II.

What though this ancient Earth be trod No more by step of Demigod

Mounting from glorious deed to deed

As thou from clime to clime didst lead;
Yet still, the bosom beating high,
And the hushed farewell of an eye
Where no procrastinating gaze
A last infirmity betrays,

Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
Shall ne'er submit to cold decay.
By thy divinity impelled,

The Stripling seeks the tented field;
The aspiring Virgin kneels, and, pale
With awe, receives the hallowed veil,
A soft and tender Heroine

Vowed to severer discipline;
Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy
Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy,
And of the ocean's dismal breast

'Mid the blank world of snow and ice,

Thou to his dangers dost enchain
The Chamois-chaser, awed in vain

By chasm or dizzy precipice;
And hast thou not with triumph seen
How soaring Mortals glide between
Or through the clouds, and brave the light
With bolder than Icarian flight?

How they, in bells of crystal, dive,

Where winds and waters cease to strive,

For no unholy visitings,

Among the monsters of the Deep,
And all the sad and precious things
Which there in ghastly silence sleep?
Or, adverse tides and currents headed,
And breathless calms no longer dreaded,
In never-slackening voyage go
Straight as an arrow from the bow,
And, slighting sails and scorning oars,
Keep faith with Time on distant shores?
Within our fearless reach are placed
'The secrets of the burning Waste;
Egyptian tombs unlock their dead,
Nile trembles at his fountain-head;
Thou speak'st, and lo! the Polar Seas
Unbosom their last mysteries.

- But oh! what transports, what sublime reward, Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare For philosophic Sage; or high-souled Bard, Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods, Hath fed on pageants floating through the air, Or calentured in depth of limpid floods ;

Nor grieves, tho' doomed thro' silent night to bear The domination of his glorious themes,

Or struggle in the network of thy dreams!

III.

If there be movements in the Patriot's soul,
From source still deeper, and of higher worth,

"T is thine the quickening impulse to control, And in due season send the mandate forth; Thy call a prostrate Nation can restore,

When but a single Mind resolves to crouch no

more.

IV.

Dread Minister of wrath!

Who to their destined punishment dost urge The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened heart!

Not unassisted by the flattering stars,

Thou strew'st temptation o'er the path
When they in pomp depart,

With trampling horses and refulgent cars,-
Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;

Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;
Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands, —
An army now, and now a living hill

That a brief while heaves with convulsive throes,

Then all is still;

Or, to forget their madness and their woes,
Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

V.

Back flows the willing current of my Song:
If to provoke such doom the Impious dare,
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?

- Bold Goddess! range our Youth among; Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat

In hearts no longer young;

Still may a veteran Few have pride

In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet;
In fixed resolves by Reason justified;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine-tree's northern side,
When fields are naked far and wide,

And withered leaves, from earth's cold breast
Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest-

VI.

But, if such homage thou disdain

As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favors may obtain
For thy contented Votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn

Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph
That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn;

She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy

Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy, Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me; And vernal mornings opening bright

With views of undefined delight,

And cheerful songs, and suns that shine

On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.

VII.

But thou, O Goddess! in thy favorite Isle
(Freedom's impregnable redoubt,

The wide earth's storehouse fenced about
With breakers roaring to the gales
That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!
Thy impulse is the life of Fame;
Glad Hope would almost cease to be
If torn from thy society;

And Love, when worthiest of his name,
Is proud to walk the earth with thee!

XXXV.

то

ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN.

INMATE of a mountain dwelling,

Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed
From the watch-towers of Helvellyn;

Awed, delighted, and amazed!

Potent was the spell that bound thee,

Not unwilling to obey;

For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee,
Stilled the pantings of dismay.