Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had, And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad? Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie? No, no, this cannot be; men thirst for power and majesty ! Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, That doth reject all show of pride, admits no out ward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine! Whatever be the cause, 't is sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: One after one they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. XVI. WRITTEN IN MARCH, WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF THE Cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated -anon On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping There's joy in the mountains; There 's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone! anon: XVII. LYRE! though such power do in thy magic live Assist me to detain The lovely Fugitive: Check with thy notes the impulse which, betrayed And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy Faint and somewhat pensively; And downward Image gayly vying With its upright living tree 'Mid silver clouds, and openings of blue sky As soft almost and deep as her cerulean eye. Nor less the joy with many a glance Cast up the Stream or down at her beseeching, To mark its eddying foam-balls prettily distrest The current as it plays In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps Or note (translucent Summer's happiest chance!) XVIII. BEGGARS. SHE had a tall man's height or more; Her face from Summer's noontide heat A mantle, to her very feet Descending with a graceful flow, And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. Her skin was of Egyptian brown: Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles. Advancing, forth she stretched her hand I left her, and pursued my way; The taller followed with his hat in hand, the land. 2 The other wore a rimless crown, Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed unfit For finest tasks of earth or air: Wings let them have, and they might flit Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, ween, I To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level green. |