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If you listen, all is still, Seve sa bittle neighbouring rill, That from out the rocky ground Suikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitter hill and plain, Aud the air is calm in vain ; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure ; (reuture uone can she decoy luto open sign of joy : in it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety ?



Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every creature ; Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Laura's face ; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness. - Pleased by any random toy ; By a kitten's busy joy, Or an infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy ; I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss ; Keep the sprightly soul awake, And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought, Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

-Hast thou then survived Mild Offspring of infirm humanity, Meek Infant ! among all forlornest things The most forlorn-one life of that bright star, The second glory of the Heavens ? Thou hast ; Already hast survived that great decay, That transformation through the wide earth felt, And by all nations. In that Being's sight From whom the Race of human kind proceed, A thousand years are but as yesterday ; And one day's narrow circuit is to Him Not less capacious than a thousand years. But what is time? What outward glory? neither A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend Through “heaven's eternal year.'—Yet hail to Thee, Frail, feeble, Monthling!—by that name, methinks, Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out Not idly.—Hadst thou been of Indian birth, Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves, And rudely canopied by leafy boughs, Or to the churlish elements exposed On the blank plains,—the coldness of the night, Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned, Would, with imperious admonition, then Have scored thine age, and punctually timed Thine infant history, on the minds of those Who might have wandered with thee.- Mother's

love, Nor less than mother's love in other breasts, Will, among us warm-clad and warmly housed, Do for thee what the finger of the heavens Doth all too often harshly execute For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds Where fancy hath small liberty to grace The affections, to exalt them or refine; And the maternal sympathy itself, Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie Of naked instinct, wound about the heart. Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours ! Even now-to solemnise thy helpless state, And to enliven in the mind's regard Thy passive beauty-parallels have risen, Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect, Within the region of a father's thoughts, Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky. And first ;-thy sinless progress, through a world By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed, Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds,



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Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom.

Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain : | But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn

With brightness ! leaving her to post along,

And range about, disquieted in change,
| And still impatient of the shape she wears.

Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe
That will suffice thee; and it seems that now
Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine ;
Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st
In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon
Hath this conception, grateful to behold,
Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er
By breathing mist; and thine appears to be

A mournful labour, while to her is given
Hope, and a renovation without end.

- That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face
Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn,
To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen;
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers
Thy loneliness : or shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage intricate and dim?
Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs,
Which, when the appointed season hath arrived,
Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt ;
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own.

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When I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, you asked “why The WAGOONER was not added?' -To say the truth,-from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended, this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, TEE WAGGOXER was read to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope, that, since the localities on which the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you most allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your Writings, and of the high esteem with which

I am very truly yours,

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Rydal Mount, May 20, 1819.

'Tis spent—this burning day of June !
Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing ;
The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheel-

That solitary bird
Is all that can be heard
In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon!

The air, as in a lion's den,
Is close and hot;—and now and then
Comes a tired and sultry breeze
With a haunting and a panting,
Like the stilling of disease;
But the dews allay the heat,
And the silence makes it sweet.

Confiding Glow-worms, 'tis a night
Propitious to your earth-born light!
But, where the scattered stars are seen
In hazy straits the clouds between,
Each, in his station twinkling not,
Seems changed into a pallid spot.
The mountains against heaven's grave weight
Rise up, and grow to wondrous height.

Hush, there is some one on the stir!
"Tis Benjamin the Waggoner;
Who long hath trod this toilsome way,
Companion of the night and day.
That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer,
Mix'd with a faint yet grating sound
In a moment lost and found,
The Wain announces-

by whose side
Along the banks of Rydal Mere
He paces on, a trusty Guide,

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Man and Maidens wheel,

Much did it taunt the humble Light
They themselves make the reel, That now, when day was fled, and night
And their music's a prey which they seize;

Hushed the dark earth, fast closing weary eyes,
It plays not for them,—what matter ? 'tis theirs ; A very reptile could presume
And if they had care, it has scattered their cares, To show her taper in the gloom,
While they dance, crying, “Long as ye please !” As if in rivalship with One

Who sate a ruler on his throne
They dance not for me,

Erected in the skies.
Yet mine is their glee !
Thus pleasure is spread through the earth “ Exalted Star!” the Worm replied,
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find; “ Abate this unbecoming pride,
Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind, Or with a less uneasy lustre shine ;
Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.

Thou shrink’st as momently thy rays

Are mastered by the breathing haze ;
The showers of the spring

While neither mist, nor thickest cloud
Rouse the birds, and they sing ; That shapes in heaven its murky shroud,
If the wind do but stir for his proper delight,

Hath power to injure mine.
Each leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss ;
Each wave, one and tother, speeds after his brother; But not for this do I aspire
They are happy, for that is their right!

To match the spark of local fire,
That at my will burns on the dewy lawn,
With thy acknowledged glories ;-No!
Yet, thus upbraided, I may show
What favours do attend me here,

Till, like thyself, I disappear

Before the purple dawn.”

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When this in modest guise was said, A Pilgrim, when the summer day

Across the welkin seemed to spread Had closed upon his weary way,

A boding sound—for aught but sleep unfit! A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof;

Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran; But him the haughty Warder spurned;

That Star, so proud of late, looked wan; And from the gate the Pilgrim turned,

And reeled with visionary stir To seek such covert as the field

In the blue depth, like Lucifer Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield,

Cast headlong to the pit ! Or lofty wood, shower-proof.

Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor He paced along; and, pensively,

Of ancient ether was no more, Halting beneath a shady tree,

New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth: Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or

And all the happy Souls that rode seat,

Transfigured through that fresh abode, Fixed on a Star his upward eye ;

Had heretofore, in humble trust,
Then, from the tenant of the sky

Shone meekly mid their native dust,
He turned, and watched with kindred look, The Glow-worms of the earth!
A Glow-worm, in a dusky nook,
Apparent at his feet.

This knowledge, from an Angel's voice

Proceeding, made the heart rejoice The murmur of a neighbouring stream

Of Him who slept upon the open lea:
Induced a soft and slumbrous dream,

Waking at morn he murmured not;
A pregnant dream, within whose shadowy bounds. And, till life's journey closed, the spot
He recognised the earth-born Star,

Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared,
And That which glittered from afar;

Where by that dream he had been cheered
And (strange to witness !) from the frame Beneath the shady tree.
Of the ethereal Orb, there came
Intelligible sounds.


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