-But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow,
And give the timid herbage leave to shoot,
Heaven's breathing influence failed not to bestow
A timely promise of unlooked-for fruit,
Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content
From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.
It soothed us-it beguiled us-then, to hear
Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell,
And griefs whose aery motion comes not near
The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel:
Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer,
High over hill and low adown the dell
Again we wandered, willing to partake
All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.
Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies
Aloft ascending, and descending deep,
Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees
Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep
Of the sharp winds-fair Creatures!-to whom
Heaven
A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.
This tragic Story cheered us; for it speaks
Of female patience winning firm repose;
And, of the recompense that conscience seeks,
A bright, encouraging, example shows;
Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks,
Needful amid life's ordinary woes-
Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless
A happy hour with holier happiness.
258 A FACT AND AN IMAGINATION.
He serves the Muses erringly and ill,
Whose aim is pleasure, light and fugitive;
O, that my mind were equal to fulfil
The comprehensive mandate which they give-
Vain aspiration of an earnest will !
Yet in this moral Strain a power may live,
Beloved Wife! such solace to impart
As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.
"Action is transitory-a step, a blow,
The motion of a muscle-this way or that-
'Tis done; and in the after-vacancy
We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed;
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,
And has the nature of infinity.
Yet through that darkness (infinite though it seem
And irremovable) gracious opening lie,
By which the soul-with patient steps of thought
Now toiling, wafted now on wings of prayer-
May pass in hope, and though from the mortal bonds
Yet undelivered, rise with sure ascent
Even to the fountain-head of peace divine."
A FACT AND AN IMAGINATION;
OR, CANUTE AND ALFRED ON THE SEA-SHORE.
HE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried-"O ye
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
A FACT AND AN IMAGINATION. 259
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where
Your Master's throne is set."-Deaf was the Sea;
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.
-Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,
Said to his servile Courtiers-"Poor the reach,
The undisguised extent, of mortal sway!
He only is a King, and he alone
Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach) Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven obey."
This just reproof the prosperous Dane Drew from the influx of the main,
For some whose rugged northern mouths would
And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)
From that time forth did for his brows disown
The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.
Now hear what one of elder days,
Rich theme of England's fondest praise,
Her darling Alfred, might have spoken;
To cheer the remnant of his host
When he was driven from coast to coast,
Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken :
"My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent
That rose, and steadily advanced to fill
The shores and channels, working nature's will
Among the mazy streams that backward went,
And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent;
And now, his task performed, the flood stands still,
At the green base of many an inland hill,
In placid beauty and sublime content!
Such the repose that sage and hero find;
Such measured rest the sedulous and good
Of humbler name; whose souls do, like the flood
Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind,
Neither to be diverted nor withstood,
Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned."
DEDICATION TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH,
OF THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1820.
HE minstrels played their Christmas tune
Tonight beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.
Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!
And who but listened ?-till was paid
Respect to every Inmate's claim :
The greeting given, the music played,
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "merry Christmas" wished to all!
O Brother! I revere the choice
That took thee from thy native hills;
And it is given thee to rejoice;
Though public care full often tills
(Heaven only witness of the toil)
A barren and ungrateful soil.
Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine, Hadst heard this never-failing rite; And seen on other faces shine
A true revival of the light
Which Nature and these rustic Powers,
In simple childhood, spread through ours!
For pleasure hath not ceased to wait
On these expected annual rounds;
Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate
Call forth the unelaborate sounds,
Or they are offered at the door
That guards the lowliest of the poor.
How touching, when, at midnight, sweep
Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,
To hear and sink again to sleep!
Or, at an earlier call, to mark,
By blazing fire, the still suspense
Of self-complacent innocence;
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