No woods were green enough, no bower divine,

Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:
In sowing-time ne'er would I dibble take,
Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;
And, in the summer tide of blossoming,
No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
No melody was like a passing spright
If it went not to solemnize thy reign.
Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain 160
By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;
And as I grew in years, still didst thou
blend

glen;

Thou wast the mountain-top-the sage's

pen

The poet's harp- the voice of friends

the sun; Thou wast the river

And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive

cry

Plaining discrepant between sea and sky. Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes

unseen

Would let me feel their scales of gold and green,

Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,
When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloft
Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe
To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and
wipe

My life away like a vast sponge of fate, 349 Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state,

Has dived to its foundations, gulf'd it down,
And left me tossing safely. But the crown
Of all my life was utmost quietude:
More did I love to lie in cavern rude,
Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's
voice,

And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice! There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer

My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,

Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep: 360

And never was a day of summer shine,
But I beheld its birth upon the brine:
For I would watch all night to see unfold
Heaven's gates, and Ethon snort his morn-
ing gold

Wide o'er the swelling streams: and con

379

Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began
To feel distemper'd longings: to desire
The utmost privilege that ocean's sire
Could grant in benediction: to be free
Of all his kingdom. Long in misery
I wasted, ere in one extremest fit
I plunged for life or death. To interknit
One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff
Might seem a work of pain; so not enough
Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,
And buoyant round my limbs. At first I
dwelt

Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;
Forgetful utterly of self-intent;

Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. Then, like a new-fledged bird that first doth show