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FROM WORDSWORTH TO LONGFELLOW.
see no more.
The cataracts blow their trumpets from
No more shall grief of mine the season (1770-1850.)
wrong: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY
I hear the echoes through the mountains
throng, FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.
The winds come to me from the fields of
sleep, THERE was time when meadow, grove,
And all the earth is gay; and stream,
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday ;-
Thou child of joy, It is not now as it hath been of yore;
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, Turn wheresoe'er I may,
thou happy shepherd boy! By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can Ye blesséd creatures, I have heard the
The heavens laugh with you in your The rainbow comes and goes,
jubilee; And lovely is the rose;
My heart is at your festival, The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are The fulness of your bliss, I feel – I feel
My head hath its coronal, bare;
it all. Waters on a starry night
O evil day! if I were sullen Are beautiful and fair;
While Earth herself is adorning, The sunshine is a glorious birth :
This sweet May morning, But yet I know, where'er I go,
And the children are culling,
On every side,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous
And the babe leaps up on his mother's And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound,
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! To me alone there came a thought of But there's a tree, of many one, grief;
A single field which I have looked A timely utterance gave that thought upon, relief,
Both of themi speak of something that is And I again am strong.
The pansy at my feet
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral,
And this hath now his heart, Where is it now, the glory and the
And unto this he frames his song: dream?
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Our birth is but a sleep and a forget
But it will not be long ting :
Ere this be thrown aside, The soul that rises with us, our life's And with new joy and pride star,
The little actor cons another part; Hath had elsewhere its setting, Filling from time to time his humorous And cometh from afar;
stage Not in entire forgetfulness,
With all the persons, down to palsied age, And not in utter nakedness, That Life brings with her in her equipage ; But trailing clouds of glory, do we come As if his whole vocation From God, who is our home:
Were endless imitation. Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Upon the growing boy ;
Thy soul's immensity; But he beholds the light, and whence it Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep flows,
Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind, He sees it in his joy.
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal The youth who daily farther from the deep, east
Haunted forever by the eternal mind, Must travel, still is Nature's priest, Mighty prophet! Seer blest! And by the vision splendid
On whom those truths do rest Is on his way attended;
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, At length the man perceives it die in darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; away,
Thou, over wliom thy immortality And fade into the light of common Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, day.
A presence which is not to be put by ;
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her of heaven-born freedoin, on thy being's
height, Yearnings she hath in her own natural Why with such earnest pains dost thou kind,
provoke And even with something of a mother's The years to bring the inevitable yoke, mind,
Thus blindly with thy b'esseilness at And no unworthy aim,
strife ? The homely nurse doth all she can Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly To make her foster-child, her inmate man, freight,
Forget the glories he hath known, And custoin lie upon thee with a weight
Is something that doth live;
The thought of our past years in me doth
For that which is most worthy to be See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, blest; Some fragment from his dream of human Delight and liberty, the simple creed life,
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, Shaped by himself with newly learned With new-fledged hope still Auttering in art,
his breast :
Not for these I raise
And 0 ye fountains, meadows, hills, and The song of thanks and praise ;
groves, But for those obstinate questionings Forebode not any severing of our loves ! Of sense and outward things,
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; Fallings from us, vanishings,
I only have relinquished one delight, Blank misgivings of a creature To live beneath your more habitual sway. Moving about in worlds not realized, I love the brooks which down their High instincts before which our mortal channels fret, nature
Even more than when I tripped lightly Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : as they;
But for those first affections, The innocent brightness of a new-born day Those shadowy recollections,
Is lovely yet ; Which, be they what they may, The clouds that gather round the setting Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Do take a sober coloring from an eye Uphold us, cherish, and have power That hath kept watch o'er man's morto make
tality; Our noisy years seem moments in the being Another race hath been, and other palms Of the eternal silence: truths that wake,
are won. To perish never;
Thanks to the human heart by which we Which neither listlessness, nor mad en
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and Nor man nor boy,
fears, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, To me the meanest flower that blows can Can utterly abolish or destroy !
give Hence, in a season of calm weather, Thoughts that do often lie too deep for Though inland far we be,
tears. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither;
THE DAFFODILS. Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, I WANDERED lonely as a cloud And hear the mighty waters rolling ever. That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd, Then, sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
A host of golden daffodils, song!
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound !
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, What though the radiance which was
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight; The waves beside them danced, but they
Though nothing can bring back the hour Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the A poet could not but be gay flower,
In such a jocund company! We will grieve not, rather find
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought Strength in what remains behind;
What wealth the show to me had brought; In the primal sympathy Which, having been, must ever be; For oft, when on my couch I lie In the soothing thoughts that spring In vacant or in pensive mood, Out of human suffering;
They flash upon that inward eye In the faith that looks through death, Which is the bliss of solitude : In years that bring the philosophic And then my heart with pleasure fi's ; mind.
And dances with the daffodils.
TO THE CUCKOO.
“She shall be sportive as the fawn,
That wild with glee across the lawn O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard,
Or up the mountain springs; I hear thee, and rejoice:
And hers shall be the breathing balm, O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, And hers the silence and the calm, Or but a wandering voice?
Of mute insensate things. While I am lying on the grass
“The floating clouds their state shall Thy twofold shout I hear;
lend From hill to hill it seems to pass,
To her; for her the willow bend; At once far off and near.
Nor shall she fail to see
E'en in the motions of the storin Though babbling only to the vale
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale
By silent sympathy. Of visionary hours.
“The stars of unidnight shall be dear Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! To her; and she shall lean her ear Even yet thou art to me
In many a secret place, No bird, but an invisible thing,
Where rivulets dance their wayward A voice, a mystery ;
And beauty born of murmuring sound The same whom in iny school-boy days Shall pass into her face. 1 listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways, “And vital feelings of delight In bush and tree and sky.
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
Thus Nature spake. The work was done And I can listen to thee yet;
How soon my Lucy's race was run! Can lie upon the plain
She died, and left to me And listen, till I do beget
This heath, this calm and quiet scene; That golden time again.
The memory of what has been,
And nevermore will be.
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament; Three years she grew in sun and shower; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; On earth was never sown :
But all things else about her drawn This child I to myself will take; From May-time and the cheerful dawn; She shall be mine, and I will make A dancing shape, an image gay, A lady of my own.
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. "Myself will to my darling be
I saw her upon nearer view, Both law and impulse; and with me A spirit, yet a woman too! The girl, in rock and plain,
Her household motions light and free, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, And steps of virgin liberty; Shall feel an overseeing power
A countenance in which did meet To kindle or restrain.
Sweet records, promises as sweet;