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Ye Gerii! to his covert speed;
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din I nd wake him with such gentle beed
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, As may attune his soul to meet the dower
lo hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Bestowed on this transcendent hour!
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind, Such hues from their celestial Urn
With tranquil restoration :—feclings 100 Were wopi 10 strear before my eye,
Of unremembered pleasure : such, perhaps, Where'er it wandered in the morn
As have no slight or trivial influence Of blissful infancy.
On that best portion of a good man's life, This glimpse of glory, why rencwed ?
llis little, nameless, unremembered acts Xay, rather speak with gratitude;
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, For, if a vestige of those gleams
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world, from Ture if I would swerve,
Is lightened :-that serene and blessed mood, Oh, let iby grace remind me of the light
In which the affections gently lead us on,Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored;
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
And even the motion of our human blood ppears to shine, by miracle restored!
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep Jly soul, though yet confined to earth,
In body, and become a living soul : Rejoices in a second birth;
While with an eye made quiet by the power -T is past, the visionary splendour fades;
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, And night approaches with her shades.
We see into the life of things.
Unprofitable, and thic fever of the world,
llow oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods,
llow often bas my spirit turned to thee! | COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITIXG THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR.
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, JULY 13, 1798.
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity, Fird years have past; five summers, with the length
The Picture of the mind revives again : Of five long winters! and again I hear
While here I stand, not only with the sense These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts With a sweet inlaud murmur. '--Once again
That in this moment there is life and food Do I behold these sleep and lofty cliffs,
For future That ou a wild secluded scene impress
And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, froin wbat I was when first Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides The day is come wben I again repose
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, llere, under this dark sycamore, and view
Wherever nature led : more like a man
Flying froin something that lie dreads, than one Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. Once again I see
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.— I cannot paint These hedge-rows, bardly hedge-rows, little lines
What then I was. The sounding cataract Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms,
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, freen to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite: a feeling and a love, vagrant Dwellers in the houseless woods,
That bad no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Uuborrowed from the eye. That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more, Through a long absence, liave not been to me
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this As is a landscape to a blind man's cyc:
Paint I, oor mourn nor murmur; other gifts 'The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above Tin
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
For I have learned
That on the banks of this delightful stream
PETER BELL, A TALE.
What 's in a Name?
Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Cæsar!
To look on nature, not as in the lour
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., P. L.
etc, etc, MY DEAR FRIEND, The Tale of Peter Bell, which I now introduce to your notice, and to that of the Public, has, in its Manuscript state, nearly survived its minority ;- for it first saw the light in the summer of 1798. During this long interval, pains liave been taken at different times to make the production Jess unworthy of a favourable reception : or, rather, to fit it for filling permanently a station, hosever humble, in the Literature of my Country. This has, indeed, been the aim of all my endeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have been sufficiently laborious to prove that I deem the Art not lightly to be approached; and that the attainment of excellence in it. may laudably be made the principal object of intelleecual pursuit by any man, who, with reasonable consideration of circumstances, has faith in his owa impulses.
The Poem of Peter Bell, as the Prologue will shew, was composed under a belief that the luagioation not only does not require for its exercise the intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though such agency be excluded, the faculty may be called forth as imperiously, and for kindred results of pleasure, by incidents, within the compass of poetic probabiliiy, in the humblest departments of daily life. Since that Prologue was written, you have exhibited most splendid effects of judicious daring, in the opposite and usual course, Let this acknowledgment make my peace with the lovers of the supernatural; and I am persuaded it will be admitted, that to you, as a Master in that province of the art, the following Tale, whether from contrast or congruity, is not an unappropriate offering. Accept it, then, as a public testimony of affectionate admiration from one with whose name yours has been often coupled (to use your own words) for evil and for good, and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life and Joealth may be granted you to complete the many imporlant works in which you are engaged, and with haigla respect,
Most faithfully yours,
* Thisline has a close resemblance to an admirable line of Young, Rydal Mount, April 7, 1819. ibu exact expression of which I cannot recollect,
« Haste! and above Siberian snows We'll sport amid the boreal morning, Will mingle will ber lustres, gliding Among the stars, the stars now hiding, And now the stars adorning.
«I know the secrets of a land
The Crab—the Scorpion-and the Bull-
« Or we 'll into the realm of Faery,
« Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal
« My lite vagrant Form of light,
« Temptation lurks among your words;
« There was a time when all mankind
«Go-(but the world 's a sleepy world,
« Long have I loved what I behold,
« The dragon's wing, the magic ring,
« These giren, what more need I desire
« A polent wand doth Sorrow wield; What spell so strong as guilty Fear! Repentance is a tender Sprite; If aught on carth have heavenly might, 'T is lodged within her silent tear.
« But grant my wishes, let us now
« To the stone-table in my garden,
«With these are many more convened;
« There sits the Vicar and his Dame;
off flew my sparkling Boat in scorn,
« O, here he is!» cried little Bess-
« Reproach me not-your fears be still-
I spake with faltering voice, like one
All by the moonlight river side
Like winds that lash the waves, or smile
--« A Potter, 'Sir, he was by trade >>
Ilc, two-and-thirty years or more,
And lie had seen Caernarvon's towers,
Ils far-renowned alarum! ' In the dialect of the North, a bawker of earthen-ware is tha") designated.