As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendent hour!

IV.

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, 't was only in my dreams.

Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve
No less than Nature's threatening voice,
If aught unworthy be my choice,

From THEE if I would swerve,

O, 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!

-T is past, the visionary splendor fades;
And night approaches with her shades.

1819.

Note. The multiplication of mountain ridges, described at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode as a kind of Jacob's Ladder leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapors or sunny haze;-in the present instance, by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode entitled "Intimations of Immortality" pervade the last Stanza of the foregoing Poem.

X.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE.

WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret,
How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset,
How baffled projects on the spirit prey,
And fruitless wishes eat the heart away,
The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast
On the relentless sea that holds him fast
On chance dependent, and the fickle star
Of power, through long and melancholy war.
O, sad it is, in sight of foreign shores,
Daily to think on old familiar doors,

Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors;
Or, tossed about along a waste of foam,
To ruminate on that delightful home

Which with the dear Betrothed was to come,
Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye
Never but in the world of memory;
Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range
Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,
And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep
A thing too bright for breathing man to keep!
Hail to the virtues which that perilous life
Extracts from Nature's elemental strife;
And welcome glory won in battles fought
As bravely as the foe was keenly sought!
But to each gallant Captain and his crew

A less imperious sympathy is due,

Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play

On the mute sea in this unruffled bay;

Such as will promptly flow from every breast,

Where good men, disappointed in the quest
Of wealth and power and honors, long for rest ;
Or, having known the splendors of success,
Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.

XI.

THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love,
Glories of evening, as ye there are seen

With but a span of sky between,

-

Speak one of you, my doubts remove,

Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen?

XII.

TO THE MOON.

(Composed by the Sea-side, on the Coast of Cumberland.)

WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so

near

To human life's unsettled atmosphere;

Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake,

So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;
And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping,
Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;
What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names
Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore ! —

I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend

That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND; So call thee for Heaven's grace through thee made known,

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;

And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind;
Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime,
And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,
Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins,
And wounds and weakness oft his labor's sole
remains.

The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams, Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams; A look of thine the wilderness pervades, And penetrates the forest's jnmost shades; Thou, checkering peaceably the minster's gloom, Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb; Canst reach the Prisoner, to his grated cell Welcome, though silent and intangible!

And lives there one, of all that come and go
On the great waters, toiling to and fro,

One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour, Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,

Or crossed by vapory streaks and clouds that move Catching the lustre they in part reprove,

Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway

To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day. And make the serious happier than the

gay?

Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the frenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain; That there's a sensitive, a tender part Which thou canst touch in every human heart, For healing and composure. But, as least

And mightiest billows ever have confessed
Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea
Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty;
So shines that countenance with especial grace
On them who urge the keel her plains to trace,
Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude,
Cut off from home and country, may have stood, —
Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye,
Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh,
Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer,
With some internal lights to memory dear,
Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast,
Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest,

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