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Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel
The joy and greatness of its future being?
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul
Unborrowed from my country. O divine
And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole
And most magnificent temple, in the which
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,
Loving the God that made me!

May my fears,

My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy

Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.

But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze; The light has left the summit of the hill, Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful, Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell, Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot! On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill, Homeward I wind my way; and lo! recalled From bodings that have well nigh wearied me I find myself upon the brow, and pause Startled! And after lonely sojourning In such a quiet and surrounded nook, This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main, Dim tinted, there the mighty majesty Of that huge amphitheatre of rich And elmy fields, seems like society Conversing with the mind, and giving it A livelier impulse and a dance of thought

And now, beloved Stowey! I behold

Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge

elms

Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dweil in peace! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart

Is softened, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
NETHER STOWEY, April 28th, 1798.

FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER.

A WAR ECLOGUE.

WITH AN APOLOGETIC PREFACE.*

The Scene a desolated Tract in La Vendée. FAMINE is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter FIRE and SLAUGHTER.

Famine. SISTERS! sisters! who sent you here?
Slaughter. [to Fire.] I will whisper it in her ear.
Fire.
No! no! no!

Spirits hear what spirits tell:
"Twill make a holiday in Hell.
No! no! no!

Myself I named him once below,
And all the souls that damned be,
Leaped up at once in anarchy,

Clapped their hands and danced for glee.

They no longer heeded me;

*Printed at the end of the volume,

But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters
Unwillingly re-echo laughters!

No! no! no!

Spirits hear what spirits tell:
'Twill make a holiday in Hell!

Fam. Whisper it, sister! so and so!

In a dark hint, soft and slow.

Slau. Letters four do form his nameAnd who sent you?

Both.

The same! the same!

Slau. He came by stealth, and unlocked my den, And I have drunk the blood since then

Of thrice three hundred thousand men.
Both. Who bade you do it?

Slau.

Letters four do form his name.

The same! the same!

He let me loose, and cried Halloo!

To him alone the praise is due.

Fam. Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled, Their wives and their children faint for bread.

I stood in a swampy field of battle;

With bones and skulls I made a rattle,

To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow

And the homeless dog-but they would not go.
So off I flew: for how could I bear
To see them gorge their dainty fare?
I heard a groan and a peevish squall,
And through the chink of a cottage-wall-
Can you guess what I saw there?

Both. Whisper it, sister! in our ear.

Fam. A baby beat it's dying mother:

I had starved the one and was starving the other! Both. Who bade you do't?

Fam.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.
He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
To him alone the praise is due.

Fire. Sisters! I from Ireland came!
Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,
I triumphed o'er the setting sun!
And all the while the work was done,
On as I strode with my huge strides,

I flung back my head and I held my sides,
It was so rare a piece of fun

To see the sweltered cattle run

With uncouth gallop through the night,
Scared by the red and noisy light!
By the light of his own blazing cot
Was many a naked rebel shot:

The house-stream met the flame and hissed,
While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,

On some of those old bed-rid nurses,
That deal in discontent and curses.
Both. Who bade you do't?
Fire.

The same; the same!

Letters four do form his name.
He let me loose, and cried Halloo!

To him alone the praise is due.

All. He let us loose, and cried Halloo !

How shall we yield him honor due?

I'll

Fam. Wisdom comes with lack of food.

gnaw, I'll gnaw

the multitude,

Till the cup of rage o'erbrim :

They shall seize him and his brood

Slau. They shall tear him limb from limb!

Fire. O thankless beldames and untrue!

And is this all that you can do

For him who did so much for you?

Ninety months he, by my troth!
Hath richly catered for you both;
And in an hour would you repay

An eight years' work?-Away! away!
I alone am faithful! I

Cling to him everlastingly.

1796.

II. LOVE POEMS.

Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in ævo,
Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta
Ille puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus.
Omnia paulatim consumit longior ætas,
Vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.
Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor:

Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago,
Voxque aliud sonat-

Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes,
Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus
Mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum.

LOVE.

PETRARCH.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

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