He touched his harp, and nations heard, en- | He looked, which down from higher regions came,

tranced.

As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And opened new fountains in the human heart.
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose,
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at
home,

And perched it there, to see what lay beneath.
The nations gazed, and wondered much, and
praised.

Critics before him fell in humble plight,
Confounded fell, and made debasing signs
To catch his eye, and stretched, and swelled them-
selves

To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words

Where angels bashful looked. Others, though Of admiration vast: and many, too,

great,

Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles;
He from above descending stooped to touch
The loftiest thought; and proudly stooped, as
though

It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
At will with all her glorious majesty.
He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane,”
And played familiar with his hoary locks;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,
And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed;
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed.
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters
were;

Many that aimed to imitate his flight,
With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,
And gave abundant sport to after days.

Great man! the nations gazed, and wondered
much,

And praised; and many called his evil good.
Wits wrote in favour of his wickedness,
And kings to do him honour took delight.
Thus, full of titles, flattery, honour, fame,
Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full,
He died. He died of what? Of wretchedness;—
Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump
Of fame, drank early, deeply drank, drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched; then

died

Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.
His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,
Fell from his arms, abhorred; his passions died,
Died, all but dreary, solitary Pride;
And all his sympathies in being died.

Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall,

storms,

His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men,
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane;
All creeds, all seasons, Time, Eternity;
All that was hated, and all that was dear;
All that was hoped, all that was feared, by man;
He tossed about, as tempest, withered leaves,
Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness;
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself;
But back into his soul retired, alone,
Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.
So Ocean from the plains his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,

And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought.
As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence, as it passed,
So he through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top

Which angry tides cast out on desert shore,
And then, retiring, left it there to rot
And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven;
So he, cut from the sympathies of life,
And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge,
A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing,
Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul,
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought,—
Repined, and groaned, and withered from the
earth.

His groanings filled the land, his numbers filled;
And yet he seemed ashamed to groan :-Poor

man!

Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help.

Proof this, beyond all lingering of doubt,
That not with natural or mental wealth,
Was God delighted, or his peace secured;
That not in natural or mental wealth,
Was human happiness or grandeur found.
Attempt how monstrous, and how surely vain!
With things of earthly sort, with aught but God,
With aught but moral excellence, truth, and love,
To satisfy and fill the immortal soul!
Attempt, vain inconceivably! attempt,

Of Fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled and To satisfy the Ocean with a drop,

worn,

As if he from the earth had laboured up;

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,

To marry Immortality to Death,
And with the unsubstantial Shade of Time,

To fill the embrace of all Eternity!

BOOK V.

PRAISE God, ye servants of the Lord! praise God!
Ye angels strong! praise God, ye sons of men!
Praise him who made, and who redeemed your
souls;

Who gave you hope, reflection, reason, will;
Minds that can pierce eternity remote,
And live at once on future, present, past:
Can speculate on systems yet to make,
And back recoil on ancient days of Time,
Of Time, soon past, soon lost among the shades
Of buried years. Not so the actions done
In Time, the deeds of reasonable men.
As if engraven with pen of iron grain,
And laid in flinty rock, they stand, unchanged,
Written on the various pages of the past:
If good, in rosy characters of love;
If bad, in letters of vindictive fire.

God may forgive, but cannot blot them out.
Systems begin and end, Eternity

Rolls on his endless years, and men absolved
By mercy from the consequence, forget
The evil deed, and God imputes it not;
But neither systems ending nor begun,
Eternity that rolls his endless years,

Nor men absolved, and sanctified, and washed
By mercy from the consequence, nor yet
Forgetfulness, nor God imputing not,
Can wash the guilty deed, once done, from out
The faithful annals of the past; who reads,
And many read, there finds it, as it was,
And is, and shall for ever be,—a dark,
Unnatural, and loathly moral spot.

The span of Time was short, indeed; and now
Three-fourths were past, the last begun, and on
Careering to its close, which soon we sing.
But first our promise we redeem, to tell
The joys of Time, her joys of native growth;
And briefly must, what longer tale deserves.

Wake, dear remembrances! wake, childhood-
days!

And sits at his right hand alone;-but such
As well deserved the name, abundant joy;
Pleasures, on which the memory of saints
Of highest glory, still delights to dwell.

It was, we own, subject of much debate,
And worthy men stood on opposing sides,
Whether the cup of mortal life had more
Of sour or sweet. Vain question this, when asked
In general terms, and worthy to be left
Unsolved. If most was sour, the drinker, not
The cup, we blame. Each in himself the means
Possessed to turn the bitter sweet, the sweet
To bitter. Hence, from out the self-same fount,
One nectar drank, another draughts of gall.
Hence, from the self-same quarter of the sky,
One saw ten thousand angels look and smile;
Another saw as many demons frown.
One discord heard, where harmony inclined
Another's ear. The sweet was in the taste,
The beauty in the eye, and in the ear
The melody; and in the man,-for God
Necessity of sinning laid on none,—
To form the taste, to purify the eye,
And tune the ear, that all he tasted, saw

Or heard, might be harmonious, sweet, and fair.
Who would, might groan; who would, might sing
for joy.

Nature lamented little.

Undevoured

By spurious appetites, she found enough,
Where least was found; with gleanings satisfied,
Or crumbs, that from the hand of luxury fell;
Yet seldom these she ate, but ate the bread
Of her own industry, made sweet by toil;
And walked in robes that her own hand had spun;
And slept on down her early rising bought.
Frugal and diligent in business, chaste
And abstinent, she stored for helpless age,
And, keeping in reserve her spring-day health,
And dawning relishes of life, she drank
Her evening cup with excellent appetite;
And saw her eldest sun decline, as fair
As rose her earliest morn, and pleased as well.
Whether in crowds or solitudes, in streets
Or shady groves, dwelt Happiness, it seems

Loves, friendships, wake! and wake, thou morn In vain to ask, her nature makes it vain,

and even!

Sun! with thy orient locks, night, moon, and stars!
And thou, celestial bow! and all ye woods,
And hills, and vales, first trod in dawning life,
And hours of holy musing, wake! wake, earth!
And, smiling to remembrance, come, and bring,
For thou canst bring, meet argument for song
Of heavenly harp, meet hearing for the ear
Of heavenly auditor, exalted high.

God gave much peace on earth, much holy joy;
Oped fountains of perennial spring, whence flowed
Abundant happiness to all who wished

To drink; not perfect bliss;-that dwells with us,
Beneath the eyelids of the Eternal One,

Though poets much, and hermits talked, and sung
Of brooks, and crystal founts, and weeping dews,
And myrtle bowers, and solitary vales,
And with the nymph made assignations there,
And wooed her with the love-sick oaten reed;
And sages too, although less positive,
Advised their sons to court her in the shade.
Delirious babble all! Was happiness,
Was self-approving, God-approving joy,
In drops of dew, however pure? in gales,
However sweet? in wells, however clear?
Or groves, however thick with verdant shade?

True, these were of themselves exceeding fair
How fair at morn and even! worthy the walk

With glory crowned of righteous actions won, The sacred thorn, to memory dear, first sought The youth, and found it at the happy hour, Just when the damsel kneeled herself to pray. Wrapped in devotion, pleading with her God, tran-She saw him not, heard not his foot approach; All holy images seemed too impure

All finest relishes, all fairest sights,
All rarest odours, all divinest sounds,
All thoughts, all feelings dearest to the soul;
And brought the holy mixture home, and filled
The heart with all superlatives of bliss.
But who would that expound, which words
scends,

Must talk in vain. Behold a meeting scene
Of early love, and thence infer its worth.

It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood.
The corn fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light,
Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand;
And all the Winds slept soundly. Nature seemed,
In silent contemplation, to adore

Its Maker. Now and then, the aged leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly
Thought,

Conversing with itself. Vesper looked forth,
From out her western hermitage, and smiled;
And up the east, unclouded, rode the Moon
With all her Stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder walking there.
Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
When, by a hermit thorn that on the hill
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneeled to offer up her prayer,
Her prayer nightly offered, nightly heard.
This ancient thorn had been the meeting place
Of love, before his country's voice had called
The ardent youth to fields of honour far
Beyond the wave: and hither now repaired,
Nightly, the maid, by God's all-seeing eye
Seen only, while she thought this boon alone
"Her lover's safety, and his quick return."
In holy, humble attitude she kneeled,
And to her bosom, fair as moonbeam, pressed
One hand, the other lifted up to heaven.
Her eye, upturned, bright as the star of morn,
As violet meek, excessive ardour streamed,
Wafting away her earnest heart to God.
Her voice, scarce uttered, soft as Zephyr sighs
On morning lily's cheek, though soft and low,
Yet heard in heaven, heard at the mercy-seat.
A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face;
It was a tear of faith and holy fear,

Pure as the drops that hang at dawning time,
On yonder willows by the stream of life.
On her the Moon looked steadfastly; the Stars,
That circle nightly round the eternal Throne,
Glanced down, well pleased; and Everlasting Love
Gave gracious audience to her prayer sincere.

Oh, had her lover seen her thus alone,
Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him!
Nor did he not: for oft-times Providence,
With unexpected joy the fervent prayer
Of faith surprised. Returned from long delay

To emblem her he saw. A seraph kneeled,
Beseeching for his ward, before the Throne,
Seemed fittest, pleased him best. Sweet was the
thought!

But sweeter still the kind remembrance came,
That she was flesh and blood, formed for himself,
The plighted partner of his future life.
And as they met, embraced, and sat, embowered,
In woody chambers of the starry night,
Spirits of love about them ministered;

And God, approving, blessed the holy joy!

Nor unremembered is the hour when friends Met. Friends, but few on earth, and therefore dear;

Sought oft, and sought almost as oft in vain;
Yet always sought, so native to the heart,
So much desired, and coveted by all.
Nor wonder thou,-thou wonderest not nor needst.
Much beautiful, and excellent, and fair
Was seen beneath the sun; but nought was seen
More beautiful, or excellent, or fair,

Than face of faithful friend, fairest when seen
In darkest day; and many sounds were sweet,
Most ravishing, and pleasant to the ear;
But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend;
Sweet always, sweetest, heard in loudest storm.
Some I remember, and will ne'er forget;
My early friends, friends of my evil day;
Friends in my mirth, friends in my misery too;
Friends given by God in mercy and in love;
My counsellors, my comforters, and guides;
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,
Companions of my young desires; in doubt,
My oracles, my wings in high pursuit.
Oh, I remember, and will ne'er forget,
Our meeting spots, our chosen, sacred hours,
Our burning words that uttered all the soul,
Our faces beaming with unearthly love;
Sorrow with sorrow sighing, hope with hope
Exulting, heart embracing heart entire.
As birds of social feather helping each
His fellow's flight, we soared into the skies,
And cast the clouds beneath our feet, and Earth
With all her tardy, leaden-footed Cares,
And talked the speech and ate the food of heaven!
These I remember, these selectest men,
And would their names record; but what avails
My mention of their name? Before the Throne
They stand illustrious 'mong the loudest harps,
And will receive thee glad, my friend and theirs.
For all are friends in heaven, all faithful friends!
And many friendships, in the days of Time

Begun, are lasting here, and growing still;
So grows ours evermore, both theirs and mine.
Nor is the hour of lonely walk forgot,
In the wide desert, where the view was large.
Pleasant were many scenes, but most to me
The solitude of vast extent, untouched
By hand of art, where Nature sowed, herself,

And reaped her crops; whose garments were the
clouds,

But whatsoever was both good and fair,
And highest relish of enjoyment gave,

In intellectual exercise was found,

When gazing through the future, present, past, Inspired, thought linked to thought, harmonious flowed

In poetry-the loftiest mood of mind;

Or when philosophy the reason led

Deep through the outward circumstance of things;

Whose minstrels, brooks; whose lamps, the moon And saw the master-wheels of Nature move;

and stars;

Whose organ-choir, the voice of many waters;
Whose banquets, morning dews; whose heroes,

storms;

And travelled far along the endless line
Of certain and of probable; and made,

At every step, some new discovery,

That gave the soul sweet sense of larger room

Whose warriors, mighty winds; whose lovers, High these pursuits, and sooner to be named,

flowers;

Deserved; at present, only named, again
To be resumed, and praised in longer verse.
Abundant and diversified above

Whose orators, the thunderbolts of God;
Whose palaces, the everlasting hills;
Whose ceiling, heaven's unfathomable blue;
And from whose rocky turrets, battled high,
Prospect immense spread out on all sides round,
Lost now between the welkin and the main,
Now walled with hills that slept above the storm.
Most fit was such a place for musing men,
Happiest sometimes when musing without aim.
It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss
The lonely bard enjoyed, when forth he walked,
Unpurposed; stood, and knew not why; sat down,
And knew not where; arose, and knew not when;
Had eyes, and saw not; ears, and nothing heard;
And sought-sought neither heaven nor earth-Beheld its wondrous eye and plumage fine,

All number, were the sources of delight;
As infinite as were the lips that drank;
And to the pure, all innocent and pure;
The simplest still to wisest men the best.
One made acquaintanceship with plants and flow-

sought nought,

Nor meant to think; but ran, meantime, through

vast

Of visionary things, fairer than aught

That was; and saw the distant tops of thoughts,
Which men of common stature never saw,
Greater than aught that largest words could hold,
Or give idea of, to those who read.
He entered in to Nature's holy place,
Her inner chamber, and beheld her face
Unveiled; and heard unutterable things,
And incommunicable visions saw;
Things then unutterable, and visions then
Of incommunicable glory bright;
But by the lips of after ages formed

To words, or by their pencil pictured forth;
Who, entering farther in, beheld again,
And heard unspeakable and marvellous things,
Which other ages in their turn revealed,
And left to others, greater wonders still.

The earth abounded much in silent wastes,
Nor yet is heaven without its solitudes,
Else incomplete in bliss, whither who will
May oft retire, and meditate alone,
Of God, redemption, holiness, and love;
Nor needs to fear a settirg sun, or haste
Him home from rainy tempest unforeseen,
Or sighing, leave his thoughts for want of time.

ers,

And happy grew in telling all their names;
One classed the quadrupeds; a third, the fowls;
Another found in minerals his joy:
And I have seen a man, a worthy man,
In happy mood conversing with a fly;
And as he, through his glass, made by himself,

From leaping scarce he kept, for perfect joy.

And from my path I with my friend have turned,
A man of excellent mind and excellent heart,
And climbed the neighbouring hill, with arduous
step,

Fetching from distant cairn, or from the earth
Digging with labour sure, the ponderous stone,
Which, having carried to the highest top,
We downward rolled; and as it strove, at first,
With obstacles that seemed to match its force,
With feeble, crooked motion to and fro
Wavering, he looked with interest most intense,
And prayed almost; and as it gathered strength,
And straightened the current of its furious flow,
Exulting in the swiftness of its course,
And, rising now with rainbow-bound immense,
Leaped down careering o'er the subject plain,
He clapped his hands in sign of boundless bliss,
And laughed and talked, well paid for all his toil,
And when at night the story was rehearsed,
Uncommon glory kindled in his eye.

And there were too,-Harp! lift thy voice on
high,

And run in rapid numbers o'er the face
Of Nature's scenery,-and there were day
And night, and rising suns and setting suns,
And clouds that seemed like chariots of saints,
By fiery coursers drawn, as brightly hued