Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime, All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 1 A lover of the meadows and the woods, Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more For thou art with me here upon the banks 1 This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of Young's, the exact expression of which I do not recollect. 115 I 20 125 The mind that is within us, so impress Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 130 135 140 Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts 145 And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence-wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream 150 We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came 155 THERE WAS A BOY. THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And they would shout Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause Has carried far into his heart the voice With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, 5 1Ο 15 20 Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received 25 This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Preeminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs 30 And, through that church-yard when my way has led A long half-hour together I have stood Mute — looking at the grave in which he lies! 1798. STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening-moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea; With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot ; And, as we climbed the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, My horse moved on; hoof after hoof At once, the bright moon dropped. 5 IO 15 20 What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a Lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, ee If Lucy should be dead!" SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Besides the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! I TRAVELLED among unknown men, Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. |