i.)

“ … Etenim qui velit acutius indagare causas propensae in antiqua saecula voluntatis, mirum ni conjectura incidat aliquando in commentum illud Pythagorae, docentis, animarum nostrarum non tum fieri initium, cum in hoc mundo nascimur; immo ex ignota quadam regione venire eas, in sua quamque corpora; neque tam penitus Lethaeo potu imbui, quin permanet quasi quidam anteactae aetatis sapor; hunc autem excitari identidem, et nescio quo sensu percipi, tacito quidem illo et obscuro, sed percipi tamen. Atque hac ferme sententia extat summi hac memoria Poetae nobilissimum carmen; nempe non aliam ob causam tangi pueritiae recordationem exquisita illa ac pervagata dulcedine, quam propter debilem quendam prioris aevi Deique propioris sensum.

Quamvis autem hanc opinionem vix ferat divinae philosophiae ratio, fatemur tamen eam eatenus ad verum accedere, quo sanctum aliquod et grave tribuit memoriae et caritati puerilium annorum. Nosmet certe infantes novimus quam prope tetigerit Divina benignitas; quis porro scit, an omnis illa temporis anteacti dulcedo habeat quandam significationem Illius Praesentiae?” (Keble, Praelectiones de Poeticae vi Medica, p. 788, Prael. xxxix.)

Corruption

Sure, it was so. Man in those early days
Was not all stone and earth;
He shined a little, and by those weak rays,
Had some glimpse of his birth.
He saw Heaven o’er his head, and knew from whence
He came condemned hither,
And, as first Love draws strongest, so from hence
His mind sure progressed thither.”
Henry Vaughan, Silex Scintillans.

Mr. Reed also quotes a passage from Vaughan’s poem Childehood; but a more apposite passage may be found in The Retreate, in Silex Scintillans.

Happy those early dayes, when I
Shined in my Angell-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white celestiall thought;
When yet I had not walkt 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 Flowre
My gazing soul would dwell an houre,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;
But felt through all this fleshly dresse
Bright shootes of everlastingnesse.

The extent of Wordsworth’s debt to Vaughan has been discussed a good deal. There was no copy of the Silex Scintillans in the Rydal Mount sale-catalogue. I believe that he had read The Retreate, and forgotten it more completely perhaps than Coleridge forgot Sir John Davies’ Orchestra, a Poem on Dancing, when he wrote The Ancient Mariner.

The following may be added from The Friend (the edition of 1818), vol. i. p. 183:—“To find no contradiction in the union of old and new to contemplate the Ancient of Days with feelings as fresh as if they then sprang forth at his own fiat, this characterizes the minds that feel the riddle of the world, and may help to unravel it! To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood, to combine the child’s sense of wonder and novelty with the appearances which every day, for perhaps 40 years, had rendered familiar,

With sun and moon and stars throughout the year
And man and woman——

This is the character and privilege of genius, and one of the marks which distinguish genius from talent.”—Ed.

[310] Compare the Atman of the Vedanta Philosophy.—Ed.

[311] See vol. ii. p. 292.—Ed.

[312] 1820.

… has …
1807.

[313] Compare The Idle Shepherd Boys, ll. 28-30 (vol. ii. p. 138).—Ed.

[314] 1807.

Even yet more gladness, I can hold it all.
MS.

[315] 1836.

While the Earth herself …
1807.
… itself …
1827.

The text of 1832 returns to that of 1807.

[316] 1836.

… pulling
1807.

[317]

Where is it gone, …
MS.

[318] 1807.

… beholds it …
MS.

[319] Compare, in Bacon’s Essay Of Youth and Age, “A certaine Rabbine upon the Text, Your Young Men shall see visions, and your Old Men shall dream dreames, inferreth that Young Men are admitted nearer to God than Old, because Vision is a clearer Revelation than a Dreame.”

See Professor Max Müller’s note to his translation of the Upanishads (Sacred Books of the East, vol. xv. p. 164), beginning “Drivudagomga uses a curious argument in support of the existence of another world.”—Ed.

[320] 1807.

… pleasure …
MS.

[321] 1815.

A four years’ Darling …
1807.

[322] See, in Daniel’s Musophilus, the introductory sonnet to Fulke Greville, l. 1.—Ed.

[323] 1807.

… presence …
MS.

[324] This line is not in the editions of 1807 and 1815.

[325] The editions of 1807 and 1815 have, after “put by”:

To whom the grave
Is but a lowly bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
MS.

The subsequent omission of these lines was due to Coleridge’s disapproval of them, expressed in Biographia Literaria.—Ed.

[326] 1815.

Of untamed pleasures, on thy Being’s height,
1807.

[327] 1807.

The world upon thy noble nature seize
With all its vanities,
And custom …
MS.

[328] Compare The Excursion, book iv. ll. 205, 206—

Alas! the endowment of immortal power
Is matched unequally with custom, time.

Ed.

[329] 1827.

Perpetual benedictions: …
1807.

[330] 1815.

Of Childhood, whether fluttering or at rest,
With new-born hope for ever in his breast:
1807.

[331] 1815.

Uphold us, cherish us, and make
1807.

[332] 1836.

Think not of any severing …
1807.

[333] Professor Dowden writes of this line: “It is a sunset reflection, natural to one who has ‘kept watch o’er man’s mortality’: the day is closing, as human lives have closed; the sun went forth out of his chamber as a strong man to run a race, and now the race is over and the palm has been won: all things have their hour of fulfilment.” (See vol. v. p. 365, of his edition of Wordsworth’s Poems.)—Ed.

[334] Compare the introduction to the first canto of Marmion

The vernal sun new life bestows
Upon the meanest flower that blows,

Ed.

[335] Compare Wither’s The Shepherds Hunting, the fourth eclogue, ll. 368-380.—Ed.

[336] The text of Pindar, as given by S.T.C., is corrected in the above quotation.—Ed.


POEMS
BY
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
AND BY
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
NOT INCLUDED IN THE EDITION OF 1849-50

1787

SONNET, ON SEEING MISS HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS WEEP AT A TALE OF DISTRESS[337]

She wept.—Life’s purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Dim were my swimming eyes—my pulse beat slow,
And my full heart was swell’d to dear delicious pain.
Life left my loaded heart, and closing eye; 5
A sigh recall’d the wanderer to my breast;
Dear was the pause of life, and dear the sigh
That call’d the wanderer home, and home to rest.
That tear proclaims—in thee each virtue dwells,
And bright will shine in misery’s midnight hour; 10
As the soft star of dewy evening tells
What radiant fires were drown’d by day’s malignant pow’r,
That only wait the darkness of the night
To chear the wand’ring wretch with hospitable light.
Axiologus.

[European Magazine, 1787, vol. xi. p. 302.]

S.T.C. addressed some lines to Wordsworth under the name Axiologus. The following is a sample, sent to me by the late Mr. Dykes Campbell, Ad Vilmum Axiologum.—Ed.[338]

AD VILMUM AXIOLOGUM

This be the meed, that thy song creates a thousand-fold echo!
Sweet as the warble of woods, that awakes at the gale of the morning!
List! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains
Deep, deep in the Bosom, and from the Bosom resound it,
Each with a different tone, complete or in musical fragments—
All have welcomed thy Voice, and receive and retain and prolong it!
This is the word of the Lord! it is spoken and Beings Eternal
Live and are borne as an Infant, the Eternal begets the Immortal—
Love is the Spirit of Life, and Music the Life of the Spirit!

[337] The only justification for republishing this sonnet is that it is the earliest authoritative record of Wordsworth’s attempts in Verse. It is a much more authentic one than the Extract from the conclusion of a Poem, composed in anticipation of leaving School, or than the lines Written in very early Youth, and beginning

Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.

Wordsworth dated the former of these poems 1786, but I do not believe that he wrote that poem, and still less that he wrote “Calm is all nature,” etc., as we now have it, in that year. Doubtless he wrote verses on these two subjects; but the best evidence against the notion that the text, as we now have it, was written in 1786, is this 1787 sonnet on Miss Maria Williams. It is not only dated authoritatively, but it was published in 1787; and therefore serves (as nothing else can until we come to 1793) as evidence in regard to the development of his poetic power. The translation of Francis Wrangham’s lines—which he called The Birth of Love—in 1795, is further evidence in the same direction. No doubt there were many poor poetic utterances by Wordsworth later in life—failures in his manhood, as dismal as the “Walford Tragedy” was in his youth—but I think that the Lines written in very early Youth, and the Extract from the Poem composed in anticipation of leaving School, were rehandled by him, and the text greatly improved before they were first published. The late Mr. J. Dykes Campbell wrote to me in 1892: “Poets tell dreadful fibs about their early verses—as witness S.T.C. who declared he wrote The Advent of Love at fifteen! I know he didn’t, and am going to print one or two of his prize school verses of that age, which I have found in his own fifteen-year-old fist.”—Ed.

[338] I should add, in a footnote, that I have no knowledge of the source whence Mr. Campbell derived this; but I am sure that it must have reached him from an authentic one.—Ed.

LINES WRITTEN BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AS A SCHOOL EXERCISE AT HAWKSHEAD, ANNO ÆTATIS 14

In the “Autobiographical Memoranda”—dictated at Rydal Mount in 1847—Wordsworth said, “The first verses which I wrote were a task imposed by my master: the subject The Summer Vacation, and of my own accord I added others upon Return to School. There was nothing remarkable in either poem; but I was called upon, among other scholars, to write verses upon the completion of the second century from the foundation of the school in 1585, by Archbishop Sandys. These verses were much admired, far more than they deserved, for they were but a tame imitation of Pope’s versification, and a little in his style. This exercise, however, put it into my head to compose verses from the impulse of my own mind; and I wrote, while yet a schoolboy, a long poem running upon my own adventures, and the scenery of the county in which I was brought up.”

The Summer Vacation, and the Return to School, were destroyed by Wordsworth.—Ed.

And has the Sun his flaming chariot driven
Two hundred times around the ring of heaven,
Since Science first, with all her sacred train,
Beneath yon roof began her heavenly reign?
While thus I mused, methought, before mine eyes, 5
The Power of Education seemed to rise;
Not she whose rigid precepts trained the boy
Dead to the sense of every finer joy;
Nor that vile wretch who bade the tender age
Spurn Reason’s law and humour Passion’s rage; 10
But she who trains the generous British youth
In the bright paths of fair majestic Truth:
Emerging slow from Academus’ grove
In heavenly majesty she seem’d to move.
Stern was her forehead, but a smile serene 15
“Soften’d the terrors of her awful mien.”[339]
Close at her side were all the powers, design’d
To curb, exalt, reform the tender mind:
With panting breast, now pale as winter snows,
Now flushed as Hebe, Emulation rose; 20
Shame follow’d after with reverted eye,
And hue far deeper than the Tyrian dye;
Last Industry appear’d with steady pace,
A smile sat beaming on her pensive face.
I gazed upon the visionary train, 25
Threw back my eyes, return’d, and gazed again.
When lo! the heavenly goddess thus began,
Through all my frame the pleasing accents ran.
When Superstition left the golden light
And fled indignant to the shades of night; 30
When pure Religion rear’d the peaceful breast
And lull’d the warring passions into rest,
Drove far away the savage thoughts that roll
In the dark mansions of the bigot’s soul,
Enlivening Hope display’d her cheerful ray, 35
And beam’d on Britain’s sons a brighter day,
So when on Ocean’s face the storm subsides,
Hush’d are the winds and silent are the tides;
The God of day, in all the pomp of light,
Moves through the vault of heaven, and dissipates the night; 40
Wide o’er the main a trembling lustre plays,
The glittering waves reflect the dazzling blaze;
Science with joy saw Superstition fly
Before the lustre of Religion’s eye;
With rapture she beheld Britannia smile, 45
Clapp’d her strong wings, and sought the cheerful isle.
The shades of night no more the soul involve,
She sheds her beam, and, lo! the shades dissolve;
No jarring monks, to gloomy cell confined,
With mazy rules perplex the weary mind; 50
No shadowy forms entice the soul aside,
Secure she walks, Philosophy her guide.
Britain, who long her warriors had adored,
And deemed all merit centred in the sword;
Britain, who thought to stain the field was fame, 55
Now honour’d Edward’s less than Bacon’s name.
Her sons no more in listed fields advance
To ride the ring, or toss the beamy lance;
No longer steel their indurated hearts
To the mild influence of the finer arts; 60
Quick to the secret grotto they retire
To court majestic truth, or wake the golden lyre;
By generous Emulation taught to rise,
The seats of learning brave the distant skies.
Then noble Sandys, inspir’d with great design, 65
Rear’d Hawkshead’s happy roof, and call’d it mine;
There have I loved to show the tender age
The golden precepts of the classic page;
To lead the mind to those Elysian plains
Where, throned in gold, immortal Science reigns; 70
Fair to the view is sacred Truth display’d,
In all the majesty of light array’d,
To teach, on rapid wings, the curious soul
To roam from heaven to heaven, from pole to pole,
From thence to search the mystic cause of things 75
And follow Nature to her secret springs;
Nor less to guide the fluctuating youth
Firm in the sacred paths of moral truth,
To regulate the mind’s disorder’d frame,
And quench the passions kindling into flame; 80
The glimmering fires of Virtue to enlarge,
And purge from Vice’s dross my tender charge.
Oft have I said, the paths of Fame pursue,
And all that virtue dictates, dare to do;
Go to the world, peruse the book of man, 85
And learn from thence thy own defects to scan;
Severely honest, break no plighted trust,
But coldly rest not here—be more than just;
Join to the rigours of the sires of Rome
The gentler manners of the private dome; 90
When Virtue weeps in agony of woe,
Teach from the heart the tender tear to flow;
If Pleasure’s soothing song thy soul entice,
Or all the gaudy pomp of splendid Vice,
Arise superior to the Siren’s power, 95
The wretch, the short-lived vision of an hour;
Soon fades her cheek, her blushing beauties fly,
As fades the chequer’d bow that paints the sky,
So shall thy sire, whilst hope his breast inspires,
And wakes anew life’s glimmering trembling fires, 100
Hear Britain’s sons rehearse thy praise with joy,
Look up to heaven, and bless his darling boy.
If e’er these precepts quell’d the passions’ strife,
If e’er they smooth’d the rugged walks of life,
If e’er they pointed forth the blissful way 105
That guides the spirit to eternal day,
Do thou, if gratitude inspire thy breast,
Spurn the soft fetters of lethargic rest.
Awake, awake! and snatch the slumbering lyre,
Let this bright morn and Sandys the song inspire. 110
I look’d obedience: the celestial Fair
Smiled like the morn, and vanished into air.