O! it is pleasant with a heart at ease, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold 'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land! Or list'ning to the tide, with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand By those deep sounds possessed with inward light Beheld the Iliad and Odyssey Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.
Fire, Famine, And Slaughter: A War Eclogue
The Scene a desolate Tract in la Vendee. Famine is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter Fire and Slaughter.
Fam. Sister! sisters! who sent you here? Slau. [to Fire.] I will whisper it in her ear. Fire. No! no! no! Spirits hear what spirits tell: 'Twill make a holiday in Hell. No! no! no! Myself, I named him once below, And all the souls, that damned be, Leaped up at once in anarchy, Clapped their hands and danced for glee. They no longer heeded me, But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters Unwillingly re-echo laughters! No! no! no! Spirits hear what spirits tell: 'Twill make a holiday in Hell! Fam. Whisper it, sister! so and so! In a dark hint, soft and slow. Slau. Letters four do form his name -- And who sent you? Both. The same! the same! Slau. He came by stealth, and unlocked my den, And I have drunk the blood since then Of thrice three hundred thousand men. Both. Who bade you do it? Slau. The same! the same! Letters four do form his name. He let me loose, and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due. Fam. Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled, Their wives and their children faint for bread. I stood in a swampy field of battle; With bones and skulls I made a rattle, To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow And the homeless dog -- but they would not go. So off I flew: for how could I bear To see them gorge their dainty fare? I heard a groan and a peevish squall, And through the chink of a cottage-wall -- Can you guess what I saw there? Both. Whisper it, sister! in our ear. Fam. A baby beat its dying mother; I had starved the one and was starving the other! Both. Who bade you do't? Fam. The same! the same! Letters four do form his name. He let me loose, and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due. Fire. Sisters! I from Ireland came! Hedge and corn-fields all on flame, I triumphed o'er the setting sun! And all the while the work was done, On as I strode with my huge strides, I flung back my head and I held my sides, It was so rare a piece of fun To see the sweltered cattle run With uncouth gallop through the night, Scared by the red and noisy light! By the light of his own blazing cot Was many a naked rebel shot: The house-stream met the flame and hissed, While crash! fell in the roof, I wist, On some of those old bed-rid nurses, That deal in discontent and curses. Both. Who bade you do't? Fire. The same! the same! Letters four do form his name. He let me loose, and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due. All. He let us loose, and cried Halloo! How shall we yield him honor due? Fam. Wisdom comes with lack of food. I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude, Till the cup of rage o'erbrim: They shall seize him and his brood-- Slau. They shall tear him limb from limb! Fire. O thankless beldames and untrue! And is this all that you can do For him, who did so much for you? Ninety months he, by my troth! Hath richly catered for you both: And in an hour would you repay An eight years' work? -- Away! away! I alone am faithful! I Cling to him everlastingly.
Forbearance
Gently I took that which ungently came, And without scorn forgave:--Do thou the same. A wrong done to thee think a cat's-eye spark Thou wouldst not see, were not thine own heart dark. Thine own keen sense of wrong that thirsts for sin, Fear that--the spark self-kindled from within, Which blown upon will blind thee with its glare, Or smother'd stifle thee with noisome air. Clap on the extinguisher, pull up the blinds, And soon the ventilated spirit finds Its natural daylight. If a foe have kenn'd, Or worse than foe, an alienated friend, A rib of dry rot in thy ship's stout side, Think it God's message, and in humble pride With heart of oak replace it;--thine the gains-- Give him the rotten timber for his pains!
Fragment
The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul, The Soul's self-symbol, its image of itself. Its own yet not itself--
France: An Ode
EXCERPT ... O Liberty ! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour ; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) [Image]Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves ! And there I felt thee !--on that sea-cliff's verge, Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge ! Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea, and air, Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty ! my spirit felt thee there.
From 'Religious Musings'
I
THERE is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, Omnific. His most holy name is Love. Truth of subliming import! with the which Who feeds and saturates his constant soul, He from his small particular orbit flies With blest outstarting! From himself he flies, Stands in the sun, and with no partial gaze Views all creation; and he loves it all, And blesses it, and calls it very good! This is indeed to dwell with the Most High! Cherubs and rapture-trembling Seraphim Can press no nearer to the Almighty’s throne. But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts Unfeeling of our universal Sire, And that in His vast family no Cain Injures uninjured (in her best-aimed blow Victorious Murder a blind Suicide) Haply for this some younger Angel now Looks down on Human Nature: and, behold! A sea of blood bestrewed with wrecks, where mad Embattling Interests on each other rush With unhelmed rage! ’Tis the sublime of man, Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves Parts and proportions of one wondrous whole! This fraternizes man, this constitutes Our charities and bearings. But ’tis God Diffused through all, that doth make all one whole; This the worst superstition, him except Aught to desire, Supreme Reality! The plenitude and permanence of bliss!
II
Toy-bewitched, Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul, No common centre Man, no common sire Knoweth! A sordid solitary thing, Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart Through courts and cities the smooth savage roams Feeling himself, his own low self the whole; When he by sacred sympathy might make The whole one Self! Self, that no alien knows! Self, far diffused as Fancy’s wing can travel! Self, spreading still! Oblivious of its own, Yet all of all possessing! This is Faith! This the Messiah’s destined victory!
Frost At Midnight
The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings : save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village ! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams ! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.
[Image] [Image] [Image] [Image]But O ! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: Save if the door half opened, and I snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!
Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersed vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, And in far other scenes ! For I was reared In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Genevieve
Maid of my love! sweet Genevieve! In beauty's light you glide along; Your eye is like the star of eve, And sweet your voice, as seraph's song. Yet not your heavenly beauty gives This heart with passion soft to glow: Within your soul a voice there lives! It bids you hear the tale of woe. When sinking low the suff'rer wan Beholds no hand outstretched to save, Fair, as the bosom of the swan That rises graceful o'er the wave, I've seen your breast with pity heave And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!
Glycine's Song
A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he troll'd Within that shaft of sunny mist; His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, All else of amethyst!
And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu! Love's dreams prove seldom true. The blossoms, they make no delay: The sparking dew-drops will not stay. Sweet month of May, We must away; Far, far away! To-day! to-day!'
Hexameters
William, my teacher, my friend ! dear William and dear Dorothea ! Smooth out the folds of my letter, and place it on desk or on table ; Place it on table or desk ; and your right hands loosely half-closing, Gently sustain them in air, and extending the digit didactic, Rest it a moment on each of the forks of the five-forked left hand, Twice on the breadth of the thumb, and once on the tip of each finger ; Read with a nod of the head in a humouring recitativo ; And, as I live, you will see my hexameters hopping before you. This is a galloping measure ; a hop, and a trot, and a gallop !
All my hexameters fly, like stags pursued by the staghounds, Breathless and panting, and ready to drop, yet flying still onwards, I would full fain pull in my hard-mouthed runaway hunter ; But our English Spondeans are clumsy yet impotent curb-reins ; And so to make him go slowly, no way left have I but to lame him.
William, my head and my heart ! dear Poet that feelest and thinkest ! Dorothy, eager of soul, my most affectionate sister ! Many a mile, O ! many a wearisome mile are ye distant, Long, long, comfortless roads, with no one eye that doth know us. O ! it is all too far to send to you mockeries idle : Yea, and I feel it not right ! But O ! my friends, my beloved ! Feverish and wakeful I lie,--I am weary of feeling and thinking. Every thought is worn down,--I am weary, yet cannot be vacant. Five long hours have I tossed, rheumatic heats, dry and flushing, Gnawing behind in my head, and wandering and throbbing about me, Busy and tiresome, my friends, as the beat of the boding night-spider.
