To thee I gave my early youth,

And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, Ere yet the tempest * rose and scared me with its

roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,

On him but seldom, Power divine,
Thy spirit rests! Satiety

And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,

To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind:
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead †

At morning through the accustom'd mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat;

And when the gust of Autumn crowds,

And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,

Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul,

To thee I dedicate the whole !

And while within myself I trace

The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan

The present works of present man—

A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

*The storm-wind-1801. † The Power divine will lead-il. She best the thought will lift-il.

DEJECTION: AN ODE.*

WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802.

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;

And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.

BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

I.

WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Eolian lute,
Which better far were mute.

For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimm'd and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

* Printed in The Morning Post, Oct. 4, 1802. The poem in its original form is addressed to "Edmund," not, as in the later version, to a "lady."

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

live!

II.

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear—

O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,

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!

III.

My genial spirits fail;

And what can these avail

To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?

It were a vain endeavour,

Though I should gaze for ever

On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV.

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:

Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allow'd
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the Earth

And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element !

V.

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be !
What, and wherein it doth exist,

This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.

Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,

Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud

Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloudWe 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.

VI. *

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 : For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem'd mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth :

Nor care I that they rob me of

But oh! each visitation

my mirth;

Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.

For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can ;
And haply by abstruse research to steal

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.

VII.

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream!

* This stanza originally began :

"Yes, dearest Edmund, yes!"