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Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
If this Be but a vạiņ belief, yet, oh! how oft, In darkness, and, amid the many shapes Of joyless day-light, when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft in spirit, have I turned to thee. O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the
woods How often has my spirit turned to thee?
And now, with gleams of half-extinguish'd
thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by)" To me was all in all.--I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy w
wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling, and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: Other gifts Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant récompence. For I have learned
* This line has a close resemblance to an admin rable line of Young, the exact expression of which I cannot recollect,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.
Nor, perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river ; thou, my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend! and in thy voice. I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The Heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the Years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy; for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee; and in after years,
gleams Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came, Unwearied in that service; rather say With warmer love-Oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves, and for thy
END OF THE PIRST VOLUME.