Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES

* * * * *  That way look, my Infant, lo!  What a pretty baby show!  See the Kitten on the Wall,  Sporting with the leaves that fall,  Wither'd leaves, one, two, and three,  From the lofty Elder-tree!  Through the calm and frosty air  Of this morning bright and fair,  Eddying round and round they sink  Softly, slowly: one might think, 10  From the motions that are made,  Every little leaf convey'd  Sylph or Faery hither tending,  To this lower world descending,  Each invisible and mute,  In his wavering parachute.  – But the Kitten, how she starts,  Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts;  First at one and then it's fellow  Just as light and just as yellow; 20  There are many now – now one —  Now they stop; and there are none —  What intenseness of desire  In her upward eye of fire!  With a tiger-leap half way  Now she meets the coming prey,  Lets it go as fast, and then  Has it in her power again:  Now she works with three or four,  Like an Indian Conjuror; 30  Quick as he in feats of art,  Far beyond in joy of heart.  Were her antics play'd in the eye  Of a thousand Standers-by,  Clapping hands with shout and stare,  What would little Tabby care  For the plaudits of the Crowd?  Over happy to be proud,  Over wealthy in the treasure  Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40  'Tis a pretty Baby-treat;  Nor, I deem, for me unmeet:  Here, for neither Babe or me,  Other Play-mate can I see.  Of the countless living things,  That with stir of feet and wings,  (In the sun or under shade  Upon bough or grassy blade)  And with busy revellings,  Chirp and song, and murmurings, 50  Made this Orchard's narrow space,  And this Vale so blithe a place;  Multitudes are swept away  Never more to breathe the day:  Some are sleeping; some in Bands  Travell'd into distant Lands;  Others slunk to moor and wood,  Far from human neighbourhood,  And, among the Kinds that keep  With us closer fellowship, 60  With us openly abide,  All have laid their mirth aside,  – Where is he that giddy Sprite,  Blue-cap, with his colours bright,  Who was blest as bird could be,  Feeding in the apple-tree,  Made such wanton spoil and rout,  Turning blossoms inside out,  Hung with head towards the ground,  Flutter'd, perch'd; into a round 70  Bound himself, and then unbound;  Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin,  Prettiest Tumbler ever seen,  Light of heart, and light of limb,  What is now become of Him?  Lambs, that through the mountains went  Frisking, bleating merriment,  When the year was in it's prime,  They are sober'd by this time.  If you look to vale or hill, 80  If you listen, all is still,  Save a little neighbouring Rill;  That from out the rocky ground  Strikes a solitary sound.  Vainly glitters hill and plain,  And the air is calm in vain;  Vainly Morning spreads the lure  Of a sky serene and pure;  Creature none can she decoy  Into open sign of joy: 90  Is it that they have a fear  Of the dreary season near?  Or that other pleasures be  Sweeter even than gaiety?  Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell  In the impenetrable cell  Of the silent heart which Nature  Furnishes to every Creature,  Whatsoe'er we feel and know  Too sedate for outward show, 100  Such a light of gladness breaks,  Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,  Spreads with such a living grace  O'er my little Laura's face;  Yes, the sight so stirs and charms  Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,  That almost I could repine  That your transports are not mine,  That I do not wholly fare  Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair! 110  And I will have my careless season  Spite of melancholy reason,  Will walk through life in such a way  That, when time brings on decay,  Now and then I may possess  Hours of perfect gladsomeness.  – Pleas'd by any random toy;  By a Kitten's busy joy,  Or an infant's laughing eye  Sharing in the extacy; 120  I would fare like that or this,  Find my wisdom in my bliss;  Keep the sprightly soul awake,  And have faculties to take  Even from things by sorrow wrought  Matter for a jocund thought;  Spite of care, and spite of grief,  To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE

* * * * *  Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,  All Children of one Mother:  I could not say in one short day  What love they bore each other,  A Garland of seven Lilies wrought!  Seven Sisters that together dwell;  But he, bold Knight as ever fought,  Their Father, took of them no thought,  He loved the Wars so well.  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, 10  The Solitude of Binnorie!  Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,  And from the shores of Erin,  Across the wave, a Rover brave  To Binnorie is steering:  Right onward to the Scottish strand  The gallant ship is borne;  The Warriors leap upon the land,  And hark! the Leader of the Band  Hath blown his bugle horn. 20  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,  The Solitude of Binnorie.  Beside a Grotto of their own,  With boughs above them closing,  The Seven are laid, and in the shade  They lie like Fawns reposing.  But now, upstarting with affright  At noise of Man and Steed,  Away they fly to left to right —  Of your fair household, Father Knight, 30  Methinks you take small heed!  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,  The Solitude of Binnorie.  Away the seven fair Campbells fly,  And, over Hill and Hollow,  With menace proud, and insult loud,  The youthful Rovers follow.  Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam:  Enough for him to find  The empty House when he comes home; 40  For us your yellow ringlets comb,  For us be fair and kind!"  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,  The Solitude of Binnorie.  Some close behind, some side by side,  Like clouds in stormy weather,  They run, and cry, "Nay let us die,  And let us die together."  A Lake was near; the shore was steep;  There never Foot had been; 50  They ran, and with a desperate leap  Together plung'd into the deep,  Nor ever more were seen.  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,  The Solitude of Binnorie.  The Stream that flows out of the Lake,  As through the glen it rambles,  Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,  For those seven lovely Campbells.  Seven little Islands, green and bare, 60  Have risen from out the deep:  The Fishers say, those Sisters fair  By Faeries are all buried there,  And there together sleep.  Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully  The Solitude of Binnorie.To H. C.,SIX YEARS OLD* * * * *  O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought;  Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,  And fittest to unutterable thought  The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;  Thou Faery Voyager! that dost float  In such clear water, that thy Boat  May rather seem  To brood on air than on an earthly stream;  Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,  Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10  O blessed Vision! happy Child!  That art so exquisitely wild,  I think of thee with, many fears  For what may be thy lot in future years.  I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,  Lord of thy house and hospitality;  And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest  But when she sate within the touch of thee.  Oh! too industrious folly!  Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! 20  Nature will either end thee quite;  Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,  Preserve for thee, by individual right,  A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks.  What hast Thou to do with sorrow,  Or the injuries of tomorrow?  Thou art a Dew-drop, which, the morn brings forth,  Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks;  Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth;  A Gem that glitters while it lives, 30  And no forewarning gives;  But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife  Slips in a moment out of life.Among all lovely things my Love had been* * * * *  Among all lovely things my Love had been;  Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew  About her home; but she had never seen  A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.  While riding near her home one stormy night  A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy;  I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,  And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.  Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,  To bear it with me through the stormy night: 10  And, as before, it shone without dismay;  Albeit putting forth a fainter light.  When to the Dwelling of my Love I came,  I went into the Orchard quietly;  And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name,  Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.  The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;  At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree:  I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here!"  Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me! 20I travell'd among unknown Men* * * * *  I travell'd among unknown Men,    In Lands beyond the Sea;  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    To love thee more and more.  Among thy mountains did I feel    The joy of my desire; 10  And She I cherish'd turn'd her wheel    Beside an English fire.  Thy mornings shew'd – thy nights conceal'd    The bowers where Lucy play'd;  And thine is, too, the last green field    Which Lucy's eyes survey'd!

ODE TO DUTY

* * * * *  Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!  O Duty! if that name thou love  Who art a Light to guide, a Rod  To check the erring, and reprove;  Thou who art victory and law  When empty terrors overawe;  From vain temptations dost set free;  From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry.  There are who ask not if thine eye  Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10  Where no misgiving is, rely  Upon the genial sense of youth:  Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;  Who do thy work, and know it not:  May joy be theirs while life shall last!  And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!  Serene will be our days and bright,  And happy will our nature be,  When love is an unerring light,  And joy its own security. 20  And bless'd are they who in the main  This faith, even now, do entertain:  Live in the spirit of this creed;  Yet find that other strength, according to their need.  I, loving freedom, and untried;  No sport of every random gust,  Yet being to myself a guide,  Too blindly have reposed my trust:  Resolved that nothing e'er should press  Upon my present happiness, 30  I shoved unwelcome tasks away;  But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.  Through no disturbance of my soul,  Or strong compunction in me wrought,  I supplicate for thy controul;  But in the quietness of thought:  Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;  I feel the weight of chance desires:  My hopes no more must change their name,  I long for a repose which ever is the same. 40  Yet not the less would I throughout  Still act according to the voice  Of my own wish; and feel past doubt  That my submissiveness was choice:  Not seeking in the school of pride  For "precepts over dignified,"  Denial and restraint I prize  No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.  Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear  The Godhead's most benignant grace; 50  Nor know we any thing so fair  As is the smile upon thy face;  Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;  And Fragrance in thy footing treads;  Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;  And the most ancient Heavens through Thee are fresh and strong.  To humbler functions, awful Power!  I call thee: I myself commend  Unto thy guidance from this hour;  Oh! let my weakness have an end! 60  Give unto me, made lowly wise,  The spirit of self-sacrifice;  The confidence of reason give;  And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!

POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT

1. BEGGARS

    She had a tall Man's height, or more;    No bonnet screen'd her from the heat;    A long drab-colour'd Cloak she wore,    A Mantle reaching to her feet:    What other dress she had I could not know;  Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.    In all my walks, through field or town,    Such Figure had I never seen:    Her face was of Egyptian brown:    Fit person was she for a Queen, 10    To head those ancient Amazonian files:  Or ruling Bandit's Wife, among the Grecian Isles.    Before me begging did she stand,    Pouring out sorrows like a sea;    Grief after grief: – on English Land    Such woes I knew could never be;    And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature  Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!    I left her, and pursued my way;    And soon before me did espy 20    A pair of little Boys at play,    Chasing a crimson butterfly;    The Taller follow'd with his hat in hand,  Wreath'd round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land.    The Other wore a rimless crown,    With leaves of laurel stuck about:    And they both follow'd up and down,    Each whooping with a merry shout;    Two Brothers seem'd they, eight and ten years old;  And like that Woman's face as gold is like to gold. 30    They bolted on me thus, and lo!    Each ready with a plaintive whine;    Said I, "Not half an hour ago    Your Mother has had alms of mine."    "That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead."  "Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."    "She has been dead, Sir, many a day."    "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie";    "It was your Mother, as I say – "    And in the twinkling of an eye, 40    "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado,  Off to some other play they both together flew.

2. TO A SKY-LARK

  Up with me! up with me into the clouds!    For thy song, Lark, is strong;  Up with me, up with me into the clouds!    Singing, singing,  With all the heav'ns about thee ringing,    Lift me, guide me, till I find  That spot which seems so to thy mind!  I have walk'd through wildernesses dreary,    And today my heart is weary;    Had I now the soul of a Faery, 10      Up to thee would I fly.  There is madness about thee, and joy divine      In that song of thine;  Up with me, up with me, high and high,  To thy banqueting-place in the sky! 15      Joyous as Morning,    Thou art laughing and scorning;  Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest:  And, though little troubled with sloth,  Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20  To be such a Traveller as I.      Happy, happy Liver!  With a soul as strong as a mountain River,  Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,    Joy and jollity be with us both!    Hearing thee, or else some other,      As merry a Brother,  I on the earth will go plodding on,  By myself, chearfully, till the day is done.3. With how sad Steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the Sky  "With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky.  How silently, and with how wan a face!" [2]  Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high  Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race?  Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh  Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!  The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace,  Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had I  The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be  And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,  Should sally forth to keep thee company.  What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'n  Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!  But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv'n,  Queen both for beauty and for majesty.[Footnote 2: From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.]4. ALICE FELL  The Post-boy drove with fierce career,  For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd;  When suddenly I seem'd to hear  A moan, a lamentable sound.  As if the wind blew many ways  I heard the sound, and more and more:  It seem'd to follow with the Chaise,  And still I heard it as before.  At length I to the Boy call'd out,  He stopp'd his horses at the word; 10  But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,  Nor aught else like it could be heard.  The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fast  The horses scamper'd through the rain;  And soon I heard upon the blast  The voice, and bade him halt again.  Said I, alighting on the ground,  "What can it be, this piteous moan?"  And there a little Girl I found,  Sitting behind the Chaise, alone. 20  "My Cloak!" the word was last and first,  And loud and bitterly she wept,  As if her very heart would burst;  And down from off the Chaise she leapt.  "What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"  I saw it in the wheel entangled,  A weather beaten Rag as e'er  From any garden scare-crow dangled.  'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;  Her help she lent, and with good heed 30  Together we released the Cloak;  A wretched, wretched rag indeed!  "And whither are you going, Child,  To night along these lonesome ways?"  "To Durham" answer'd she half wild —  "Then come with me into the chaise."  She sate like one past all relief;  Sob after sob she forth did send  In wretchedness, as if her grief  Could never, never, have an end. 40  "My Child, in Durham do you dwell?"  She check'd herself in her distress,  And said, "My name is Alice Fell;  I'm fatherless and motherless."  "And I to Durham, Sir, belong."  And then, as if the thought would choke  Her very heart, her grief grew strong;  And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.  The chaise drove on; our journey's end  Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50  As if she'd lost her only friend  She wept, nor would be pacified.  Up to the Tavern-door we post;  Of Alice and her grief I told;  And I gave money to the Host,  To buy a new Cloak for the old.  "And let it be of duffil grey,  As warm a cloak as man can sell!"  Proud Creature was she the next day,  The little Orphan, Alice Fell! 60

5. RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE

  There was a roaring in the wind all night;  The rain came heavily and fell in floods;  But now the sun is rising calm and bright;  The birds are singing in the distant woods;  Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;  The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;  And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters.  All things that love the sun are out of doors;  The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;  The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors 10  The Hare is running races in her mirth;  And with her feet she from the plashy earth  Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun,  Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.  I was a Traveller then upon the moor;  I saw the Hare that rac'd about with joy;  I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;  Or heard them not, as happy as a Boy:  The pleasant season did my heart employ:  My old remembrances went from me wholly; 20  And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.  But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might  Of joy in minds that can no farther go,  As high as we have mounted in delight  In our dejection do we sink as low,  To me that morning did it happen so;  And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came;  Dim sadness, & blind thoughts I knew not nor could name.  I heard the Sky-lark singing in the sky;  And I bethought me of the playful Hare: 30  Even such a happy Child of earth am I;  Even as these blissful Creatures do I fare;  Far from the world I walk, and from all care;  But there may come another day to me,  Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.  My whole life I have liv'd in pleasant thought,  As if life's business were a summer mood;  As if all needful things would come unsought  To genial faith, still rich in genial good;  But how can He expect that others should 40  Build for him, sow for him, and at his call  Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?  I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,  The sleepless Soul that perish'd in its pride;  Of Him who walk'd in glory and in joy  Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:  By our own spirits are we deified;  We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;  But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.  Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 50  A leading from above, a something given,  Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,  When up and down my fancy thus was driven,  And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,  I saw a Man before me unawares:  The oldest Man he seem'd that ever wore grey hairs.  My course I stopped as soon as I espied  The Old Man in that naked wilderness:  Close by a Pond, upon the further side,  He stood alone: a minute's space I guess 60  I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:  To the Pool's further margin then I drew;  He being all the while before me full in view.  As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie  Couch'd on the bald top of an eminence;  Wonder to all who do the same espy  By what means it could thither come, and whence;  So that it seems a thing endued with sense:  Like a Sea-beast crawl'd forth, which on a shelf  Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself. 70  Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead,  Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age:  His body was bent double, feet and head  Coming together in their pilgrimage;  As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage  Of sickness felt by him in times long past,  A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.  Himself he propp'd, his body, limbs, and face,  Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood:  And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, 80  Beside the little pond or moorish flood  Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood;  That heareth not the loud winds when they call;  And moveth altogether, if it move at all.  At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond  Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look  Upon the muddy water, which he conn'd,  As if he had been reading in a book:  And now such freedom as I could I took;  And, drawing to his side, to him did say, 90  "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."  A gentle answer did the Old Man make,  In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:  And him with further words I thus bespake,  "What kind of work is that which you pursue?  This is a lonesome place for one like you."  He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;  And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.  His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,  Yet each in solemn order follow'd each, 100  With something of a lofty utterance drest;  Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach  Of ordinary men; a stately speech!  Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,  Religious men, who give to God and Man their dues.  He told me that he to this pond had come  To gather Leeches, being old and poor:  Employment hazardous and wearisome!  And he had many hardships to endure:  From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, 110  Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance:  And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.  The Old Man still stood talking by my side;  But now his voice to me was like a stream  Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;  And the whole Body of the man did seem  Like one whom I had met with in a dream;  Or like a Man from some far region sent;  To give me human strength, and strong admonishment.  My former thoughts return'd: the fear that kills; 120  The hope that is unwilling to be fed;  Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;  And mighty Poets in their misery dead.  And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,  My question eagerly did I renew,  "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"  He with a smile did then his words repeat;  And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide  He travelled; stirring thus about his feet  The waters of the Ponds where they abide. 130  "Once I could meet with them on every side;  But they have dwindled long by slow decay;  Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."  While he was talking thus, the lonely place,  The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me:  In my mind's eye I seem'd to see him pace  About the weary moors continually,  Wandering about alone and silently.  While I these thoughts within myself pursued,  He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. 140  And soon with this he other matter blended,  Chearfully uttered, with demeanour kind,  But stately in the main; and, when he ended,  I could have laugh'd myself to scorn, to find  In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.  "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;  I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor."

SONNETS

PREFATORY SONNET* * * * *  Nuns fret not at their Convent's narrow room;  And Hermits are contented with their Cells;  And Students with their pensive Citadels:  Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom,  Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom,  High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells,  Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells:  In truth, the prison, unto which we doom  Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me,  In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound  Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground:  Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be)  Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,  Should find short solace there, as I have found.