And singing, while th' accordant hand So shall he touch at length a friendly strand, The pipe of Pan, to shepherds Couch'd in the shadow of Mænalian pines,' This way and that, with wild-flowers crown'd.— Of fable, though to truth subservient, hear The convict's summons in the steeple's knell; For terror, joy, or pity, Vast is the compass and the swell of notes: Ye wandering Utterances, has Earth no scheme, Powers that survive but in the faintest dream 7 Manalian is the same as Arcadian; Manalus being the name of the mountains in Arcadia, which were celebrated as the favourite haunts of the god Pan. Arcadia is the old name of the central portion of Peloponnesus. The Arcadians were noted as a simple pastoral people, passionately fond of music, and devoted to the worship of Pan. 8 Fauns and Satyrs appear to have been much the same, only the former were Roman, the latter Grecian. They were among the minor divinities of the ancient mythology: in form, half man and half goat, with horns; vastly given to music and wine, and to sensual pleasures of all sorts. Silenus was their chief, and a very funny god withal. He was generally intoxicated, and is described as a jovial old man, with a bald head, a puck nose, fat and round like his wine-bag, which he always carried with him. He was specially given to dancing, and so was called the dancer in other respects, his addiction was about equally divided between wine, sleep, and music. But his main peculiarity lay in his being an inspired prophet, who knew all the past and the remotest future, and also a sage who despised all the gifts of fortune. When drunk or asleep, he was in the power of mortals, who could compel him to prophesy and sing by tying him up with chains of flowers. Chains, such precious chains of sight As labour'd minstrelsies through ages wear! By one pervading spirit Of tones and numbers all things are controll'd, The heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still With everlasting harmony; The towering headlands, crown'd with mist, That Ocean is a mighty harmonist; Thy pinions, universal Air, Ever waving to and fro, Are delegates of harmony, and bear Strains that support the Seasons in their round; Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound. Break forth into thanksgiving, Ye banded instruments of wind and chords; Unite, to magnify the Ever-living, Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words! Nor hush'd be service from the lowing mead, Nor mute the forest hum of noon; Thou too be heard, lone eagle! freed All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep Into the ear of God, their Lord! Alluding to what is called "the music of the spheres," an ancient mystery which taught that the heavenly bodies in their revolutions sing together in a concert so loud, various, and sweet, as to exceed all proportion to the human ear. The Fame thing is apparently referred to in Job, xxxviii. 7: The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." And the greatest souls in every age seem to have been raised above themselves by the idea that the universe was kait together by a principle of which musical harmony is the aptest and clearest expression. So the well-known passage in The Merchant of Venice, v. 1: "There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins." A Voice to Light gave Being; To Time, and Man his earth-born chronicler; The trumpet, (we, intoxicate with pride, The grave shall open, quench the stars.- No more than moments of thy life? Is Harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears, Thy destined bond-slave? No! though Earth be dust ODE. [1828 THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The glory and the freshness of a dream. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 1 This has long seemed to me one of the author's greatest poems; hardly infe rior, indeed, to his Ode on Immortality, though less celebrated than that. The classi cal allusions, of which there are many, are selected with rare judgment, and used with consummate art: the scope of the piece is as wide-sweeping and inclusive as the theme can well admit of; yet all the parts are toned and balanced in exquisite harmony; and the effect of the whole is inspiring and soul-lifting in the highest de gree. Nor can its freshness be exhausted: after a close familiarity of more than thirty-five years, it still affects me in a manner quite beyond my powers of expression. It is as if all the voices and utterances of the world were gathered and attempered into a multitudinous anthem, now thrilling the heart with the deepest notes of awe, now soothing it with the softest notes of joy, and anon blending the two in a strain that leaves no part of our emotional nature untouched. Thus much is the least I can say of this magnificent poem. 2 The little poem, We are Seven, page 133, ought to be read in connection with The rainbow comes and goes, The Moon doth with delight 245 Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; That there hath past away a glory from the earth. III. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, To me alone there came a thought of grief: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, this Ode. In his notes dictated 1843, the author has the following: "This was com posed during my residence at Townend, Grasmere. Two years at least passed be tween the writing of the first four stanzas and the remaining part. To the attentive and competent reader the whole sufficiently explains itself; but there may be no harm in adverting here to particular feelings or experiences of my own mind on which the structure of the poem partly rests. Nothing was more difficult for me in childhood than to admit the notion of death as a state applicable to my own being. I used to brood over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, and almost to persuade myself that, whatever might become of others, I should be translated, in something of the same way, to Heaven. With a feeling congenial to this, I was often unable to think of external things as having external existence; and I communed with all that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. Many times while going to school have I grasped at a wall or tree, to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality. At that time I was afraid of such processes. In later periods of life I have deplored, as we all have reason to do, a subjugation of an opposite character. To that dream-like vividness and splendour which invest objects of sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon it here; but, having in the poem regarded it as presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence, I think it right to protest against a conclusion, which has given pain to some good and pious persons, that I meant to inculcate such a belief. But let us bear in mind that, though the idea is dot advanced in revelation, there is nothing there to contradict it, and the fall of man presents an analogy in its favour. Accordingly, a pre-existent state has en tered into the popular creeds of many nations; and, among all persons acquainted with classic literature, is known as an ingredient in the Platonic philosophy. Ar chimedes said that he could move the world, if he had a point whereon to rest his machine. Who has not felt the same aspirations as regards the world of his own mind? Having to wield some of its clements when I was impelled to write this poem on the Immortality of the Soul,' I took hold of the notion of pre-existence as having sufficient foundation in humanity for authorizing me to make for my p irpose the best use of it I could as a poet." His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain OLD ABBEYS MONASTIC Domes! following my downward way, CATHEDRALS, ETC. OPEN your gates, ye everlasting Piles! Instinct, to rouse the heart and lead the will Open your gates, ye Monuments of love Thou, stately York! and Ye, whose splendours cheer INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE. TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd — Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore |