TILL, HIGHER MOUNTED, STRIVES IN VAIN TO CHEER THE WEARY HILLS, IMPERVIOUS, BLACKENING NEAR;-(WORDSWORTH)

"6 THUS HOPE, FIRST POURING FROM HER Blessed hoRN

MORS OMNIA VINCIT.

virtues of the poor, but by fixing his imagination on the elemental feelings,
which are the same in all classes, and drawing out the beauty that lies in
all that is truly natural in human life."]

MORS OMNIA VINCIT.

REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCHYARD.

HIS file of infants; some that never breathed,

And the besprinkled Nursling, unrequired
Till he begins to smile upon the breast
That feeds him; and the tott'ring Little One

Taken from air and sunshine, when the rose
Of Infancy first blooms upon his cheek;

The thinking, thoughtless Schoolboy; the bold Youth
Of soul impetuous; and the bashful Maid
Smitten while all the promises of life

Are op'ning round her; those of middle age,
Cast down while confident in strength they stand,
Like pillars fixed more firmly, as might seem,
And more secure, by very weight of all
That, for support, rests on them; the decayed
And burthensome; and, lastly, that poor few
Whose light of reason is with age extinct;
The hopeful and the hopeless, first and last,
The earliest summoned and the longest spared,
Are here deposited; with tribute paid
Various, but unto each some tribute paid;
As if, amid these peaceful hills and groves,
Society were touched with kind concern,

And gentle "Nature grieved that One should die !"

[From "The Excursion."-" These general reflections on the indiscriminating rapacity of Death, though by no means original in themselves, and expressed with too bold a rivalry of the Seven Ages of Shakespeare, have yet a character of vigour and truth about them that entitles them to notice.' -LORD JEFFREY.]

HER DAWN, FAR LOVELIER THAN THE MOON'S OWN MORN,

485

YET DOES SHE STILL, UNDAUNTED, THROW THE WHILE ON DARLING SPOTS REMOTE HER TEMPTING SMILE."-WORDSWORTH.

"I HAVE LEARNED TO LOOK ON NATURE, NOT AS IN THE HOUR OF THOUGHTLESS YOUTH,

486

PEACE SETTLES WHERE THE INTELLECT IS MEEK,-(WORDSWORTH)

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE SHADOW IN THE STREAM.

HEN having reached a bridge, that overarched
The hasty rivulet where it lay becalmed
In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw
A twofold image.

On a grassy bank

A snow-white Ram, and in the crystal flood
Another and the same! Most beautiful,
On the green turf, with his imperial front
Shaggy and bold, and wreathèd horns superb,
The breathing creature stood! as beautiful
Beneath him showed his shadowy counterpart.
Each had his glowing mountains, each his sky,
And each seemed centre of his own fair world!
Antipodes, unconscious of each other,

Yet in partition, with their several spheres,
Blended in perfect stillness to our sight!

[From "The Excursion."-This "elaborate and fantastic picture" exhibits the master's finest touches; it is painted, to use the language of artjargon, in his best style.]

BUT HEARING OFTENTIMES THE STILL, SAD MUSIC OF HUMANITY."-w. WORDSWORTH.

A SELECTION FROM WORDSWORTH'S SONNETS.

I. IN MEMORY OF MILTON.

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

AND LOVE IS DUTIFUL IN THOUGHT AND DEED."-WORDSWORTH

WE POETS IN OUR YOUTH BEGIN IN GLADNESS,-(WORDSWORTH)

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free.
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

[From the Sonnets.-Wordsworth's protests against worldliness of spirit and superstitious idolatry of wealth are even more necessary now than in his own time. But in making these protests he did a great, and high, and holy work, whose value must not be calculated or measured by his success-alas! how would the work of any man appear, if judged by such a standard?-but by its truth. "The work Wordsworth did," says F. W. Robertson," and I say it in all reverence, was the work which the Baptist did when he came to the pleasure-laden citizens of Jerusalem to work a reformation; it was the work which Milton tried to do, when he raised that clear, calm voice of his to call back his countrymen to simpler manners and to simpler laws. That was what Wordsworth did, or tried to do; and the language in which he has described Milton might with great truth be applied to Wordsworth himself."-REV. F. W. ROBERTSON, Lectures and Addresses, p. 236.]

"I HAVE FELT A PRESENCE THAT DISTURBS ME WITH THE JOY OF ELEVATED THOUGHTS,

II. THE ARTIST'S CONFIDENCE IN HIS ART.

HIGH is our calling, friend! Creative art
(Whether the instrument of words she use,
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashioned-to infuse

Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
And, oh! when nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,

BUT THEREOF COME DESPONDENCY AND MADNESS."-WORDSWORTH.

A SENSE SUBLIME OF SOMETHING FAR MORE DEEPLY INTERFUSED."-WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

NEVER TO BLEND OUR PLEASURE OR OUR PRIDE-(WORDSWORTH)

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness:

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

[This Sonnet was addressed to the painter, B. R. Haydon. The ninth and tenth lines were almost prophetic.]

"THEREFORE AM I STILL A LOVER OF THE MEADOWS, AND THE WOODS, AND MOUNTAINS, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH)

III. ENGLAND'S GLORY.

It is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British freedom, which to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, with " pomp of waters unwithstood,"
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish! and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spoke; the faith and morals hold

Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung
Of earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

[The reader should be reminded that this noble Sonnet was written in 1803, when Napoleon was threatening our shores with invasion. It is the just expression of the enthusiasm which then stirred the heart of every Englishinan; which filled him with a longing to fight for his altar and his hearth, and for the grand inheritance of glory handed down by his an

cestors.]

AND OF ALL THAT WE BEHOLD FROM THIS GREEN EARTH; OF ALL THE MIGHTY world of eye anD EAR."-WORDSWORTH.

IV.-ENGLAND AND FRANCE CONTRASTED.

GREAT men have been among us; hands that penned
And tongues that uttered wisdom, better none;
The later Sydney, Marvel, Harrington,
Young Vane and others who called Milton friend.

WITH SORROW OF THE MEANEST THING THAT feels."

-WORDSWORTH.

These moralists could act and comprehend:
They knew how genuine glory was put on;

Taught us how rightfully a nation shone

In splendour: what strength was, that would not

bend

But in magnanimous meekness.

strange,

France, 'tis

Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then.
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single volume paramount, no code,
No master spirit, no determined road
But equally a want of books and men !

[Written about 1802-3.]

;

489

"WELL PLEASED TO RECOGNIZE IN NATURE AND THE LANGUAGE OF THE SENSE, THE ANCHOR OF MY THOUGHTS,

THE NURSE, THE GUIDE, THE GUARDIAN OF MY HEART, AND SOUL OF ALL MY MORAL BEING."-WORDSWORTH.

V. THE SLEEPING CITY.

EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty.
This city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky,

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill!
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will.
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep,
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

[Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1803.]