Of waving atoms hook'd into a world!

But madder yet to think that million wills,
Each crushing other, can compose one will,
Constituent of universal truth.

We would be free as nature, but forget
That Nature wears an universal law,
Free only, for she cannot disobey. †

She hath no self to sacrifice: but man,
By sinning, made out of himself a self
Alien from God, that must be self-destroy'd
Ere man can know what freedom is, or feel
His spirit enfranchised,—general as the light
Diffused through ether in its purity,

And by the various sympathies of earth,

Blent and dissected into various hues

That all are light, as a good man's good works,
All, all are love.

Thank God, the times are pass'd

When fear and blindly-working ignorance

Could govern man.

'Tis Faith and duteous love

* Or, an everlasting.

We would be the sons of Nature-would be free

As Nature is. But can we then forget

That Nature is an everlasting law,

And free because she cannot disobey?—First Sketch.

Out of a multitude must form a state.

We have escaped from Egypt; but we walk
Wall'd by the waters of a blood-red sea,
Parted perforce, impatient to o'erwhelm us,
Soon as we not believe the awful word,
That bids the tide of ruin now to flow.

Yet we are spared; but shall we long be spared
In sleep fool-hardy, or ingrate repining,
When all around, as from the serpent's tooth
By Cadmus sown, in the wild Theban fable,
Spring armed hosts, all mad for liberty,
And yet permitting nothing to be free,

Save naked power, unclad with reverend form,
Unsanctified by faith, by love unbalm'd.*

* We have escaped from Egypt; but we roam
In a bare wilderness, and we lack-

We lack, or heed not-the prophetic voice
Which Israel had, but would not always hear.
Hence from the corse of vanquish'd tyranny,
As from the serpent's teeth by Cadmus sown,
Spring armed hosts [ ]eager to be slaves,
Crying for liberty, but meaning nought
Saving naked power,

unclad with reverend form, Unsanctified by faith, by love unbalm'd.-First Sketch.

LINES

WRITTEN BY H. C. IN THE FLY-LEAF OF A COPY OF LUCRETIUS

PRESENTED BY HIM TO MR. WORDSWORTH.

In the far north, for many a month unseen,
The blessed sun scarce lifts his worshipp'd head;
No hardy herb records where he hath been;
But pale cold snows, with dim abortive sheen,

Show like the winding-sheet of Nature dead.

Yet ofttimes there the boreal morning gleams,
Flickering and rustling through the long, long night;
So hid from truth, and its all-cheering beams,
The mind, benighted, dawns with gorgeous dreams,
Cold, restless, false, unprofitably bright.

If such delusion held thy earthly thought,
Lucretius, still thou wast a lofty mind;

For, spurning all that hopes and fears had taught,
Thy venturous reason, hopeless, fearless, sought
In its own pride its proper bliss to find.

Oh! was it fear of what might be in realms

Of blank privation made thee seek the peace That the dead faith affords ?-fear that dishelms The vessel of the soul, and quite o'erwhelms The spiritual life, that rather would surcease,

Or be an atom, motion, air, or flame,

Whose essence perishes by change of form, Than wander through the abyss without an aim, Duty, or joy-to feel itself the same,

Though naked, bodiless, weak, amid the storm?

LINES

SUGGESTED BY A CAST FROM AN ANCIENT STATUE OF THE INFANT HERCULES STRANGLING THE SERPENTS.

BEHOLD Art's triumph!

Yea, but what is Art?

Is it the Iris sent from mind to heart?

Or a bright exhalation, raised, refined,

And organized with various hues of mind?
Nay, let the mind and heart, as nature meant,
Unite to work their Maker's great intent;
As light and heat, diffused by the same sun,
To sense are diverse, but in essence one.
The poet's craft in rosy breath transpires,
And the quick music of a thousand lyres,
That wake to ecstasy the slumbering air,
Dies into nought, or flits we know not where.
The patient sculptor views, from day to day,
An image that can never pass away;
With resolute faith, which nothing can surprise,
Beholds the type in true proportions rise :