Part 3 — 1832

"Not to the earth confined, Ascend to heaven."[742]

Where will they stop, those breathing Powers, The Spirits of the new-born flowers? They wander with the breeze, they wind Where'er the streams a passage find; Up from their native ground they rise 5 In mute aërial harmonies;[743] From humble violet—modest thyme— Exhaled, the essential odours climb, As if no space below the sky Their subtle flight could satisfy: 10 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride If like ambition be their guide. Roused by this kindliest of May-showers, The spirit-quickener of the flowers, That with moist virtue softly cleaves 15 The buds, and freshens the young leaves, The birds pour forth their souls in notes Of rapture from a thousand throats— Here checked by too impetuous haste, While there the music runs to waste, 20 With bounty more and more enlarged, Till the whole air is overcharged; Give ear, O Man! to their appeal And thirst for no inferior zeal, Thou, who canst think, as well as feel. 25 Mount from the earth; aspire! aspire! So pleads the town's cathedral quire, In strains that from their solemn height Sink, to attain a loftier flight; While incense from the altar breathes 30 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths; Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds The taper-lights, and curls in clouds Around angelic Forms, the still Creation of the painter's skill, 35 That on the service wait concealed One moment, and the next revealed. —Cast off your bonds, awake, arise, And for no transient ecstasies! What else can mean the visual plea 40 Of still or moving imagery— The iterated summons loud, Not wasted on the attendant crowd, Nor wholly lost upon the throng Hurrying the busy streets along? 45 Alas! the sanctities combined By art to unsensualise the mind, Decay and languish; or, as creeds And humours change, are spurned like weeds: The priests are from their altars thrust; 50 Temples are levelled with the dust; And solemn rites and awful forms Founder amid fanatic storms.[744][745] Yet evermore, through years renewed In undisturbed vicissitude 55 Of seasons balancing their flight On the swift wings of day and night, Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door Wide open for the scattered Poor. Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 60 Is wafted in mute harmonies; And ground fresh-cloven by the plough Is fragrant with a humbler vow; Where birds and brooks from leafy dells Chime forth unwearied canticles, 65 And vapours magnify and spread The glory of the sun's bright head— Still constant in her worship, still Conforming to the eternal Will,[746] Whether men sow or reap the fields, 70 Divine monition[747] Nature yields, That not by bread alone we live, Or what a hand of flesh can give; That every day should leave some part Free for a sabbath of the heart: 75 So shall the seventh be truly blest, From morn to eve, with hallowed rest.

Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews. Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; Look up a second time, and, one by one, You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, 5 And wonder how they could elude the sight! The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers, Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers, But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers: Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone 10 The time's and season's influence disown; Nine beats distinctly to each other bound In drowsy sequence—how unlike the sound That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear! 15 The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun, Had closed his door before the day was done, And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, And joins[748] his little children in their sleep. The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, 20 Flits and reflits along the close arcade; The busy[749] dor-hawk chases the white moth With burring note, which Industry and Sloth Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both. A stream is heard—I see it not, but know 25 By its soft music whence the waters flow: Wheels[750] and the tread of hoofs are heard no more; One boat there was, but it will touch the shore With the next dipping of its slackened oar; Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, 30 Might give to serious thought a moment's sway, As a last token of man's toilsome day!

Go, faithful Portrait! and where long hath knelt Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place; And, if Time spare the colours[751] for the grace Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt, Thou, on thy rock reclined, though kingdoms melt 5 And states be torn up by the roots,[752] wilt seem To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream,[753] And[754] think and feel as once the Poet felt. Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown Unrecognised through many a household tear[755] 10 More prompt, more glad, to fall than drops of dew By morning shed around a flower half-blown; Tears of delight, that testified how true To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear!

Sylph was it? or a Bird more bright Than those of fabulous stock? A second darted by;—and lo! Another of the flock, Through sunshine flitting from the bough 5 To nestle in the rock. Transient deception! a gay freak Of April's mimicries! Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy Among the budding trees, 10 Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray To frolic on the breeze. Maternal Flora! show thy face, And let thy hand be seen, Thy hand here sprinkling tiny flowers,[756] 15 That, as they touch the green, Take root (so seems it) and look up In honour of their Queen. Yet, sooth, those little starry specks, That not in vain aspired 20 To be confounded with live growths, Most dainty, most admired, Were only blossoms dropped from twigs Of their own offspring tired. Not such the World's illusive shows; 25 Her wingless flutterings, Her blossoms which, though shed, outbrave The floweret as it springs, For the undeceived, smile as they may, Are melancholy things: 30 But gentle Nature plays her part With ever-varying wiles, And transient feignings with plain truth So well she reconciles, That those fond Idlers most are pleased 35 Whom oftenest she beguiles.

There's more in words than I can teach: Yet listen, Child!—I would not preach; But only give some plain directions To guide your speech and your affections. Say not you love a roasted fowl, 5 But you may love a screaming owl, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad That crawls from his secure abode Within the mossy garden wall When evening dews begin to fall. 10 Oh mark the beauty of his eye: What wonders in that circle lie! So clear, so bright, our fathers said He wears a jewel in his head! And when, upon some showery day, 15 Into a path or public way A frog leaps out from bordering grass, Startling the timid as they pass, Do you observe him, and endeavour To take the intruder into favour; 20 Learning from him to find a reason For a light heart in a dull season. And you may love him in the pool, That is for him a happy school, In which he swims as taught by nature, 25 Fit[758] pattern for a human creature, Glancing amid the water bright, And sending upward sparkling light. Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing A love for things that have no feeling: 30 The spring's first rose by you espied, May fill your breast with joyful pride; And you may love the strawberry-flower, And love the strawberry in its bower; But when the fruit, so often praised 35 For beauty, to your lip is raised, Say not you love the delicate treat, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat. Long may you love your pensioner mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house: 40 Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Deadly foe both of[759] mouse and rat; Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, 45 Her tread that would scarcely[760] crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre. I would not circumscribe your love: It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove, 50 May pierce the earth with the patient mole, Or track the hedgehog to his hole. Loving and liking are the solace of life, Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strife.[761] You love your father and your mother, 55 Your grown-up and your baby-brother; You love your sister, and your friends, And countless blessings which God sends: And while these right affections play, You live each moment of your day; 60 They lead you on to full content, And likings fresh and innocent, That store the mind, the memory feed, And prompt to many a gentle deed: But likings come, and pass away; 65 'Tis love that remains till our latest day: Our heavenward guide is holy love, And will[762] be our bliss with saints above.

Reluctant call it was; the rite delayed; And in the Senate some there were who doffed The last of their humanity, and scoffed At providential judgments,[764] undismayed By their own daring. But the People prayed 5 As with one voice; their flinty heart grew soft With penitential sorrow, and aloft Their spirit mounted, crying, "God us aid!" Oh that with aspirations more intense, Chastised by self-abasement more profound, 10 This People, once[765] so happy, so renowned For liberty, would seek from God defence Against far heavier ill, the pestilence[766] Of revolution, impiously unbound!