Classic Poem

This is the time when most the mind delights
To lay aside the burthen of its cares,
And give itself to Nature........Sweet and mild
Evening's first breeze comes stealing up the vale,
Wafting soft sea-sounds from the rippling wave,
With flow unceasing; and the balmy air,
Filled with delicious coolness, o'er the soul
Breathes a still quiet, and a holy calm.
A gentle shower, now past and hushed, has bathed
The scene with humid freshness; the green turf,
Besprent with many a dew-drop (brushed away
Where'er my foot has crushed the tender blade),
Shines in the sun-beam; and the mellow tints
Of yon rich wood, wash'd in reviving rains,
Acquire new tones, and more transparent hues.

It is a blessed scene, and I rejoice
That I have felt inwove into my being
A love of the green fields, and azure sky,
Mountains, and all the multitud'nous throng
Of waves that sound along the rocky shore.
And therefore (for this never-dying passion,
This craving appetite, has led me on,
As though possessed with moody thoughts, and fed
With wayward fancies)....therefore have I roamed
Through devious wilds, through pathless glens, and climbed
The tall cliff's topmost crag, and therefore bared
To the sharp mountain-blast my glowing breast.
Nor nursing other feelings have I sought
The savage grandeur of yon wilds sublime,
The foaming cat'ract, or the softer voice
Of bubbling hill-streams........To this place I come
Led by the self same impulse.
This hoar stone,
Studded with moss, with green and fringed moss,
With crimson fret-work, and bright cups of gold,
And all embossed with curled knots, and tufts
Of lichens,........this hoar stone shall be my seat.
O lovely is the scene! Here let me sit,
Here see and feel the blended harmony
That tempers down each sharp extreme of form,
Tint, shade, or light, and in a kindred mass
Unites the whole........Oh for thy pencil, Claude!
Thy pencil, dipt in pure ethereal hues,
In clear and liquid freshness! So the scene
Might live for ever, and for ever charm
With grace peculiar to itself and thee.
Here, on these low-projecting crags, this rock,
Broken with turf and soil, has Nature pour'd
All her variety of dyes, and spread
With apt profusion all her mellow tints
And many-coloured treasures; by my side,
Yet gemmed with recent rain-drops, sedum lifts
Its crimson tufts, and there (where through the moss,
Slow trickling down to gain yon purling rill,
The water oozes) arum scarce reveals,
Half hid, its glowing clusters; the rough rock,
Matted with grass, and dashed with mingled grey,
Oker, and brown, bears on its scanty soil
The deep indented fern, and the tall stem
Of fox-glove, waving in a sin'ous curve
Its pend'lous blossoms, downward blooming full,
And ending in a spike of half closed buds.
Here flourishes ononis, here the heath,
That blends so well its purple with its leaves
And stalks of ruddy brown, here the dark hue
Of tangled furze bedropt with ardent gold.
Fair is this tree, that hanging over head
Spreads its broad canopy, its emerald green
Tinged, but just barely tinged, with mellowing warmth
And tender yellows. How the wanton breeze
Dallies with the light foliage, and stirs
With soft and tremulous motion the young sprays.
But turn we to a scope more splendid far,
Far more sublime............Lo! where magnificent
And glorious in his western pomp, the Sun
Diffuses o'er the distant rolling wave
Of ocean, and yon lengthened range of hills,
Dimly descried, the flood of all his blaze!
Full on these nearer mountain tops his beam
Dashes resplendent, and with glowing light
Skirts the projecting crags; his vivid touch
Glances upon the topmost trees, and o'er
The summit of those linear mounds that cross
With interchanging play the lower lands.
The brimming stream, that roves with many a bend
And oft-reiterated curve, to join
The billowy ocean, sparkles through the vale,
And leads with flashes, as of molten gold,
Into the long perspective, bursting forth
In glimpses from behind a tuft of trees,
A rising swell, or undulating knoll.
But who shall paint the mingled waves of light,
And hues effulgent, that together roll,
Where with the sky the long-drawn blazing line
Of ocean mixes! There the ardent glow
Of topaz, and the ruddy ruby's flush,
Unite, convolved in floods; floating along,
Big clouds of purple, edged with brightest light,
Spread their broad vans; above, a thin light tinge
Of palest saffron melts by faint degrees
Into the pure cærulean: higher still,
Through the broad veil of grey that spreads around,
And fills the vault of heaven, at intervals,
Bursts the blue sky, and sheds a milder day.
A cool half-shadow, like the first small mist
That rises from the bosom of some lake
In early eve, creeps up the rugged sides
And cliffs of the vast mountains that embrace
On either side, with double range, the vale.

Who so unblessed as to lock up his heart
Against the soothing power and sweet illapse
Of Nature's voice!........For sure there dwells a voice,
A moving spirit, and a speaking tongue,
In the loud waters, and the nimble air,
And the still moon-beam, and the living light
Of suns resplendent in their mid career.
And there are sounds that to reflecting minds
Speak feelingly, aiding the bland effect
Of all that Nature offers to the eyes
Of mortal men....And thus the lulling strains,
That, with low-welling tones and dying falls,
Come floating down the breeze, into my heart
Whisper strange things....Nor less the varying voice
That issues from the bubbling stream affects
My melting soul, when, now with still small sound
It trembles, then, with a sweet skirmishing,
Fills all the breeze, and after many a swell
And sweeping strain of winding melody,
It sinks away, quite lost in a full pause.
And there are sounds that not unpleasantly
Fill the attentive ear, though chiming in
With sharper music. Scarce discernible
From the brown scaly bark to which she clings,
The wryneck pours her cry incessantly,
With wail monotonous: down by the stream side
Pipes the curlew; and, wheeling to and fro
With tumbling flight, and glancing in the sun,
Yon golden plovers whistle sharp and shrill.
Yet these are passing pleasant; for the breeze
Blends them together, and, low whispering,
Tempers each harsh sound with its own sweet breath,
With half-heard warblings, and unnumbered sighs
Of rustling leaves; while, heard through every note,
The bubbling rill that murmurs at my feet
Rolls its mild concord, and pervades the whole.
Nor does the ear alone imbibe these sounds.
Deep in my breast I feel them, and my soul,
Touched, trembles with responsive sympathy
To every whispered note.
Now then farewell
To all the low desires that agitate
The breasts of mortal fools! And now farewell
To all the cares and passions that debase
The soul's pure essence! Chastened and refined,
Springs the ethereal mould aloft, and wings
Her flight to realms above the zone of earth,
Where all is bliss and peace: free, and unchained,
And loosed from all the bonds that bind to earth
The fire divine, she spurns with holy pride
The feeble barrier; from this goodly scene,
Uptracing to the source of love supreme
And mercy, that creative power that spoke,
And bade the round world stand immoveable
On its foundation.
Thee, O Solitude,
I court with gladness; not as those who feed
With morbid thoughts and gloomy sympathies
A proud and sullen soul....Far be from me
A mind of this complexion....In his breast
Who bears it, bears a never-dying worm,
A gnawing viper that consumes his spirit,
And feeds upon his soul; but he extracts
Poison from Nature's beauties, gloom, and dusk,
And murky fancies from the blessed sun,
And ill from every thing.
Mistaken wretch!
Lift up thine eye, and view the cheerful beam,
The living light of heaven; let thy whole soul
Embrace this goodly scene; then, if the fires
Of blest benevolence and charity
Are not for ever damped, and in thy heart
Extinguished quite, then will thy heart confess
The presence of a sober joy, that comes
With comfort and soft healing; then thy mind,
Disburthened of its fever and thick gloom,
And all surrendered up to the strong charm
Of Nature, to the taste of unfeigned bliss,
Shall be alive for ever; thou shalt smile,
Once more shalt smile, and bliss thy new-born state.
Tell me, ye gay, ye whom the world esteems
Most fortunate and happy! Tell me, ye
For whom the rich and turgid grape concocts
Its luscious juice, for whom the wine-press pours
In floods its racy nectar! Ye, for whom
The proud saloon with garish splendour teems!
Tell me, ye overgorged with all that wealth
And power can give you! what though Art exhausts
For you her stores, and, to her utmost tasked,
Invention toils to gratify your whim
With varied novelty, palls not the taste
And constant revolution of your joys?
The giddy mazes of the merry dance,
Riot, and revelry, and all the stale
And tasteless jargon of the masquerade,
With all that Fashion, all that Folly loves,
Charm they for ever?....Never does the soul,
Cloyed, weary, sick, and satiated, sigh
And pant for purer pleasures?
Ye who feel
The sacred impulse, and the craving call
Of Nature that invites you, oh how blest,
Supremely blest, above your gay compeers!
If in the din of riot, and the maze
Of dissipation's round, you stifle not
The kindling warmth, the quickening influence;
That leads by gentle steps to cheerfulness,
And steeps the soul in sweetest harmony.
Then hie thee to the fields, and let the warmth
And vital spirit that is interfused
And poured into thy bosom by the taste
Of Nature, and her soul-subduing voice,
Thaw thy congealed affections.
Not alone
To him who sickens at the dizzy joys
And stormy raptures that the world affords,
Does Nature offer her exhaustless stores,
And ever-changing features.......Hither come
Thou whom the buffets of a cruel world,
And the sharp taunts of rude unfeeling men
Have sorely smitten; whom the envenomed shafts
Of persecution, and revilings keen,
Have wounded to the core; oh hither come,
And I will tell thee how the gentle hand
Of Nature to thy sores and bleeding wounds
Shall minister her medicine, and shall heal,
With touch balsamic and reviving dews,
The bitter anguish of thy throbbing breast;
Then shall her fostering care refresh thy soul
With soothing scenes, holding with thy best thoughts
Delightful converse; and her voice shall pour
Into thy heart the magic force that steals
From Grief's slow-rankling dart the poisoned barb,
Working thy restoration; till revived,
And loosened from thy sorrows, thou shalt rise
A new replenished man, the film and slough,
That erst enclosed thee, cast and done away.

Sure 'twere a blessed lot, here, in this vale,
To loiter in sweet sadness, so the prime
Of Nature and of spring might fill the soul
With their delicious incense; or to sit,
Defended from the heat of summer suns,
By the cool shade of interposing boughs,
And taste the roving breeze.......Yet not alone
To its fresh breathings and reviving balm
Would I commit myself......And one I know,
One gentle maid, whose mild and peaceful soul
Is swayed and tempered by the very hand
Of softness and complacency: her heart
True and obedient to the touch divine
Of Nature, and alive to every thrill
That flows from her pure influence, would own
Her magic in this vale....Oh, gentle maid!
Oh, were it granted to my longing sight
Hither to see thee bend thy graceful steps,
To watch the rising gladness of thine eyes,
The mild effusion of that chastened ray
That dawns with humid lustre, like the beam
Of dewy morn poured on the silent breast
Of the still waters!......Yes....in thought I see
Thy kindling eye, I see the joy that dwells
In all thy inward thoughts, that speaks, display'd
In every feature; while the playful breeze,
Fanning aside thy dark-brown locks, reveals
Thy polished forehead, tranquil, and serene,
The mansion of no frown: thy dark brown locks,
Uplifted by the breeze, in gentle waves
Float on the dazzling snow of thy fair neck,
Blending its lucid white with lightest veil
Of pearly shade: I see thy rosy mouth,
Parted by such a smile as angels wear,
And thy soft cheek, suffused with all the glow
Of health and rapure; while, entranced, thine eye
Drinks the bright prospect......Oh, that thou indeed
Wast present with me!....Thou hast learned to look
On these things with no idle ken; thy mind
Has long regarded a free intercourse
With Nature's voice as the unfailing stay
And guardian of thy feelings, as the rock,
The shield, and anchor of thy purest joys.
And therefore art thou happy....And thy mind
Is stored with sweet and pleasant images,
And made the habitation of those charms
Which thou hast seen and felt; and after days
Shall see thee feeding on the blisful thoughts
Which thou hast treasured in thy memory.

And now, farewell! thou smiling Vale, thou source
Of calm and pleasant thoughts, for this one night
Farewell, thou smiling Vale! Refreshed in heart,
And glad in spirit, with oft-loitering step
And still-reverted gaze, I quit these scenes;
Purposing, if to-morrow's sun shall shine
Upon these eyes, once more to visit thee,
Once more to breathe the freshness of thy gales,
And once more with thy magic feast my soul,
Then for a long farewell!
Yet when the coil,
The stir, and bustle of the world shall press
Heavily on my heart, and when my soul
Is sick to death of the incessant hum
And ceremonious buz of social life,
Then shall I turn with loathing from the tricks,
Fantastic freaks, and antic mummery,
That fashion forms, with quaint formality,
To manacle mankind; then shall I turn
To thee, fair smiling Vale! Thy green recess,
Thy spreading shade, thy high-embowering rocks
Shall be a cradle and soft resting-place
For my long-harassed thoughts, and thou shalt slake
My soul's hot fever, thou shalt soothe away
The fretful peevishness that on my mind
Hangs most unpleasantly.
And I will hope
That, not unprofited, I shall recall
My thoughts from their sweet travel; that the force
Of all these influences may diffuse
Throughout my blood a mild and gentle mood,
Cooling the throbs of passion....So the peace
And calm serenity of future days
Haply shall prove thy sway most fortunate.