Volume I Part 7 (2/2)
17. _To the_ ----.
Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove While I was framing beds for winter flowers; While I was planting green unfading bowers, And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove, And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove The dream, to time and nature's blended powers I gave this paradise for winter hours, A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove.
Yes! when the sun of life more feebly s.h.i.+nes, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom Or of high gladness you shall hither bring; And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Be gracious as the music and the bloom And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.
18.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The Winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not--Great G.o.d! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
19.
It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder--everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And wors.h.i.+pp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, G.o.d being with thee when we know it not.
20. TO THE MEMORY OF _RAISLEY CALVERT_.
Calvert! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name that I to thee Ow'd many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem: That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Where'er I liked; and finally array My temples with the Muse's diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth, If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays Of higher mood, which now I meditate, It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth!
To think how much of this will be thy praise.
END OF THE FIRST PART.
PART THE SECOND.
SONNETS
DEDICATED _TO LIBERTY_.
1. COMPOSED BY THE _SEA-SIDE, near CALAIS_, August, 1802.
<script>