Their colors and their forms, were then to me 80 An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, And all its aching joys are now no more, 85 And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts 125 Have followed; for such loss, I would 130 believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned The still, sad music of humanity, power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy 95 Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man 100 A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold 105 From this green earth; of all the mighty world 135 Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 145 If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, per I saw an aged beggar in my walk; And he was seated, by the highway side, On a low structure of rude masonry Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they 5 Who lead their horses down the steep rough road dames, 10 He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; And scanned them with a fixed and serious look Of idle computation. In the sun, Upon the second step of that small pile, Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, 15 He sat, and ate his food in solitude: And ever scattered from his palsied hand, That, still attempting to prevent the waste, Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds, 20 Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal, Approached within the length of half his staff. Him from my childhood have I known; and then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary man, 25 So helpless in appearance, that for him The sauntering horseman throws not with a slack And careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops,-that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old man's hat; nor quits him so, 30 But still, when he has given his horse the rein, Watches the aged beggar with a look Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees 35 The aged beggar coming, quits her work, And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. The post-boy, when his rattling wheels A life and soul, to every mode of being 80 That least of all can aught-that ever owned The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime Which man is born to-sink, howe'er depressed, So low as to be scorned without a sin; Without offence to God cast out of view; Yet further.-Many, I believe, there are Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign 140 95 To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. Among the farms and solitary huts, Some there are, 110 In childhood, from this solitary being, Or from like wanderer haply have received Or the solicitudes of love can do!) 115 In which they found their kindred with Where want and sorrow were. The easy man Who sits at his own door,-and, like the pear That overhangs his head from the green wall, Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, 120 The prosperous and unthinking, they who live Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove Of each recalling his peculiar boons, Though he to no one give the fortitude Their kindred, and the children of their blood. Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! -But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; Go, and demand of him, if there be here 150 Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out 155 160 165 To breathe and live but for himself alone, Has hung around him: and, while life Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 170 To tender offices and pensive thoughts. - Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And, long as he can wander, let him breathe The freshness of the valleys; let his blood 15 Through beds of matted fern, and tangled Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; 175 And let the chartered' wind that sweeps the heath Beat his gray locks against his withered face. Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness Gives the last human interest to his heart. May never House, misnamed of Industry," 180 Make him a captive!-for that pent-up din, Those life-consuming sounds that clog Be his the natural silence of old age! 185 The pleasant melody of woodland birds. Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now Been doomed so long to settle upon earth That not without some effort they behold The countenance of the horizontal sun, 190 Rising or setting, let the light at least Find a free entrance to their languid orbs, And let him, where and when he will, sit down Beneath the trees, or on a grassy bank Of highway side, and with the little birds 155 Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally, 20 25 30 thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Of devastation; but the hazels rose A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, As joy delights in; and with wise restraint A temper known to those who, after long The violets of five seasons reappear green stones In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay 40 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, 45 And merciless ravage: and the shady nook past, 50 Ere from the mutilated bower I turned 55 In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods. 1 ripples Three years she grew in sun and shower, This child I to myself will take; 5 She shall be mine, and I will make "Myself will to my darling be 25 What fond and wayward thoughts will slide 10 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!" Shall feel an overseeing power "She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn 15 Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, "The floating clouds their state shall lend 20 To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm 25 The stars of midnight shall be dear Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound 30 Shall pass into her face. |