What is Friendship?-do not trust her, Nor the vows which she has made; Diamonds dart their brightest lustre From a palsy-shaken head.
What is Truth?-a staff rejected;
Duty?-an unwelcome clog;
Joy?-a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;
Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shone :
He hath hailed it re-appearing-
And as quickly it is gone;
Such is Joy-as quickly hidden,
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.
What is Youth?-a dancing billow,
(Winds behind, and rocks before !)
Age?-a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.
What is Peace? - when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing-knell !
"HAST THOU SEEN, WITH FLASH INCESSANT."
HAST thou seen, with flash incessant,
Bubbles gliding under ice,
Bodied forth and evanescent,
No one knows by what device?
Such are thoughts!-A wind-swept meadow
Mimicking a troubled sea,
Such is life; and death a shadow
From the rock eternity!
NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE.
TROUBLED long with warring notions
Long impatient of thy rod,
I resign my soul's emotions
Unto Thee, mysterious God!
What avails the kindly shelter
Yielded by this craggy rent,
If my spirit toss and welter
On the waves of discontent?
Parching Summer hath no warrant
To consume this crystal Well;
Rains, that make each rill a torrent,
Neither sully it nor swell.
Thus, dishonouring not her station,
Would my Life present to Thee,
Gracious God, the pure oblation
Of divine tranquillity!
COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EXTRAORDINARY SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY. (54)
HAD this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;
But 'tis endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see--
What is?-ah no, but what can be !
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,
Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,
Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!
No sound is uttered, but a deep
And solemn harmony pervades
The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.
Far-distant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency
Of beamy radiance, that imbues
Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues !
In vision exquisitely clear,
Herds range along the mountain side;
And glistening antlers are descried ; (55)
And gilded flocks appear.
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve !
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
-From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won;
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which British shepherds tread !
And, if there be whom broken ties
Afflict, or injuries assail,
Yon hazy ridges (56) to their eyes
Present a glorious scale, (57)
Climbing suffused with sunny air,
To stop-no record hath told where !
And tempting Fancy to ascend,
And with immortal Spirits blend !
-Wings at my shoulders seem to play ;
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze
On those bright steps that upward raise
Their practicable way.
Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,
And see to what fair countries ye are bound!
And if some traveller, weary of his road,
Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground,
Ye Genii! to his covert speed;
And wake him with such gentle heed
As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendent hour!
Such hues from their celestial Urn
Were wont to stream before mine eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn
Of blissful infancy.
This glimpse of glory, why renewed ?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;
For, if a vestige of those gleams
Survived, 'twas only in my dreams.
Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve,
The thunder, and the still small voice,
If aught unworthy be my choice,
From THEE if I would swerve;
Oh, let thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored;
Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored;
My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth!
-'Tis past, the visionary splendour fades;
And night approaches with her shades.
AMONG the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream !
Thou near the eagle's nest-within brief sail,
I, of his bold wing floating on the gale; (58)
Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam
Of human life when first allowed to gleam
On mortal notice. -Glory of the vale,
Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail,
Kept in perpetual verdure by the stream
Of thy soft breath!-Less vivid wreath entwined
Nemæan victor's brow; less bright was worn,
Meed of some Roman chief-in triumph borne
With captives chained; and shedding from his car
The sunset splendours of a finished war
Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!
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