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WORDSWORTH: 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 WILLIAM WALLACE, 
 
 -The mind 
 
 Where Faith so deep a root could find, 
 Faith, which both love and hfe could save, 
 
 And keep the first, in age still fond, 
 Thus blossoming this side the grave 
 
 In steadfast trust of fruit beyond. 
 
 Vigil of Faith. 
 
 He can still drink in 
 The unshadowed glories of the Universe. 
 
 Boyhood's Recollections. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HUNTINGTON AND SAVAGE, 
 116 Pearl-street. 
 
 1846. 
 
EDWARD O. JENKINS, PRINTER. 
 
TO HENRY JOHNSON, ESQ., 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Two motives actuate me in inscribing this Poem to 
 you — one, the admiration which you have expressed for 
 the great Bard who is the theme — the other, my own regard 
 for yourself. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 -The mind 
 
 Where Faith so deep a root could find. 
 Faith, which both love and life could save, 
 
 And keep the first, in age still fond. 
 Thus blossoming this side the grave 
 
 In steadfast trust of fruit beyond. 
 
 Vigil of Faith. 
 
 He can still drink in 
 jjhe unshadowed glories of the Universe. 
 
 Boyhood'' s Recollections. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sunset is on the dial : and I know 
 My hands are feeble and my head is white 
 With many snows, and in my dim old eyes 
 Light plays the miser with a frugal care, 
 And soon the curtain drops : But still I know, 
 The Soul in sceptred majesty of will 
 Leaves not the royal dais. 
 
 The ancient Winds 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Still chant around me all the solemn themes 
 
 I learned when young ; and in the hollow flower 
 
 I hear the murmur left there by the bee ; 
 
 And jubilant Rivers laugh and clap their hands 
 
 Amid the leaning Hills that nurse them there ; 
 
 And far away I see the Eagles float 
 
 Along the gray tops of the billowy Woods 
 
 Like ships that go triumphing on the waves ; 
 
 And over all the Sun towers steadily 
 
 Beside his flaming altar, and beholds, 
 
 As he beheld through many centuries gone, 
 
 The holocausts of light roll up to God ; 
 
 And when the Evening walks the western land, 
 
 I know that Mazzaroth will sit and sing 
 
 Within his azure house ; and I shall hear 
 
 Around the pathways of the dim Abyss 
 
 The deep low thunder of those sphered wheels 
 
 Which He, the Ancient One of Days, in right 
 
 Of suveran godship strode, some ages back ; 
 
 And still the play, a venerable play — 
 
 World-wide — of this Humanity goes on. 
 
 Still dark the plot, the issues unperceived. 
 
 So, with all things thus filling every sense, 
 
 The Soul, in sceptred majesty of will. 
 
 Sits on her royal dais, and wears her crown. 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Then why should I — whose thoughts were shaken down 
 
 On all the Isles and blossomed for their sons — 
 
 My office yield, and let the general Hymn 
 
 Unheeded harmonize the jangling space 1 
 
 By action only doth Creation hold 
 
 Her charter — and, that gone, the worlds are dead. 
 
 'Tis not in souls which would the Noblest find. 
 
 To rest contentedly upon old wreaths ; 
 
 For voices shout from all the moving Stars 
 
 That trouble idle Space—" On ! On ! Still On !"— 
 
 And all the Deeps, whose slumberous eyes were smit 
 
 By busy Godhead into blazing Suns, 
 
 Join in the choral summons — " On ! Still On !" 
 
 / will not rest and unmelodious die ; 
 
 But with my full wreath round these thin, white hairs, 
 
 And rhythmic lips, and vision kindling up, 
 
 March through the Silent Halls, and bravely pass 
 
 Right on into the Land that lies beyond, 
 
 "Where they my Brother-Bards — this* with a soul 
 
 As large as peopled worlds which it would bless ; 
 
 And that,t a wondrous Dream whose lustrous wings 
 
 Winnowed the dull Earth's sea of sleep to life 
 
 And sun-bright motion — those majestic Bards 
 
 * Southey and f Coleridge- 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Who went before, choiring their lofty hynins, 
 Watch for my coming on the misty hills. 
 
 II. 
 
 But what the burden of that latest song 
 Will be, as yet I know not — nor the rhythm 
 That shall go beating with her silver feet 
 The sounding aisles of thought : But this I hope, 
 A listening world will hear that latest song. 
 And seat it near the fireside of its heart 
 Forevermore, and by the embers' light 
 Look fondly on its face as men of old 
 Looked on the faces of the angel guests 
 Who tarried sometimes in their pastoral homes : 
 For this last hymn shall wear a holiest smile, 
 Befitting well the time and circumstance. 
 
 III. 
 
 Most haply I shall sing some simple words, 
 
 Rich with the wealth Experience gives to Time — 
 
 An antique tale of beauty and of tears : 
 
 Or I may wander in my thought afar 
 
 Where men have built their homes in forests vast, 
 
 And see the Atlantic rest his weary feet 
 
 And lift his large blue eyes on other stars : 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Or hear the Sire of many Waters* hoarse 
 With counting- centuries, and rolling on 
 Through the eternal night of silent woods, 
 Whose huge trunks sentinel a thousand leagues, 
 His deep libation to the waiting seas ; 
 Then would I join the choral preludes swelling 
 Between the wondrous acts of that great play 
 Which Time is prompting in another sphere : 
 Or I may wander in my thought afar 
 'Mid ruins gray of columns overthrown — 
 When populous Towns went roclnng to and fro 
 Wildly upon the troubled Earth's unrest, 
 Like great armadas on the roused seas — 
 And then lift up a song of solemn march 
 Amid the glorious temples crumbling there — 
 The beautiful records of a world which was. 
 Majestic types of what a world must be : 
 Or I may turn to themes that have no touch 
 Of sorrow in them, piloted by Joy — 
 And raise the burial stone from shrouded Years, 
 And hear the laugh of youth clear ringing out, 
 Or feel again a sweet religious awe. 
 Such as I felt when floated holy chimes 
 
 * The Mississippi. 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 In boyhood's ear, and such as stern men feel 
 
 When passing by cathedral doors they hear 
 
 A dim-remembered psalm roll softly out 
 
 And fill their eyes with tears, they know not why : 
 
 Then I shall sing of children blooming o'er 
 
 The desolate wide heath of Life, like flowers 
 
 Which daring men had stolen from Paradise, 
 
 When near its gate the wearied Cherub slept 
 
 And dreamed of Heaven. — Or to some pastoral vale 
 
 Shall pass my trembling feet 1 There shall I pour 
 
 To Nature, loved in all her many moods, 
 
 A chant sublimely earnest. I shall tell 
 
 To all the tribes with what a stately step 
 
 She walks the silent wilderness of Air, 
 
 Which always puts its starry foliage on 
 
 At her serene approach, or in her lap 
 
 Scatters its harvest-wealth of golden suns : 
 
 And many a Brook shall murmur in my verse ; 
 
 And many an Ocean join his cloudy bass ; 
 
 And many a Mountain tower aloft, whereon 
 
 The black Storm crouches, with his deep-red eyes 
 
 Glaring upon the valleys stretched below : 
 
 And many a green Wood rock the small bright birds 
 
 To musical sleep beneath the large full moon ; 
 
 And many a Cloud in crumbling prison hold 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The Rainbow peering tlirough the frequent rents, 
 
 Impatiently, and longing to come out 
 
 On faithless lands, a Memory of God : 
 
 And many a Star shall lift on high her cup 
 
 Of luminous cold chrysolite — set in gold 
 
 Chased subtily over by Angelic art — 
 
 To catch the odorous dews which Seraphs drink 
 
 In their wide wanderings : and many a Sun 
 
 Shall press the pale lips of the timorous Morn 
 
 Couched in the bridal East : and over all 
 
 Will brood the visible presence of the One 
 
 To whom my life has been a solemn chant. 
 
 Because he is and was a mighty God, 
 
 A King above all Gods. Within his hand 
 
 He holdeth the deep places of the Earth, 
 
 And also his the strength of all the hills. 
 
 Of old he heard his stricken minstrel's voice ; 
 
 Then shook the Earth and all the hills were moved. 
 
 A smoke went from his nostrils, and a fire 
 
 Went from his mouth, a great fire which devoured. 
 
 He also bowed the Heavens and came down ; 
 
 And pillared darkness lay beneath his feet : 
 
 He rode upon a Cherub and did fly ; 
 
 He flew upon the white wings of the wind : 
 
 The darkness made his secret place j his tent 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Around him was dark waters and thick clouds : 
 He thundered also in the Heavens above ; 
 The Highest gave his voice in hail and fire : 
 The ancient channels of the seas were seen ; 
 And the foundations of the world were shown 
 At thy rebuke, God ! From all his foes 
 Thy Bard was drawn, and lifted from the waves.* 
 
 IV. 
 Then let the sunset fall and flush Life's dial ! 
 No matter how the years may smite my frame. 
 And cast a piteous blank upon my eyes, 
 That seek in vain the old accustomed stars 
 Which skies hold over blue Winandermere. 
 Be sure that I a crowned Bard will sing f 
 
 Until within the murmuring barque of verse 
 My Spirit bears majestically away, 
 Charming to golden hues the gulf of death — 
 Well knowing that upon my honored grave, 
 Beside the widowed lakes that wail for me. 
 Haply the dust of four great worlds will fall 
 And mingle — thither brought by Pilgrim's feet. 
 
 * The reader will perceive that the passage from " of old" to 
 " waves," is nearly word for word from two of the sublimely simple 
 psalms of " The Monarch Minstrel." Excepting the last line and a 
 half, (a condensation of several verses,) the author found it necessary 
 to introduce but six or seven words of his own, for the sake of euphony. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 165 936 8 #