Appeared like something in myself, a dream,

A prospect in the mind.

What spring and autumn, what the winter

snows,

And what the summer shade, what day
and night,

355 Evening and morning, sleep and waking,
thought

From sources inexhaustible, poured forth 405
To feed the spirit of religious love

In which I walked with Nature. But let this
Be not forgotten, that I still retained
360 My first creative sensibility;

That by the regular action of the world
My soul was unsubdued. A plastic power
Abode with me; a forming hand, at times
Rebellious, acting in a devious mood;
365 A local spirit of his own, at war

410

With general tendency, but, for the most,
Subservient strictly to external things
With which it communed. An auxiliar light
Came from my mind, which on the setting 415

O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought

And human knowledge, to the human eye Invisible, yet liveth to the heart;

O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings,

Or beats the gladsome air; o'er all that glides

Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself,
And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not
If high the transport, great the joy I felt
Communing in this sort through earth and
heaven

With every form of creature, as it looked
Towards the Uncreated with a countenance
Of adoration, with an eye of love.
One song they sang, and it was audible,
Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear,
O'ercome by humblest prelude of that
strain,

Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed.

born.

If in my youth I have been pure in heart, If, mingling with the world, I am content With my own modest pleasures, and have lived

With God and Nature communing, removed

From little enmities and low desires,
The gift is yours; if in these times of fear1
This melancholy waste of hopes o'er-
thrown,

If, 'mid indifference and apathy,
And wicked exultation when good men
On every side fall off, we know not how,
To selfishness, disguised in gentle names
Of peace and quiet and domestic love,

1 During the War of the Second Coalition, 17991801, when England feared an invasion by Napoleon. See Coleridge's Fears in Solitude (p. 353).

440 On visionary minds; if, in this time

Of dereliction and dismay, I yet Despair not of our nature, but retain A more than Roman confidence, a faith That fails not, in all sorrow my support, 445 The blessing of my life; the gift is yours, Ye winds and sounding cataracts! 'tis yours Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! hast fed

My lofty speculations; and in thee, For this uneasy heart of ours, I find 450 A never-failing principle of joy And purest passion.

Thou

From Book III. RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE

125

In glory immutable. But peace! enough
Here to record that I was mounting now
To such community with highest truth-
A track pursuing, not untrod before,
From strict analogies by thought supplied
Or consciousnesses not to be subdued.
To every natural form, rock, fruit, or
flower,

Even the loose stones that cover the high-
way,

I gave a moral life: I saw them feel, 130 Or linked them to some feeling: the great

sublime

mass

Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all That I beheld respired with inward mean

ing.

Add that whate'er of Terror or of Love
Or Beauty, Nature's daily face put on
From transitory passion, unto this

I was as sensitive as waters are
To the sky's influence in a kindred mood
Of passion; was obedient as a lute
That waits upon the touches of the wind.
Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most
rich-

I had a world about me- 'twas my own;
I made it, for it only lived to me,
And to the God who sees into the heart.

From BooK IV. SUMMER VACATION 'Mid a throng

And bandied up and down by love and hate;

Not unresentful where self-justified; 415 Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy;

Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds;

Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft

To endure this state of meagre vassalage,
Unwilling to forego, confess, submit

520 Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows

And they must have their food. Our childhood sits,

Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne That hath more power than all the elements.

510 I guess not what this tells of being past, Nor what it augurs of the life to come; But so it is, and, in that dubious hour, That twilight when we first begin to see This dawning earth, to recognize, expect, 515 And, in the long probation that ensues, The time of trial, ere we learn to live In reconcilement with our stinted powers; 1 wander about

To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed And humbled down;-oh! then we feel, we feel,

We know where we have friends. Ye\
dreamers, then,

Forgers of daring tales! we bless you then,
Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape
Philosophy will call you; then we feel
With what, and how great might ye are in
league,

Who make our wish, our power, our
thought a deed,

An empire, a possession,-ye whom time 530 And seasons serve; all Faculties to whom Earth crouches, the elements are potter's

All winter long, whenever free to choose, Did I by night frequent the College groves And tributary walks; the last, and oft The only one, who had been lingering there 610 70 Through hours of silence, till the porter's bell,

A punctual follower on the stroke of nine,
Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice,
Inexorable summons! Lofty elms,
Inviting shades of opportune recess,
75 Bestowed composure on a neighborhood
Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree
With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely
wreathed,

Grew there; an ash which Winter for him-
self

Decked as in pride, and with outlandish grace:

80 Up from the ground, and almost to the top,

The trunk and every master branch were

green

With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs

And outer spray profusely tipped with seeds

That hung in yellow tassels, while the air 85 Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I stood

Foot-bound uplooking at this lovely tree
Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere
Of magic fiction, verse of mine perchance
May never tread; but scarcely Spenser's
self

90 Could have more tranquil visions in his youth,

Or could more bright appearances create
Of human forms with superhuman powers,
Than I beheld loitering on calm clear nights
Alone, beneath this fairy work of earth.

Imagination-here the Power so called Through sad incompetence of human speech,

That awful Power rose from the mind's abyss

595 Like an unfathered vapor that enwraps, At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost; Halted without an effort to break through; But to my conscious soul I now can say "I recognize thy glory:" in such strength. 600 Of usurpation, when the light of sense

Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed The invisible world, doth greatness make abode,

There harbors; whether we be young or old, Our destiny, our being's heart and home, 605 Is with infinitude, and only there;

With hope it is, hope that can never die,

615

Effort, and expectation, and desire,
And something evermore about to be.
Under such banners militant, the soul
Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no
spoils

That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts

That are their own perfection and reward, Strong in herself and in beatitude

That hides her, like the mighty flood of Nile

Poured from his fount of Abyssinian

clouds

625

Entered a narrow chasm. The brook and road

Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy

strait,

And with them did we journey several hours

At a slow pace. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, The stationary blasts of waterfalls,

And in the narrow rent at every turn Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and forlorn,

The torrent shooting from the clear blue

sky,