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But the time, when first 60 I therefore go, and join head, heart, and

From that low dell, steep up the stony

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hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless

fight

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With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's 10
eye

50 Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from

earth:

And he that works me good with unmov'd face,

Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother man! Yet even this, this cold beneficence 55 Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou

scann'st

The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe! Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched,

Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty sympa-

thies!

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fear,

With inward stillness, and a bowéd mind;

When lo! its folds far waving on the wind,

I saw the train of the Departing Year! Starting from my silent sadness Then with no unholy madness,

Ere yet the enter'd cloud foreclos'd my

sight,

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No more on Murder's lurid face

I rais'd the impetuous song, and solem- 45 The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken

niz'd his flight.

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eye!

Manes of the unnumber'd slain!

Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain !2 Ye that erst at Ismail's tower,3

When human ruin choked the streams,

Fell in Conquest's glutted hour,

Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams!
Spirits of the uncoffin'd slain,

Sudden blasts of triumph swelling,

Oft, at night, in misty train,

Rush around her narrow dwelling!

The exterminating fiend is fled

(Foul her life, and dark her doom) Mighty armies of the dead

Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb! 60 Then with prophetic song relate,

Each some Tyrant-Murderer's fate!

IV

Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly

shore

My soul beheld thy Vision! Where alone,

Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy

throne,

65 Aye Memory sits: thy robe inscrib'd with

70

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Throughout the blissful throng,
Hush'd were harp and song:

Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads1 seven,

(The mystic Words of Heaven)
Permissive signal make:

The fervent Spirit bow'd, then spread his

wings and spake!

"Thou in stormy blackness throning
Love and uncreated Light,

By the Earth's unsolaced groaning,
Seize thy terrors, Arm of might!
By Peace with proffer'd insult scared,
Masked Hate and envying Scorn!
By years of Havoc yet unborn!

And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared!

But chief by Afric's wrongs,
Strange, horrible, and foul!

By what deep guilt belongs

To the deaf Synod, 'full of gifts and lies!'

By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl! Avenger, rise!

Forever shall the thankless Island scowl, 95 Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow? Speak! from thy storm-black Heaven, O speak aloud!

And on the darkling foe Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud!

O dart the flash! O rise and deal the blow!

100 The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries! Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below!

105

110

115

Rise, God of Nature, rise!"

VI

The voice had ceas'd, the Vision fled;
Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread.
And ever, when the dream of night
Renews the phantom to my sight,
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs;
My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start;
My brain with horrid tumult swims;

Wild is the tempest of my heart;
And my thick and struggling breath
Imitates the toil of death!
No stranger agony confounds

The soldier on the war-field spread, When all foredone with toil and wounds, Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead!

1 lamps; candlesticks (Seven is a sacred number. See Revelation, 4:5.)

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guide,

At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride

Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood,

And join'd the wild yelling of Famine and Blood!

The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering

Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream!

Strange-eyed Destruction! who with many a dream

Of central fires through nether seas upthundering

Soothes her fierce solitude; yet as she lies By livid fount, or red volcanic stream, If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, O Albion! thy predestin'd ruins rise, The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,

Muttering distemper'd triumph in her charméd sleep.

IX

Away, my soul, away!

In vain, in vain the birds of warning sing

And hark! I hear the famish'd brood of

prey

1 "Of the 107 last years, 50 have been years of war."-Coleridge. The year 1796 was a period of great distress for the people of England.

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Now, my friends emerge Beneath the wide, wide Heaven-and view again

The many-steepled tract magnificent
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails
light up

25 The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two isles

Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad,

My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined

And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, 30 In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain

And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious
Sun!

Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, 35 Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds!

Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,

Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round

40 On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth

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Wheels silent by, and not a swallow 20 With other ministrations thou, O Nature!

twitters,

Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know

60 That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure;

No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 65 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, and contemplate

With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook

Beat its straight path along the dusky air 70 Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing

(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty orb's dilated glory, While thou stood 'st gazing; or, when all was still,

Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm

75 For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to

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Healest thy wandering and distemper'd

child:

Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,

Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,

Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing, Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd 30 By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.

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