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Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they And sent my soul abroad,
[awed, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief,
In word, or sigh, or tear-
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye ! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimm'd, but always seen : Yon crescent Moon, as fix'd as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; [A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe !] I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are !
My genial spirits fail ;
And what can these avail
It were a vain endeavour,
On that green light that lingers in the west :
not hope from outward forms to win
O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
Enveloping the Earth-
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
O pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask of me
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud
We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.
There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness :
But oh ! each visitation
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
But to be still and patient, all I can ;
From my own nature all the natural man
This was my sole resource, my only plan : Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream!
* This stanza originally began :
"Yes, dearest Edmund, yes!”
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,*
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds !
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, With groans of trampled men,# with smarting
woundsAt once they groan with pain, and shudder with
the cold ! But hush ! there is a pause of deepest silence !
* O wherefore did I let it haunt my mind,
This dark distressful dream ? I turn from it, and listen to the wind-1802. + Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a mountainous country.
# With many groans of men—1802.
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings-all is
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and A tale of less affright,
[loud! And temper'd with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way : And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep : Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep ! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may
this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watch'd the sleeping Earth.
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,*
* Here followed in the original version these lines :
O Edmund, friend of my devoutest choice,