IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF 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 an tiquity Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 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 Armory of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.-In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 1802 or 1803. April 16, 1803. WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN 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? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, In thee a bulwark for the cause of men: Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 1802 or 1803. Sept. 17, 1803. TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE SIX YEARS OLD O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the selfborn carol: Thou faery voyager! that dost float To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; O blessed vision! happy child! I think of thee with many fears Lord of thy house and hospitality ; thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! What hast thou to do with sorrow, Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life. 1802. 1807. TO THE DAISY IN youth from rock to rock I went, Most pleased when most uneasy; Thee Winter in the garland wears In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Pleased at his greeting thee again ; Yet nothing daunted, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Be violets in their secret mews Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, The Poet's darling. If to a rock from rains he fly, Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; A hundred times, by rock or bower, Some apprehension; Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention. A little cyclops, with one eye The shape will vanish-and behold I see thee glittering from afar- In heaven above thee! Who shall reprove thee! See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honors formerly paid to this flower. (Wordsworth.) BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together. One have I marked, the happiest guest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, Linnet! in thy green array, And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, Yet seeming still to hover; YEW-TREES 1803 There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, Lies gathered to his Father's side, Yet one to which is not denied For he is safe, a quiet bed And surely here it may be said And oh for Thee, by pitying grace Sighing I turned away; but ere Chanted in love that casts out fear 1803. 1845. TO A HIGHLAND GIRL AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND This delightful creature and her demeanor are particularly described in my Sister's Journal. (Wordsworth.) SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn |