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Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary, weight
Of all this unintelligible world..?
Is lighten'd: That serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,
Until the breath of this corporeal frane,
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

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:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was,

when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever Nature led; more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature

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
To look on Nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentiines
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy.
Of elevated thoughts; a sense subline
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue-sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore an.

I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear, both what they half-create*
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
In Nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
VOL. I.

O

* 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,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing

thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchance,
If I should be, where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these

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

sake.

END OF THE PIRST VOLUME.

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