Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1

5. TO SLEEP

  O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee,  These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love  To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove,  A Captive never wishing to be free.  This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me  A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove  Upon a fretful rivulet, now above,  Now on the water vex'd with mockery.  I have no pain that calls for patience, no;  Hence am I cross and peevish as a child:  Am pleas'd by fits to have thee for my foe,  Yet ever willing to be reconciled:  O gentle Creature! do not use me so,  But once and deeply let me be beguiled.

6. TO SLEEP

  A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,  One after one; the sound of rain, and bees  Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,  Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;  I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie  Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies  Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees;  And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry.  Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay,  And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:  So do not let me wear to night away:  Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?  Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day,  Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

7. TO SLEEP

  Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!  And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;  The very sweetest words that fancy frames  When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!  Dear bosom Child we call thee, that dost steep  In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames  All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims  Takest away, and into souls dost creep,  Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone;  I surely not a man ungently made,  Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?  Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown,  Mere Slave of them who never for thee pray'd,  Still last to come where thou art wanted most!8  With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,  Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;  Some lying fast at anchor in the road,  Some veering up and down, one knew not why.  A goodly Vessel did I then espy  Come like a Giant from a haven broad;  And lustily along the Bay she strode,  Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.  This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her,  Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look;  This Ship to all the rest did I prefer:  When will she turn, and whither? She will brook  No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:  On went She, and due north her journey took.

9. TO THE RIVER DUDDON

  O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot  Are privileg'd Inmates of deep solitude:  Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude  A Field or two of brighter green, or Plot  Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot  Of stationary sunshine: thou hast view'd  These only, Duddon! with their paths renew'd  By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not.  Thee hath some awful Spirit impell'd to leave,  Utterly to desert, the haunts of men,  Though simple thy Companions were and few;  And through this wilderness a passage cleave  Attended but by thy own Voice, save when  The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue.

10. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO

  Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,  And I be undeluded, unbetray'd;  For if of our affections none find grace  In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made  The world which we inhabit? Better plea  Love cannot have, than that in loving thee  Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,  Who such Divinity to thee imparts  As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.  His hope is treacherous only whose love dies  With beauty, which is varying every hour;  But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power  Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,  That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

11. FROM THE SAME

  No mortal object did these eyes behold  When first they met the placid light of thine,  And my Soul felt her destiny divine,  And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:  Heav'n-born, the Soul a heav'n-ward course must hold;  Beyond the visible world She soars to seek,  For what delights the sense is false and weak,  Ideal Form, the universal mould.  The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest  In that which perishes: nor will he lend  His heart to aught which doth on time depend.  'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love,  Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best,  Even here below, but more in heaven above.

12. FROM THE SAME

TO THE SUPREME BEING  The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed  If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:  My unassisted heart is barren clay,  Which of its native self can nothing feed:  Of good and pious works thou art the seed,  Which quickens only where thou say'st it may:  Unless thou shew to us thine own true way  No man can find it: Father! thou must lead.  Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind  By which such virtue may in me be bred  That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;  The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,  That I may have the power to sing of thee,  And sound thy praises everlastingly.13Written in very early Youth.  Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.  The Kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass;  The Horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,  Is up, and cropping yet his later meal:  Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal  O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.  Now, in this blank of things, a harmony  Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal  That grief for which the senses still supply  Fresh food; for only then, when memory  Is hush'd, am I at rest. My Friends, restrain  Those busy cares that would allay my pain:  Oh! leave me to myself; nor let me feel  The officious touch that makes me droop again.14. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE,Sept. 3, 1803  Earth has not any thing to shew more fair:  Dull would he be of soul who could pass by  A sight so touching in it's majesty:  This City now doth like a garment wear  The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,  Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie  Open unto the fields, and to the sky;  All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.  Never did sun more beautifully steep  In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;  Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!  The river glideth at his own sweet will:  Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;  And all that mighty heart is lying still!15  "Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con  Those many records of my childish years,  Remembrance of myself and of my peers  Will press me down: to think of what is gone  Will be an awful thought, if life have one."  But, when into the Vale I came, no fears  Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears;  Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none.  By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd,  To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall,  Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small.  A Juggler's Balls old Time about him toss'd;  I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all  The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.16  Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne  Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud,  Nor view of him who sate thereon allow'd;  But all the steps and ground about were strown  With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone  Ever put on; a miserable crowd,  Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,  "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."  I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gave  Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one  Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,  With her face up to heaven; that seem'd to have  Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;  A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!17. To the –   Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove  While I was framing beds for winter flowers;  While I was planting green unfading bowers,  And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove,  And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove  The dream, to time and nature's blended powers  I gave this paradise for winter hours,  A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove.  Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,  Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom  Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;  And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines  Be gracious as the music and the bloom  And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.18  The world is too much with us; late and soon,  Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:  Little we see in nature that is ours;  We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!  This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;  The Winds that will be howling at all hours  And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;  For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;  It moves us not – Great God! I'd rather be  A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;  So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,  Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;  Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea;  Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.19  It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free;  The holy time is quiet as a Nun  Breathless with adoration; the broad sun  Is sinking down in its tranquillity;  The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea:  Listen! the mighty Being is awake  And doth with his eternal motion make  A sound like thunder – everlastingly.  Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,  If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought,  Thy nature is not therefore less divine:  Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;  And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,  God being with thee when we know it not.

20. TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT

  Calvert! it must not be unheard by them  Who may respect my name that I to thee  Ow'd many years of early liberty.  This care was thine when sickness did condemn  Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem:  That I, if frugal and severe, might stray  Where'er I liked; and finally array  My temples with the Muse's diadem.  Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth,  If there be aught of pure, or good, or great,  In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays  Of higher mood, which now I meditate,  It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth!  To think how much of this will be thy praise.END OF THE FIRST PART

PART THE SECOND

SONNETS

DEDICATED TO LIBERTY1. COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, near CALAIS,August, 1802  Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West,  Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink  Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink  On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest,  Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest  Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,  Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,  Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest  In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot  Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies.  Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,  One life, one glory! I, with many a fear  For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,  Among Men who do not love her linger here.2. CALAIS, August, 1802  Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind,  Or what is it that ye go forth to see?  Lords, Lawyers, Statesmen, Squires of low degree,  Men known, and men unknown, Sick, Lame, and Blind,  Post forward all, like Creatures of one kind,  With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee  In France, before the new-born Majesty.  'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind!  A seemly reverence may be paid to power;  But that's a loyal virtue, never sown  In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:  When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown  What hardship had it been to wait an hour?  Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!3. TO A FRIEND, COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, On the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th, 1802  Jones! when from Calais southward you and I  Travell'd on foot together; then this Way,  Which I am pacing now, was like the May  With festivals of new-born Liberty:  A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky;  The antiquated Earth, as one might say,  Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play,  Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!  And now, sole register that these things were,  Two solitary greetings have I heard,  "Good morrow, Citizen!" a hollow word,  As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair  I feel not: happy am I as a Bird:  Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair.4  I griev'd for Buonaparte, with a vain  And an unthinking grief! the vital blood  Of that Man's mind what can it be? What food  Fed his first hopes? What knowledge could He gain?  'Tis not in battles that from youth we train  The Governor who must be wise and good,  And temper with the sternness of the brain  Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.  Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:  Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk  Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk  Of the mind's business: these are the degrees  By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk  True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.5. CALAIS. August 15th, 1802  Festivals have I seen that were not names:  This is young Buonaparte's natal day;  And his is henceforth an established sway,  Consul for life. With worship France proclaims  Her approbation, and with pomps and games.  Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!  Calais is not: and I have bent my way  To the Sea-coast, noting that each man frames  His business as he likes. Another time  That was, when I was here long years ago:  The senselessness of joy was then sublime!  Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,  Consul, or King, can sound himself to know  The destiny of Man, and live in hope.

6. ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

  Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee;  And was the safeguard of the West: the worth  Of Venice did not fall below her birth,  Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.  She was a Maiden City, bright and free;  No guile seduced, no force could violate;  And when She took unto herself a Mate  She must espouse the everlasting Sea.  And what if she had seen those glories fade,  Those titles vanish, and that strength decay,  Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid  When her long life hath reach'd its final day:  Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade  Of that which once was great is pass'd away.

7. THE KING OF SWEDEN

  The Voice of Song from distant lands shall call  To that great King; shall hail the crowned Youth  Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,  By one example hath set forth to all  How they with dignity may stand; or fall,  If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?  And what to him and his shall be the end?  That thought is one which neither can appal  Nor chear him; for the illustrious Swede hath done  The thing which ought to be: He stands above  All consequences: work he hath begun  Of fortitude, and piety, and love,  Which all his glorious Ancestors approve:  The Heroes bless him, him their rightful Son.

8. TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

  Toussaint, the most unhappy Man of Men!  Whether the rural Milk-maid by her Cow  Sing in thy hearing, or thou liest now  Alone in some deep dungeon's earless den,  O miserable chieftain! where and when  Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou  Wear rather in thy bonds a chearful brow:  Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,  Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind  Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;  There's not a breathing of the common wind  That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;  Thy friends are exultations, agonies,  And love, and Man's unconquerable mind.9September 1st, 1802  We had a fellow-Passenger who came  From Calais with us, gaudy in array,  A Negro Woman like a Lady gay,  Yet silent as a woman fearing blame;  Dejected, meek, yea pitiably tame,  She sate, from notice turning not away,  But on our proffer'd kindness still did lay  A weight of languid speech, or at the same  Was silent, motionless in eyes and face.  She was a Negro Woman driv'n from France,  Rejected like all others of that race,  Not one of whom may now find footing there;  This the poor Out-cast did to us declare,  Nor murmur'd at the unfeeling Ordinance.10. COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY, near DOVER, On the Day of landing  Dear fellow Traveller! here we are once more.  The Cock that crows, the Smoke that curls, that sound  Of Bells, those Boys that in yon meadow-ground  In white sleev'd shirts are playing by the score,  And even this little River's gentle roar,  All, all are English. Oft have I look'd round  With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found  Myself so satisfied in heart before.  Europe is yet in Bonds; but let that pass,  Thought for another moment. Thou art free  My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride  For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass  Of England once again, and hear and see,  With such a dear Companion at my side.11September, 1802  Inland, within a hollow Vale, I stood,  And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,  The Coast of France, the Coast of France how near!  Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.  I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood  Was like a Lake, or River bright and fair,  A span of waters; yet what power is there!  What mightiness for evil and for good!  Even so doth God protect us if we be  Virtuous and wise: Winds blow, and Waters roll,  Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity,  Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree  Spake laws to them, and said that by the Soul  Only the Nations shall be great and free.

12. THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND

  Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea,  One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice:  In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice,  They were thy chosen Music, Liberty!  There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee  Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly striven;  Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven,  Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.  Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:  Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left!  For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be  That mountain Floods should thunder as before,  And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,  And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!13. WRITTEN IN LONDON, September, 1802  O Friend! I know not which way I must look  For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,  To think that now our Life is only drest  For shew; mean handywork of craftsman, cook,  Or groom! We must run glittering like a Brook  In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:  The wealthiest man among us is the best:  No grandeur now in nature or in book  Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expence,  This is idolatry; and these we adore:  Plain living and high thinking are no more:  The homely beauty of the good old cause  Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,  And pure religion breathing household laws.14 LONDON, 1802  Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:  England hath need of thee: she is a fen  Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen,  Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,  Have forfeited their ancient English dower  Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;  Oh! raise us up, return to us again;  And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.  Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart:  Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;  Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,  So didst thou travel on life's common way,  In chearful godliness; and yet thy heart  The lowliest duties on itself did lay.15  Great Men have been among us; hands that penn'd  And tongues that utter'd wisdom, better none:  The later Sydney, Marvel, Harrington,  Young Vane, and others who call'd Milton Friend.  These Moralists could act and comprehend:  They knew how genuine glory was put on;  Taught us how rightfully a nation shone  In splendor: what strength was, that would not bend  But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange,  Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then.  Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!  No single Volume paramount, no code,  No master spirit, no determined road;  But equally a want of Books and Men!16  It is not to be thought of that the Flood  Of British freedom, which to the open Sea  Of the world's praise from dark antiquity  Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"  Road by which all might come and go that would,  And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands;  That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands  Should perish; and to evil and to good  Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung  Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:  We must be free or die, who speak the tongue  That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold  Which Milton held. In every thing we are sprung  Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.17  When I have borne in memory what has tamed  Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart  When Men change Swords for Ledgers, and desert  The Student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed  I had, my Country! am I to be blamed?  But, when I think of Thee, and what Thou art,  Verily, in the bottom of my heart,  Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.  But dearly must we prize thee; we who find  In thee a bulwark of the cause of men;  And I by my affection was beguiled.  What wonder, if a Poet, now and then,  Among the many movements of his mind,  Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child.18October, 1803  One might believe that natural miseries  Had blasted France, and made of it a land  Unfit for Men; and that in one great Band  Her Sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.  But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze  Shed gentle favors; rural works are there;  And ordinary business without care;  Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!  How piteous then that there should be such dearth  Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite  To work against themselves such fell despite:  Should come in phrenzy and in drunken mirth,  Impatient to put out the only light  Of Liberty that yet remains on Earth!19  There is a bondage which is worse to bear  Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,  Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:  'Tis his who walks about in the open air,  One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear  Their fetters in their Souls. For who could be,  Who, even the best, in such condition, free  From self-reproach, reproach which he must share  With Human Nature? Never be it ours  To see the Sun how brightly it will shine,  And know that noble Feelings, manly Powers,  Instead of gathering strength must droop and pine,  And Earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers  Fade, and participate in Man's decline.20October, 1803  These times touch money'd Worldlings with dismay:  Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air  With words of apprehension and despair:  While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,  Men unto whom sufficient for the day  And minds not stinted or untill'd are given,  Sound, healthy Children of the God of Heaven,  Are cheerful as the rising Sun in May.  What do we gather hence but firmer faith  That every gift of noble origin  Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;  That virtue and the faculties within  Are vital, and that riches are akin  To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death!21  England! the time is come when thou shouldst wean  Thy heart from its emasculating food;  The truth should now be better understood;  Old things have been unsettled; we have seen  Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been  But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,  If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,  Aught good were destined, Thou wouldst step between.  England! all nations in this charge agree:  But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,  Far, far more abject is thine Enemy:  Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight  Of thy offences be a heavy weight:  Oh grief! that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee!22October, 1803  When, looking on the present face of things,  I see one Man, of Men the meanest too!  Rais'd up to sway the World, to do, undo,  With mighty Nations for his Underlings,  The great events with which old story rings  Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great;  Nothing is left which I can venerate;  So that almost a doubt within me springs  Of Providence, such emptiness at length  Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God!  I measure back the steps which I have trod,  And tremble, seeing, as I do, the strength  Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts sublime  I tremble at the sorrow of the time.

23. TO THE MEN OF KENT

October, 1803  Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent,  Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance  It's haughty brow against the coast of France,  Now is the time to prove your hardiment!  To France be words of invitation sent!  They from their Fields can see the countenance  Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance.  And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.  Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore,  Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;  Confirm'd the charters that were yours before; —  No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;  We all are with you now from Shore to Shore: —  Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!24October, 1803  Six thousand Veterans practis'd in War's game,  Tried Men, at Killicranky were array'd  Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid,  Shepherds and Herdsmen. – Like a whirlwind came  The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;  And Garry thundering down his mountain-road  Was stopp'd, and could not breathe beneath the load  Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame  For them whom precept and the pedantry  Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.  Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee  Who on that day the word of onset gave!  Like conquest would the Men of England see;  And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.