"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;

And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm

Of mute, insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see,

Even in the motions of the Storm,

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I.will give

While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake.-The work was done.--
How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;

The

memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

XI.

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,

With rocks, and stones, and trees.

XII.

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

1799.

1799.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay :

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

XIII.

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

Ar the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,

Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She

sees

A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her eyes!

XIV.

POWER OF MUSIC.

AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,

And take to herself all the wonders of old;

Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the

same

In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its

name.

His station is there; and he works on the crowd, He sways them with harmony merry and loud; He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim,

Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?

What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss; The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have

rest;

And the guilt-burdened soul is no longer opprest.

As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,

So He, where he stands, is a centre of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.