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Throws off the bundle from his back,

Before the door of his own home?


Home-sickness is a wasting pang ;*

This feel I hourly more and more :
There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore !

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ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. + Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the

dove, The linnet and thrush say, I love and I love !" In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strongWhat it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm

weather, And singing, and loving—all come back together. ["I love, and I love," almost all the birds say From sunrise to star-rise, so gladsome are they !) But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he“I love my Love, and my Love loves me !" ['Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to the brim, When he loves his Love, and his Love loves him !)

* Is no baby pang ;-1800.

† Printed in The Morning Post, October 16, 1802, with the following title :—"The Language of Birds: Lines spoken extempore to a little child in early spring."



* GOD be with thee, gladsome Ocean !

How gladly greet I thee once more ! Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,

And men rejoicing on thy shore.

Dissuading spake the mild physician,

"Those briny waves for thee are death !” * But my soul fulfill'd her mission,

And lo ! I breathe untroubled breath !

Fashion's pining sons and daughters,

That seek the crowd they seem to fly, Trembling they approach thy waters;

And what cares Nature if they die ?

Me a thousand hopes || and pleasures,

A thousand recollections bland,

* Printed in The Morning Post, September 15, 1801, and there entitled, “Ode after bathing in the sea, contrary to medical advice." of Ships, and waves, and endless motion,

And life rejoicing on thy shore.-1801. * Mildly said the mild physician

To bathe me on thy shores were death;-il. § That love the City's gilded styib. || Loves-il.


Thoughts sublime, and stately measures,

Revisit on thy echoing strand : *

Dreams (the soul herself forsaking)

Tearful raptures,f boyish mirth;
Silent adorations, making

A blessed shadow of this Earth !

Oye hopes that stir within me,

Health comes with you from above !
God is with me, God is in me !

I cannot die, if Life be Love.


IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.I [Chamouni is one of the highest mountain valleys of the Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of fairy world, in which the wildest appearances (I had almost said horrors) of Nature alternate with the softest and most beautiful. The chain of Mont Blanc is its boundary; and besides the

* Sounding strand—1801. of Grieflike transports-il.

# First printed in The Morning Post, Saturday, September 11, 1802, with the title of “Chamouni, the Hour before Sunrise, a Hymn;" reprinted with many alterations in The Friend of October 26, 1809.

“ The Hymn to Chamouni,” says De Quincey (Tait's Magazine, Sept. 1834), “is an expansion of a short poem in stanzas upon the same subject by Frederica Brun, a female poet of Germany, previously known to the world under her maiden Arvè it is filled with sounds from the Arveiron, which rushes from the melted glaciers, like a giant, mad with joy, from a dungeon, and forms other torrents of snow-water, having their rise in the glaciers which slope down into the valley. The beautiful gentiana major, or greater gentian, with blossoms of the brightest blue, grows in large companies a few steps from the never-melted ice of the glaciers. I thought it an affecting emblem of the boldness of human hope, venturing near, and, as it were, leaning over the brink of the grave. Indeed, the whole vale, its every light, its every sound, must needs impress every mind not utterly callous with the thought-Who would be, who could be an Atheist in this valley of wonders ! of (my) readers have visited this vale in their journeys among the Alps, I am confident that they will not find the sentiments and feelings expressed, or attempted to be expressed, in the following poem, extravagant.] HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star

In his steep course ? So long he seems to

pause On thy bald awful head,* O sovran Blanc ! + The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form ! !

If any

name of Münter. The mere framework of the poem is exactly the same. . On the other hand, by a judicious amplification of some topics, and by its far deeper tone of lyrical enthusiasm, the dry bones of the German outline have been created by Coleridge into the fulness of life. It is not, therefore, a paraphrase, but a recast of the original." * Top-1809.

to Chamouni !-1802. # Dread mountain form!-1802. Dread awful form !-1809.

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,*
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity !
o dread and silent Mount ! f I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my

Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy :
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing—there her natural form, swellid vast to Heaven !

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake ! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. S

* Deep is the sky and black : transpicuous, deep.—1802. of Form.-IV.

I Bodily eyeib. § Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,

E'en like some deep enchanting melody,

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