Part 3 — 1834

Not in the lucid intervals of life That come but as a curse to party-strife; Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh Of languor puts his rosy garland by; Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave 5 Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave— Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words, Which practised talent[993] readily affords, Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords; Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 10 With genuine rapture and with fervent love The soul of Genius, if he dare[994] to take Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake; Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent Of all the truly great and all the innocent. 15 But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine, Through good and evil thine, in just degree Of rational and manly sympathy. 19 To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing, And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, Add every charm the Universe can show Through every change its aspects undergo— Care may be respited, but not repealed; No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 25 Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace, If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease, Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance, Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance; To the distempered Intellect refuse 30 His gracious help, or give what we abuse.

The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close, Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose; The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again The monitor revives his own sweet strain; But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 5 Be left as silent as the mountain-tops, Ere some commanding star[995] dismiss to rest The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest, (After a steady flight on home-bound wings, And a last game of mazy hoverings 10 Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise Disturb the liquid music's equipoise. O Nightingale! Who ever heard thy song Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong That listening sense is pardonably cheated 15 Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.[996] Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands, Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands, This hour of deepening darkness here would be As a fresh morning for new harmony; 20 And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night: A dawn she has both beautiful and bright, When the East kindles with the full moon's light;[997] Not like the rising sun's impatient glow Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow 25 Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow. Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led, For sway profoundly felt as widely spread; To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear, And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear; 30 How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale Fairer than Tempe![998] Yet, sweet Nightingale! From the warm breeze that bears thee on, alight At will, and stay thy migratory flight; Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 35 Who shall complain, or call thee to account? The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they That ever walk content with Nature's way, God's goodness—measuring bounty as it may; For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 40 Chastening the fulness of a present bliss, Is with that wholesome office satisfied, While unrepining sadness is allied In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.

Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge—the Mere[999] Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, And motionless; and, to the gazer's eye, Deeper than ocean, in the immensity Of its vague mountains and unreal sky! 5 But, from the process in that still retreat, Turn to minuter changes at our feet; Observe how dewy Twilight has withdrawn The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, And has restored to view its tender green, 10 That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath their dazzling sheen. —An emblem this of what the sober Hour Can do for minds disposed to feel its power! Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away The petty pleasures of the garish day, 15 Meek eve shuts up the whole usurping host (Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post) And leaves the disencumbered spirit free To reassume a staid simplicity. 'Tis well—but what are helps of time and place, 20 When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace; Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to befriend; If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say, "I come to open out, for fresh display, 25 The elastic vanities of yesterday?"

"Often, at the hour When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard, Within the circuit of this fabric huge, One voice—the solitary raven."—I. F.]

The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill, And sky that danced among those leaves, are still; Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power On drooping eyelid and the closing flower; 5 Sound is there none at which the faintest heart Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start; Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream Pierces the ethereal vault; and ('mid the gleam Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream, 10 From the hushed vale's realities, transferred To the still lake) the imaginative Bird Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard. Grave Creature!—whether, while the moon shines bright On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, 15 Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower; Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy mew At the dim centre of a churchyard yew; Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod 20 Deep in a forest, thy secure abode, Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, A puzzling notice of thy whereabout— May the night never come, nor[1001] day be seen, When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien! 25 In classic ages men perceived a soul Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl! Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove;[1002] And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate 30 The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side: Hark to that second larum!—far and wide The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.

Up to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will he turn his ear aside 5 From holy offerings at noontide. Then here reposing let us raise A song of gratitude and praise. What though our burthen be not light, We need not toil from morn to night; 10 The respite of the mid-day hour Is in the thankful Creature's power. Blest are the moments, doubly blest, That, drawn from this one hour of rest, Are with a ready heart bestowed 15 Upon the service of our God! Each field is then a hallowed spot,[1003] An altar is in each man's cot, A church in every grove that spreads Its living roof above our heads. 20 Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun Already half his race hath run; He cannot halt nor go astray, But our immortal Spirits may. Lord! since his rising in the East, 25 If we have faltered or transgressed, Guide, from thy love's abundant source, What yet remains of this day's course: Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way; 30 And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest.

Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air From half-stripped woods and pastures bare, Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home: Not like a beggar is he come, But enters as a looked-for guest, 5 Confiding in his ruddy breast, As if it were a natural shield Charged with a blazon on the field, Due to that good and pious deed Of which we in the Ballad read. 10 But pensive fancies putting by, And wild-wood sorrows, speedily He plays the expert ventriloquist; And, caught by glimpses now—now missed, Puzzles the listener with a doubt 15 If the soft voice he throws about Comes from within doors or without! Was ever such a sweet confusion, Sustained by delicate illusion? He's at your elbow—to your feeling 20 The notes are from the floor or ceiling; And there's a riddle to be guessed, 'Till you have marked his heaving chest, And busy throat whose sink and swell,[1004] Betray the Elf that loves to dwell 25 In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell. Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird If seen, and with like pleasure stirred Commend him, when he's only heard. But small and fugitive our gain 30 Compared with hers[1005] who long hath lain, With languid limbs and patient head Reposing on a lone sick-bed; Where now, she[1006] daily hears a strain That cheats her[1007] of too busy cares, 35 Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.[1008] And who but this dear Bird beguiled The fever of that pale-faced Child; Now cooling, with his passing wing, Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring: 40 Recalling now, with descant soft Shed round her pillow from aloft, Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh, And the invisible sympathy Of "Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 45 Blessing the bed she lies upon?"[1009] And sometimes, just as listening ends In slumber, with the cadence blends A dream of that low-warbled hymn Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim 50 Lamps of faith, now burning dim, Say that the Cherubs carved in stone, When clouds gave way at dead of night And the ancient church was filled with light,[1010] Used to sing in heavenly tone, 55 Above and round the sacred places They guard, with winged baby-faces. Thrice happy Creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, 60 Entrance and exit both yet free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, 65 To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O'er table lilt, or perch on chair, 70 Though some may frown and make a stir, To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look 75 Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the Dame, and wears away Her long and vacant holiday; With images about her heart, Reflected from the years gone by, 80 On human nature's second infancy.