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Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding Oft in my waking dreams do I hail,

Live o'er again that happy hour, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's Aail: When midway on the mount I lay, And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and Beside the ruined tower.

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I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story -
An old rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

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She listened with a Aitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.

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A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed

The Lady of the Land.

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LOVE
(1799)

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All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night;

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And that she nursed him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest-leaves

A dying man he lay;

His dying words but when I reached 65
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 70
The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;

Ye clouds! that far above me float and

pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may

control! Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye

roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye Woods! that listen to the nightbirds singing,

5 Midway the smooth and perilous slope

reclined, Save when your own imperious branches

swinging, Have made a solemn music of the

wind! Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which never woodman

trod,

How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds

I wound,

Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquer

able sound!

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III

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"And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's

loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance

strove! Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove

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dream! Ye storms, that round the dawning

East assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his

light! And when to soothe my soul, that hoped

and trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright;

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and gory

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When France in wrath her giant-limbs

upreared, And with that oath which smote air,

earth and sea, Stamped her strong foot and said she

would be free, Bear witness for me, how I hoped and

feared! With what a joy my lofty gratulation

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: And when to whelm the disenchanted na

tion, Like fiends embattled by a wizard's

wand, The Monarchs marched in evil day, 30

And Britain joined the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling

ocean, Though many friendships, many youth

ful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion And Aung a magic light o'er all her hills

and groves; Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat To all that braved the tyrant-quelling

lance, And shame too long delayed and vain

retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy

flame; But blessed the pæans of delivered

France, And hung my head and wept at Britain's

name,

Concealed with clustering wreaths of

glory; When insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the war

rior's ramp; While timid looks of fury glancing, 55 Domestic treason, crushed beneath her

fatal stamp, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his

gore; Then I reproached my fears that would

not fee; "And soon,” I said, “shall Wisdom teach

her lore In the low huts of them that toil and

groan; And, conquering by her happiness alone, Shall France compel the nations to be

free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call

the earth their own."

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IV

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I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained

streams! Heroes, that for your peaceful country

perished, And ye, that feeing, spot your mountain

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Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays

thee) Alike from Priestcraft's harpy min

ions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener

slaves,

Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and play

mate of the waves! And there I felt thee! - on that sea-cliff's

verge, Whose pines, scarce travelled by the

breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant

surge! Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples

bare, And shot my being through earth, sea,

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dear;

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and air,

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And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the

mountaineer – O France, that mockest Heaven, adul

terous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils ! Are these thy boasts, Champion of human

kind? To mix with Kings in the low lust of

sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous

prey ; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to

betray?

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FROST AT MIDNIGHT

(1798)

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The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud — and hark, again! loud as

before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which

suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and

wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and

wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers

not; Only that film which Auttered on the

grate

name

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Of Freedom, graven on

a heavier chain!

O Liberty! with profitless endeavor Have I pursued thee, many weary

hour; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain

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nor ever

Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human

power.

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Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my Methinks, its motion in this hush of

side, nature

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,

deep calm, Making it a companionable form,

Fill up the interspersed vacancies Whose puny Alaps and freaks the idling And momentary pauses of the thought! Spirit

My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart By its own moods interprets, everywhere With tender gladness, thus to look at Echo or mirror seeking of itself,

thee, And makes a toy of Thought.

And think that thou shalt learn far other

lore, But O! how oft,

And in far other scenes! For I was How oft, at school, with most believing

reared mind,

In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, 25 And saw nought lovely but the sky and To watch that fluttering stranger! and as

stars. oft

But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt

breeze Of my sweet birth-place, and the old By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the church-tower,

crags Whose bells, the poor man's only music, Of ancient mountain, and beneath the

clouds, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair Which image in their bulk both lakes and day,

shores So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and

hear With a wild pleasure, falling on mine The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible

Of that eternal language, which thy Most like articulate sounds of things to

God come!

Utters, who from eternity doth teach So gazed I, till the soothing things I Himself in all, and all things in himself. dreamt

Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged | Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

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me

ear

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my dreams!

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And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine

eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming

book: Save if the door half opened, and I

snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped

up, For still I hoped to see the stranger's

face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more be

loved, My play-mate when we both were clothed

alike!

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to

thee, Whether the summer clothe the general

earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and

sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare

branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the

eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

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