TO MY SISTER. IT is the first mild day of March: The redbreast sings from the tall larch There is a blessing in the air, To the bare trees, and mountains bare, My sister! ('tis a wish of mine,) Edward will come with you; - and, pray, No joyless forms shall regulate We from to-day, my Friend, will date Love, now a universal birth, From earth to man, from man to earth: One moment now may give us more Some silent laws our hearts will make, And from the blessèd power that rolls We'll frame the measure of our souls: Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, [1798. 2 Composed in front of Alfoxden House. My little boy-messenger on this occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. The larch mentioned in the first stanza was standing when I revisited the place in May, 1841, more than forty years after. A few score yards from this tree, grew one SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN; WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE IN the sweet shire of Cardigan, No man like him the horn could sound, In those proud days, he little cared To blither tasks did Simon rouse He all the country could outrun, For when the chiming hounds are out, But, O the heavy change! - bereft His Master's dead, and no one now Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; And he is lean and he is sick; His legs are thin and dry. One prop he has, and only one; [see, of the most remarkable beech-trees ever seen. It was of immense size, and threw out arms that struck into the soil, like those of the banyan-tree, and rose again from it. Two of the branches thus inserted themselves twice; which gave to each the appearance of a serpent moving along by gathering itself up in folds. — Author's Notes. One summer-day I chanced to see The mattock totter'd in his hand; "You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee, The tears into his eyes were brought, 3 Mourning, probably because the gratitude was so little deserved, or so disproportionate to the occasion. I here quote again from the poet's notes: "This old man had been huntsman to the squires of Alfoxden, which, at the time we occupied it, belonged to a minor. It is unnecessary to add, the fact was as mentioned in the poem; and I have, after an interval of forty-five years, the image of the old man as fresh as if I had seen him yesterday. The expression when the hounds are out, 'I dearly love their voice,' was word for word from his own lips." The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart. But he is weak; both Man and Boy, The things which others understand. Come hither in thy hour of strength; MATTHEW. In the School of Hawkshead is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, the Names of the several persons who have been School-masters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those Names the Author wrote the following lines: IF Nature, for a favourite child, Read o'er these lines; and then review Its history of two hundred years. When through this little wreck of fame, Cipher and syllable, thine eye Shut close the door; press down the latch; Has travell'd down to Matthew's name, Pause with no common sympathy. And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Of one tired out with fun and madness; The tears which came to Matthew's eyes Were tears of light, the dew of gladness. Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup And on that morning, through the grass, Her brow was smooth and white: And by the steaming rills, We travell'd merrily, to pass "Our work," said I, "was well begun; A second time did Matthew stop; "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft A day like this which I have left And just above yon slope of corn With rod and line I sued the sport 4 This and other poems connected with To see a child so very fair, No fountain from its rocky cave There came from me a sigh of pain I look'd at her, and look'd again; Matthew would not gain by a literal detail We lay beneath a spreading oak, of facts. Like the Wanderer in The Ex-Beside a mossy seat; cursion, this School-master was made up And from the turf a fountain broke, of several both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask pardon And gurgled at our fect. for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered stritcly as matters of fact. It "Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match is enough if, being true and consistent in This water's pleasant tune spirit, they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a poet's calling. Au- With some old border-song, or catch thor's Notes. That suits a Summer's noon; Or of the church-clock and the chimes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed And thus the dear old Man replied, I live and sing my idle songs And, Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasp'd my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be." We rose up from the fountain-side; And down the smooth descent "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; Of the green sheep-track did we glide; How merrily it goes! "Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. And here, on this delightful day, My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears Thus fares it still in our decay: Mourns less for what age takes away The blackbird amid leafy trees, Let loose their carols when they please, With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: But we are press'd by heavy laws; If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own; It is the man of mirth. My days, my Friend, are almost gone, "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! And through the wood we went; And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, A JEWISH FAMILY. [1799. |