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And the children are culling
On every side,
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
-But there's a tree, of many one, A single field which I have looked uponBoth of them speak of something that is gone;
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat. Whither is fled the visionary gleam ?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 5. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And comèth from afar.
And not in utter nakedness,
From God, who is our home.
Upon the growing boy :
He sees it in his joy.
Must travel, still is nature's priest,
Is on his way attended :
And fade into the light of common day.
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind ;
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
Forgět the glories he hath known,
7. Behold the child among his new-born blisses
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
A wedding or a festival,
And this hath now his heart,
Then will he fit his tongue
But it will not be long
And with new joy and pride
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation. 8. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity! Thou best philosopher, who yět dost keep Thy heritage! thou eye among the blind, That, děaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep Haunted for ever by the eternal mind !
Mighty prophet! Seer blest,
On whom those truths do rest Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darknèss lost, the darkness of the grave! Thou over whom thy immortality Broods like the day, a master ö’er a slave, A presence which is not to be put by! Thou little child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ?
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
What was so fugitive!
But for those obstinate questionings
Blank misgivings of a creature
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
To perish never-
Nor man nor boy,
Hence in a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Which brought us hither-
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 10. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound !
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Feel the gladness of the May!
We will grieve not, rather find
In the faith that looks through death,
Forebode not any severing of our loves !
Is lovely yet;
175. THE POET.
OW glorious, above all earthly glory, are the faculty and
mission of the Poet! His are the flaming thoughts that pierce the vail of heaven-his are the feelings, which on the wings of rapture sweep over the abyss of ages. The star of his being is a splendor of the world.
2. The Poet's state and attributes are half divine. The breezes of glădness are the heralds of his approach; the glimpse of his coming is as the flash of the dawn. The hues of Conquest flush his brow: the anger of triumph is in his eyes. The secret of Creätion is with him ; the mystery of the Immortal is among his treasures. The doom of unending sovereignty is upon his nature.
3. The meditations of his mind are Angels, and their issuing forth is with the strength of eternity. The tălisman' of his speech is the scepter of the free. The decrees of a dominion whose sway is over spirits, and whose continuance is to everlasting, go out from before him ; and that ethereal essence, which is the untamable in man—which is the liberty of the Infinite within the bondage of life is obedient to them. His phrases are the forms of Power : his syllables are agencies of Joy.
4. With men in his sympathies, that he may be above them in his influence, his nature is the jewel-clasp that binds Humanity to Heaven. It mediates between the earthly and celestial : in the vigor of his production, dīvĩnity becomes substantial; in the sublimity of his apprehensions, the material loses itself into spirit. It is his to drag forth the eternal from our mortal form of being-to tear the Infinite into our bounden state of action.
5. What conqueror has troops like his ?-the spirit-forces of Language—those subtle slaves of mind, those impetuous masters of the Passions ; whose mysterious substance who can comprehend-whose mighty operation what can com'bat? Evolved, none knowèth how, within the curtained chămbers of existence
| Talisman, (tål'iz mån), something as preservation from sickness, in. formed by magical skill, to which jury, &c.; that which produces re wonderful effects were ascribed, such markable effects.