To show them a fair image; 'tis themselves, Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain, Painted more soft and fair as they descend Almost to touch; then up again aloft, Up with a sally and a flash of speed,
As if they scorned both resting-place and rest!
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK COMB.
[MRS. WORDSWORTH and I, as mentioned in the "Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont," lived some time under its shadow.]
THIS Height a ministering Angel might select: For from the summit of BLACK COMB (dread name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen That British ground commands:-low dusky tracts, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian hills To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde :- Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath, Right at the imperial station's western base Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale ;- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle That, as we left the plain, before our sight
Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Her habitable shores, but now appears A dwindled object, and submits to lie At the spectator's feet. -Yon azure ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Do we behold the line of Erin's coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-swain (Like the bright confines of another world) Not doubtfully perceived. - Look homeward now! In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene The spectacle, how pure! - Of Nature's works, In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A revelation infinite it seems; Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power!
Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland: its base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other mountain in those parts; and, from its situation, the summit commands a more extensive view than any other point in Britain.
[THIS tree grew in the park of Rydal, and I have often listened to its creaking as described.]
THOSE silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less To overshade than multiply his beams
By soft reflection-grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy More ample than the time-dismantled Oak
Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use
Was fashioned; whether, by the hand of Art, That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs In languor; or, by Nature, for repose Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase. O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves, Approach; and, thus invited, crown with rest The noon-tide hour: though truly some there are Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid This venerable Tree; for, when the wind Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound (Above the general roar of woods and crags)
Distinctly heard from far-a doleful note! As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed) The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of which The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind Sweeps now along this elevated ridge; Not even a zephyr stirs ;-the obnoxious Tree Is mute; and, in his silence, would look down, O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills, On thy reclining form with more delight Than his coevals in the sheltered vale Seem to participate, the while they view Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream!
[WRITTEN at Rydal Mount. The Girls, Edith Southey, my daughter Dora, and Sara Coleridge.]
SHOW me the noblest Youth of present time, Whose trembling fancy would to love give birth; Some God or Hero, from the Olympian clime Returned, to seek a Consort upon earth; Or, in no doubtful prospect, let me see
The brightest star of ages yet to be, And I will mate and match him blissfully. I will not fetch a Naiad from a flood
Pure as herself (song lacks not mightier power) Nor leaf-crowned Dryad from a pathless wood, Nor Sea-nymph glistening from her coral bower; Mere Mortals bodied forth in vision still, Shall with Mount Ida's triple lustre fill The chaster coverts of a British hill.
"Appear!-obey my lyre's command! Come, like the Graces, hand in hand! For ye, though not by birth allied, Are Sisters in the bond of love; Nor shall the tongue of envious pride Presume those interweavings to reprove In you, which that fair progeny of Jove, Learned from the tuneful spheres that glide In endless union, earth and sea above."
-I sing in vain; --the pines have hushed their waving : A peerless Youth expectant at my side, Breathless as they, with unabated craving Looks to the earth, and to the vacant air; And, with a wandering eye that seems to chide, Asks of the clouds what occupants they hide :- But why solicit more than sight could bear, By casting on a moment all we dare? Invoke we those bright Beings one by one; And what was boldly promised, truly shall be done. "Fear not a constraining measure!
-Yielding to this gentle spell, Lucida! from domes of pleasure, Or from cottage-sprinkled dell,
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