Volume 8 — 1826

A twofold harmony is here; I listen with the bodily ear, But dull and cheerless is the sound Contrasted with the heart’s rebound. Now at the close of fervid June, 5 Upon this breathless hazy noon, I seek the deepest darkest shade Within the covert of that glade, Which you and I first named our own When primroses were fully blown, 10 Oaks just were budding, and the grove Rang with the gladdest songs of love. Then did the Leader of the Band, A gallant thrush, maintain his stand Unshrouded from the eye of day 15 Upon yon Beech’s topmost spray. Within the selfsame lofty tree A thrush sings now—perchance ’tis he— The lusty joyous gallant bird, Which on that April morn we heard. 20 But oh! how different that voice Which bade the very hills rejoice. Through languid air, through leafy boughs It falls, and can no echo rouse. But on the workings of my heart 25 Doth memory act a busy part; That jocund April morn lives there, Its cheering sounds, its hues so fair. Why mixes with remembrance blithe What nothing but the restless scythe 30 Of Death can utterly destroy, A heaviness, a dull alloy? Ah Friend! thy heart can answer why. Even then I heaved a bitter sigh, No word of sorrow did’st thou speak, 35 But tears stole down thy tremulous cheek. The wished for hour at length was come, And thou had’st housed me in thy home, On fair Gwerndwffnant’s billowy hill, Had’st led me to its crystal rill, 40 And led me through the dingle deep Up to the highest grassy steep, The sheep walk where the snow-white lambs Sported beside their quiet dams. But thou wert destined to remove 45 From all these objects of thy love, In this thy later day to roam Far off, and seek another home. Now thou art gone—belike ’tis best— And I remain a passing guest, 50 Yet for thy sake, beloved Friend, When from this spot my way shall tend, And if my timid soul might dare To shape the future in its prayer, Then fervently would I entreat 55 Our gracious God to guide thy feet Back to the peaceful sunny cot, Where thou so oft hast blessed thy lot.

You’re here for one long vernal day; We’ll give it all to social play, Though forty years have rolled away Since we were young as you. Then welcome to our spacious Hall! 5 Tom, Bessy, Mary, welcome all! Though removed from busy men, Yea lonesome as the foxes’ den, ’Tis a place for joyance fit, For frolic games and inborn wit. 10 ’Twas nature built this hall of ours; She shap’d the bank; she framed the bowers That close it all around; From her we hold our precious right, And here, thro’ live-long day and night, 15 She rules with modest sway. Our carpet is our verdant sod; A richer one was never trod In prince’s proud saloon. Purple, and gold, and spotless white, 20 And quivering shade, and sunny light, Blend with the emerald green. She opened for the mountain brook A gentle winding pebbly way Into this placid secret nook. 25 Its bell-like tinkling—list, you hear— ’Tis never loud, yet always clear As linnet’s song in May. And we have other music here: A thousand songsters through the year 30 Dwell in these happy groves, And in this season of their loves They join their voices with the doves To raise a perfect harmony. Thus spake I while with sober pace 35 We slipped into that chosen place And from the centre of our Hall The young ones played around, Then, like a flock of vigorous lambs, That quit their grave and slow-paced dams 40 To frolic o’er the mead, That innocent fraternal troop Erewhile a steady listening group Off starting—Girl and Boy In gamesome race with agile bound 45 Beat o’er and o’er the grassy ground As if in motion—perfect joy. So vanishes my idle scheme That we through this long vernal day, Associates in their youthful play, 50 With them might travel in one stream. Ah! how should we whose heads are grey? Light was my heart, my spirits gay, And fondly did I dream. But now, recalled to consciousness, 55 With weight of years, of changed estate, Thought is not needed to repress Those shapeless fancies of delight That flash before my dazzled sight Upon this joy-devoted morn. 60 Gladly we seek the stillest nook Whence we may read, as in a book, A history of years gone by, Recalled to faded memory’s eye By bright reflection from the mirth 65 Of youthful hearts—a transient second-birth Of our own childish days. Pleasure unbidden is their guide Their leader—faithful to their side Prompting each wayward feat of strength: 70 The ambitious leap, the emulous race, The startling shout, the mimic chase, The simple half-disguisèd wile Detected through the flattering smile. A truce to this unbridled course 75 Doth intervene—no need of force. We spread upon the flowery grass The noontide meal—each lad and lass Obeys the call—we form a Round, And all are seated on the ground. 80 The sun’s meridian hour is passed, Again begins the emulous race, Again succeeds the sportive chase. And thus was spent that vernal day, Till twilight checked the noisy play; 85 Then did they feel a languor spread Over their limbs, the beating tread Was stilled—the busy throbbing heart— And silently we all depart. The shelter of our rustic cot 90 Receives us, and we envy not The palace, or the stately dome; But wish that all had such a home. Each child repeats his nightly prayer That God may bless their parents’ care 95 To guide them in the way of truth Through helpless childhood, giddy youth. The closing hymn of cheerful praise Doth yet again their spirits raise; But ’tis not now a thoughtless joy. 100 For tender parents, loving friends, And all the gifts God’s blessing sends, Feelingly do they bless his name. That homage paid, the young retire With no unsatisfied desire; 105 Theirs is one long, one steady sleep, Till the sun, tip-toe on the steep In front of our beloved cot, Casts on the walls her brightest beams. Within, a startling lustre streams. 110 They all awaken suddenly; As at the touch of magic skill, Or, as the pilgrim, at the bell That summons him to matin-prayer. And is it sorrow that they feel? 115 Nay! call it not by such a name, The stroke of sadness that doth steal With rapid motion through their hearts, When comes the thought that yesterday With all its joys is passed away, 120 The long expected happy day. An instant—and all sadness goes; Nor brighter looks the half-blown rose Than does the countenance of each child Whether of ardent soul or mild. 125 The hour was fixed—they are prepared— And homeward now they must depart, And after many a brisk adieu, On pony trim, and fleet of limb, Their bustling journey they pursue. 130 The fair-hair’d gentle quiet maid, And she who is of daring mood, The valiant and the timid Boy Alike are ranged to hardihood; And wheresoe’er the troop appear 135 They scatter smiles, a hearty cheer Comes from both old and young, And blessings fall from many a tongue. They reach the dear paternal roof, Nor dread a cold or stern reproof, 140 While they pour forth the history Of three days’ mirth and revelry. Ah! Children, happy is your lot, Still bound together in one knot Beneath your tender mother’s eye! 145 Too soon these blessed days shall fly, And brothers shall from sisters part; And, trust me, whatsoe’er your doom, Whate’er betide through years to come, The punctual pleasures of your home 150 Shall linger in your thoughts, More clear than any future hope Though fancy take her freest scope. For oh! too soon your hearts shall own The past is all that is your own. 155 And every day of festival Gratefully shall ye then recal, Less for their own sakes than for this, That each shall be a resting-place For memory, and divide the race 160 Of childhood’s smooth and happy years, Thus lengthening out that term of life Which governed by your parents’ care Is free from sorrow and from strife.

The doubt to which a wavering hope had clung Is fled; we must depart, willing or not; Sky-piercing Hills! must bid farewell to you And all that ye look down upon with pride, With tenderness, embosom; to your paths, 5 And pleasant dwellings, to familiar trees And wild-flowers known as well as if our hands Had tended them: and O pellucid Spring! Unheard of, save in one small hamlet, here Not undistinguished, for of wells that ooze 10 Or founts that gurgle from yon craggy steep, Their common sire, thou only bear’st his name. Insensibly the foretaste of this parting Hath ruled my steps, and seals me to thy side, Mindful that thou (ah! wherefore by my Muse 15 So long unthanked) hast cheered a simple board With beverage pure as ever fixed the choice Of hermit, dubious where to scoop his cell; Which Persian kings might envy; and thy meek And gentle aspect oft has ministered 20 To finer uses. They for me must cease; Days will pass on, the year, if years be given, Fade,—and the moralising mind derive No lessons from the presence of a Power By the inconstant nature we inherit 25 Unmatched in delicate beneficence; For neither unremitting rains avail To swell thee into voice; nor longest drought Thy bounty stints, nor can thy beauty mar, Beauty not therefore wanting change to stir 30 The fancy pleased by spectacles unlooked for. Nor yet, perchance, translucent Spring, had tolled The Norman curfew bell when human hands First offered help that the deficient rock Might overarch thee, from pernicious heat 35 Defended, and appropriate to man’s need. Such ties will not be severed: but, when we Are gone, what summer loiterer will regard, Inquisitive, thy countenance, will peruse, Pleased to detect the dimpling stir of life, 40 The breathing faculty with which thou yield’st (Tho’ a mere goblet to the careless eye) Boons inexhaustible? Who, hurrying on With a step quickened by November’s cold, Shall pause, the skill admiring that can work 45 Upon thy chance-defilements—withered twigs That, lodged within thy crystal depths, seem bright, As if they from a silver tree had fallen— And oaken leaves that, driven by whirling blasts, Sunk down, and lay immersed in dead repose 50 For Time’s invisible tooth to prey upon Unsightly objects and uncoveted, Till thou with crystal bead-drops didst encrust Their skeletons, turned to brilliant ornaments. But, from thy bosom, should some venturous[396] hand 55 Abstract those gleaming relics, and uplift them, However gently, toward the vulgar air, At once their tender brightness disappears, Leaving the intermeddler to upbraid His folly. Thus (I feel it while I speak), 60 Thus, with the fibres of these thoughts it fares; And oh! how much, of all that love creates Or beautifies, like changes undergo, Suffers like loss when drawn out of the soul, Its silent laboratory! Words should say 65 (Could they depict the marvels of thy cell) How often I have marked a plumy fern From the live rock with grace inimitable Bending its apex toward a paler self Reflected all in perfect lineaments— 70 Shadow and substance kissing point to point In mutual stillness; or, if some faint breeze Entering the cell gave restlessness to one, The other, glassed in thy unruffled breast, Partook of every motion, met, retired, 75 And met again. Such playful sympathy, Such delicate caress as in the shape Of this green plant had aptly recompensed For baffled lips and disappointed arms And hopeless pangs, the spirit of that youth, 80 The fair Narcissus by some pitying God Changed to a crimson flower; when he, whose pride Provoked a retribution too severe, Had pined; upon his watery duplicate Wasting that love the nymphs implored in vain. 85 Thus while my Fancy wanders, thou, clear Spring, Moved (shall I say?) like a dear friend who meets A parting moment with her loveliest look, And seemingly her happiest, look so fair It frustrates its own purpose, and recalls 90 The grieved one whom it meant to send away— Dost tempt me by disclosures exquisite To linger, bending over thee: for now, What witchcraft, mild enchantress, may with thee Compare! thy earthly bed a moment past 95 Palpable to sight as the dry ground, Eludes perception, not by rippling air Concealed, nor through effect of some impure Upstirring; but, abstracted by a charm Of my own cunning, earth mysteriously 100 From under thee hath vanished, and slant beams The silent inquest of a western sun, Assisting, lucid well-spring! Thou revealest Communion without check of herbs and flowers, And the vault’s hoary sides to which they cling, 105 Imaged in downward show; the flower, the Herbs,[397] These not of earthly texture, and the vault Not there diminutive, but through a scale Of vision less and less distinct, descending To gloom imperishable. So (if truths 110 The highest condescend to be set forth By processes minute), even so—when thought Wins help from something greater than herself— Is the firm basis of habitual sense Supplanted, not for treacherous vacancy 115 And blank dissociation from a world We love, but that the residues of flesh, Mirrored, yet not too strictly, may refine To Spirit; for the idealising Soul Time wears the features of Eternity; 120 And Nature deepens into Nature’s God. Millions of kneeling Hindoos at this day Bow to the watery element, adored In their vast stream, and if an age hath been (As books and haply votive altars vouch) 125 When British floods were worshipped, some faint trace Of that idolatry, through monkish rites Transmitted far as living memory, Might wait on thee, a silent monitor, On thee, bright Spring, a bashful little one, 130 Yet to the measure of thy promises True, as the mightiest; upon thee, sequestered For meditation, nor inopportune For social interest such as I have shared. Peace to the sober matron who shall dip 135 Her pitcher here at early dawn, by me No longer greeted—to the tottering sire, For whom like service, now and then his choice, Relieves the tedious holiday of age— Thoughts raised above the Earth while here he sits 140 Feeding on sunshine—to the blushing girl Who here forgets her errand, nothing loth To be waylaid by her betrothed, peace And pleasure sobered down to happiness! But should these hills be ranged by one whose soul 145 Scorning love-whispers shrinks from love itself As Fancy’s snare for female vanity, Here may the aspirant find a trysting-place For loftier intercourse. The Muses crowned With wreaths that have not faded to this hour 150 Sprung from high Jove, of sage Mnemosyne Enamoured, so the fable runs; but they Certes were self-taught damsels, scattered births Of many a Grecian vale, who sought not praise, And, heedless even of listeners, warbled out 155 Their own emotions given to mountain air In notes which mountain echoes would take up Boldly and bear away to softer life; Hence deified as sisters they were bound Together in a never-dying choir; 160 Who with their Hippocrene and grottoed fount Of Castaly, attest that Woman’s heart Was in the limpid age of this stained world The most assured seat of [ ] And new-born waters, deemed the happiest source 165 Of inspiration for the conscious lyre. Lured by the crystal element in times Stormy and fierce, the Maid of Arc withdrew From human converse to frequent alone The Fountain of the Fairies. What to her, 170 Smooth summer dreams, old favours of the place. Pageant and revels of blithe elves—to her Whose country groan’d under a foreign scourge? She pondered murmurs that attuned her ear For the reception of far other sounds 175 Than their too happy minstrelsy,—a Voice Reached her with supernatural mandate charged More awful than the chambers of dark earth Have virtue to send forth. Upon the marge Of the benignant fountain, while she stood 180 Gazing intensely, the translucent lymph Darkened beneath the shadow of her thoughts As if swift clouds swept o’er it, or caught War’s tincture, ’mid the forest green and still, Turned into blood before her heart-sick eye. 185 Erelong, forsaking all her natural haunts, All her accustomed offices and cares Relinquishing, but treasuring every law And grace of feminine humanity, The chosen Rustic urged a warlike steed 190 Toward the beleaguered city, in the might Of prophecy, accoutred to fulfil, At the sword’s point, visions conceived in love. The cloud of rooks descending thro’ mid air Softens its evening uproar towards a close[398] 195 Near and more near; for this protracted strain A warning not unwelcome. Fare thee well! Emblem of equanimity and truth, Farewell!—if thy composure be not ours, Yet as thou still, when we are gone, wilt keep 200 Thy living chaplet of fresh flowers and fern, Cherished in shade tho’ peeped at[399] by the sun; So shall our bosoms feel a covert growth Of grateful recollections, tribute due To thy obscure and modest attributes 205 To thee, dear Spring,[400] and all-sustaining Heaven!

I, whose pretty Voice you hear, Lady (you will think it queer), Have a Mother, once a Statue, I, thus boldly looking at you, Do the name of Paphus bear, 5 Fam’d Pygmalion’s Son and Heir, By that wondrous marble wife That from Venus took her life. Cupid’s Nephew then am I, Nor unskill’d his darts to ply; 10 But from Him I crav’d no warrant, Coming thus to seek my Parent; Not equipp’d with bow and quiver Her by menace to deliver, But resolv’d with filial care 15 Her captivity to share. Hence, while on your toilet, She Is doom’d a Pincushion to be, By her side I’ll take my place, As a humble Needle-case; 20 Furnish’d too with dainty thread, For a Sempstress thorough-bred. Then let both be kindly treated, Till the Term, for which She’s fated Durance to sustain, be over; 25 So will I ensure a Lover Lady! to your heart’s content; But on harshness are you bent Bitterly shall you repent, When to Cyprus back I go 30 And take up my Uncle’s bow.