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النشر الإلكتروني

When they abate their fiery glare:
Whate'er your forms express,
Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are,
All leads to gentleness.

Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure;

Your birthright is a fence

From all that haughtier kinds endure
Through tyranny of sense.

Ah! not alone by colours bright

Are Ye to Heaven allied,

When, like essential Forms of light,
Ye mingle, or divide.

For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled
Day-thoughts while limbs repose;

For moonlight fascinations mild

Your gift, ere shutters close;

Accept, mute Captives! thanks and praise;
And may this tribute prove

That gentle admirations raise
Delight resembling love.

LIBERTY.

(SEQUEL TO THE ABOVE.)

[Addressed to a Friend; the Gold and Silver Fishes having been removed to a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal Mount.]

"The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government. The liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this latter we are here to discourse."

COWLEY.

THOSE breathing Tokens of your kind regard,
(Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard;
Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling,
In lonely spots, become a slighted thing;)
Those silent Inmates now no longer share,
Nor do they need, our hospitable care,
Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell
To the fresh waters of a living Well;

That spreads into an elfin pool opaque

Of which close boughs a glimmering mirror make,

On whose smooth breast with dimples light and small The fly may settle, leaf or blossom fall.

There swims, of blazing sun and beating shower
Fearless (but how obscured!) the golden Power,
That from his bauble prison used to cast
Gleams by the richest jewel unsurpast;

And near him, darkling like a sullen Gnome,
The silver Tenant of the crystal dome;

Dissevered both from all the mysteries

Of hue and altering shape that charmed all eyes. They pined, perhaps, they languished while they

shone;

And, if not so, what matters beauty gone
And admiration lost, by change of place
That brings to the inward Creature no disgrace?
But if the change restore his birthright, then,
Whate'er the difference, boundless is the gain.
Who can divine what impulses from God
Reach the caged Lark, within a town-abode,
From his poor inch or two of daisied sod?
O yield him back his privilege! No sea
Swells like the bosom of a man set free;
A wilderness is rich with liberty.

Roll on, ye spouting Whales, who die or keep
Your independence in the fathomless Deep!

Spread, tiny Nautilus, the living sail;

Dive, at thy choice, or brave the freshening gale! If unreproved the ambitious Eagle mount

Sunward to seek the daylight in its fount,

Bays, gulfs, and Ocean's Indian width, shall be,

Till the world perishes, a field for thee!

While musing here I sit in shadow cool, And watch these mute Companions, in the pool, Among reflected boughs of leafy trees,

By glimpses caught— disporting at their ease
Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries,
I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell
Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal Cell;
To wheel with languid motion round and round,
Beautiful, yet in a mournful durance bound.
Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred;
On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred;
And whither could they dart, if seized with
fear?

No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near.
When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room,

They wore away the night in starless gloom;
And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams,
How faint their portion of his vital beams!

Thus, and unable to complain, they fared,
While not one joy of ours by them was shared.

Is there a cherished Bird (I venture now To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend brow)— Is there a brilliant Fondling of the cage,

Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage,

Though fed with dainties from the snow-white

hand

Of a kind Mistress, fairest of the land,

But gladly would escape; and, if need were,
Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear
The emancipated captive through blithe air
Into strange woods, where he at large may live
On best or worst which they and Nature give?
The Beetle loves his unpretending track,

The Snail the house he carries on his back:

The far-fetched Worm with pleasure would disown The bed we give him, though of softest down;

A noble instinct; in all Kinds the same,

All Ranks! What Sovereign, worthy of the name, If doomed to breathe against his lawful will

An element that flatters him to kill,

But would rejoice to barter outward show

For the least boon that freedom can bestow?

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