'The Being, that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

'The pleasure-house is dust :-behind, before,
This is no common waste, no common gloom;
But Nature, in due course of time, once more
Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.

'She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
That what we are, and have been, may be known ;
But at the coming of the milder day

These monuments shall all be overgrown.

'One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,

Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals;
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.'

1800.

T

IS said, that some have died for love:

And here and there a churchyard grave is found

In the cold north's unhallowed ground,

Because the wretched man himself had slain,

His love was such a grievous pain.

And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone

Upon Helvellyn's side:

He loved the pretty Barbara died;

And thus he makes his moan:

Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid

When thus his moan he made:

'Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

That in some other way yon smoke

May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart :
I look-the sky is empty space;

I know not what I trace;

But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

'O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, That murmur once so dear, when will it cease? Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,

It robs my heart of peace.

Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit,

Upon that alder sit;

Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

'Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained!

For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

That cannot be sustained;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,

Oh let it then be dumb!

Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.

'Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,

Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale,

Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

And stir not in the gale.

For thus to see thee nodding in the air,

To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,

Thus rise and thus descend,

Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.'

The Man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah, gentle Love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.

The Sparrow's Nest 1

EHOLD, within the leafy shade,

BE

1800.

Those bright blue eggs together laid!

On me the chance-discovered sight

Gleamed like a vision of delight.

I started-seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,

The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father's house, in wet or dry
My sister Emmeline and I
Together visited.

She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it :
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later years
Was with me when a boy :

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;

And love, and thought, and joy.

1801.

M

Y heart leaps up when I behold1
A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man ;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

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
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The Ploughboy is whooping-anon-anon:
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!

1802.

To a Butterfly1

'VE watched you now a full half-hour,

I Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
I'

And, little Butterfly! indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!-not frozen seas
More motionless! and then

What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;

My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;

Here rest your wings when they are weary;

Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;

Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

And summer days, when we were young;

Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

1802.