Is gone;

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE Thy friends are exultations, agonies, VENETIAN REPUBLIC

And love, and man's unconquerable mind. (1802) Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the


SEPTEMBER, 1802 Of Venice did not fall below her birth,

O Friend! I know not which way I must Venice, the eldest child of Liberty.

look She was a maiden city, bright and free; 5

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, No guile seduced, no force could violate;

To think that now our life is only drest And when she took unto herself a mate,

For show; mean handy-work of craftsShe must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories

man, cook,

Or groom!—We must run glittering like fade,

a brook Those titles vanish, and that strength

In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: decay;

The wealthiest man among us is the best: Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

No grandeur now in nature or in book When her long life hath reached its final

Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, day:

This is idolatry; and these we adore: Men are we, and must grieve when even

Plain living and high thinking are the shade Of that which once was great, is passed | The homely beauty of the good old cause away.

our peace,

our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household


(1802) Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!

LONDON, 1802 (T. Milton) Whether the whistling rustic tend his

(1802) plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Milton! thou shouldst be living at this Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless hour: den;

England hath need of thee; she is a fen O miserable chieftain! where and when 5 Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; pen, do thou

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful bower, brow:

Have forfeited their ancient English Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, dower Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left Of inward happiness. We are selfish behind

men; Powers that will work for thee: air, Oh! raise us up, return to us again; earth, and skies;

And give us

manners, virtue, freedom, There's not a breathing of the common power. wind

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: That will forget thee; thou hast great Thou hadst a voice whose sound was allies :

like the sea:







Pure the naked heavens, majestic, And many a fond and idle name free,

I give to thee, for praise or blame, So didst thou travel on life's common

As is the humor of the game,

15 way,

While I am gazing.
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

A nun demure of lowly port;
Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court,

In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations; (1802)

A queen in crown of rubies drest;

A starveling in a scanty vest; It is not to be thought of that the flood

Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Of British freedom, which, to the open sea

Thy appellations, Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity

A little Cyclops, with one eye Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, un Staring to threaten and defy, withstood,”

That thought comes next and instantly Roused though it be full often to a mood 5

The freak is over,
Which spurns the check of salutary bands, The shape will vanish and behold
That this most famous stream in bogs A silver shield with boss of gold,
and sands

That spreads itself, some faery bold
Should perish; and to evil and to good

In fight to cover!
Be lost for ever.

In our halls is hung
Armory of the invincible knights of old: 10 I see thee glittering from afar
We must be free or die, who speak the

And then thou art a pretty star;

Not quite so fair as many are That Shakespeare spake; the faith and

In heaven above thee! morals hold

Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Which Milton held. - In everything we Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;are sprung

May peace come never to his nest, Of Earth's first blood, have titles mani Who shall reprove thee! fold.

Bright Flower! for by that name at last,

When all my reveries are past,

I call thee, and to that cleave fast,

Sweet silent creature! With little here to do or see

That breath'st with me in sun and air, 45 Of things that in the great world be,

Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
Daisy ! again I talk to thee,

My heart with gladness, and a share
For thou art worthy,

Of thy meek nature!
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,

Which love makes for thee!

(1802) Oft on the dappled turf at ease

Bright Flower! whose home is everyI sit, and play with similes,

where, Loose types of things through all de Bold in maternal Nature's care, grees,

And, all the long year through, the heir Thoughts of thy raising:

Of joy or sorrow;





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Is it that Man is soon deprest?
A thoughtless thing! who, once unblest, 10
Does little on his memory rest,

Or on his reason,
And thou wouldst teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind 15

And every season?


A life, a presence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair;

Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstasies,

Yet seeming still to hover; There! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body Aings Shadows and sunny glimmerings,

That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives, A brother of the dancing leaves; Then Aits, and from the cottage-eaves

Pours forth his song in gushes; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless form he chose to feign,

While Auttering in the bushes.


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One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding spirit here today,
Dost lead the revels of the May;

And this is thy dominion.

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these grey rocks; that household

Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake;
This little bay; a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy abode -
In truth together do ye seeń
Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, О fair creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,
I bless thee, vision as thou art
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.



While birds, and butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,

Art sole in thy employment:





To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part:
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;
And thee, the spirit of them all!


With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien, or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here scattered, like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, 30 And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread! Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sway's Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind Thus beating up against the wind.




Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.




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What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful? O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways, and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea; and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighborhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father-anything to thee! Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place. Joy have I had; and going hence I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then, why should I be loth to stir? I feel this place was made for her;

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?




Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.





Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.


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O blithe new-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear,
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.
Though babbling only to the vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;
The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to: that cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for thee!

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Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition sent
To be a moment's ornament;


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