The Recollection

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean-woods may be.

How calm it was!-the silence there
But such a chain was bound,
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;

The breath of

peace we drew

With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.
There seem'd, from the remotest seat
Of the wide mountain waste
To the soft flower beneath our feet
A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around,
A thrilling silent life;
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife ;

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there

Was one fair Form that fill'd with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough;
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky
Gulf'd in a world below;

A firmament of purple light

Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night
And purer than the day-

In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,

295

296

By the Sea

More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,
And through the dark-green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green :
And all was interfused beneath
With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,
A softer day below.

Like one beloved, the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast

Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest;
Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought

Which from the mind's too faithful

Blots one dear image out.

eye

-Though Thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind

Than calm in waters seen!

P. B. SHELLEY

CCLXI

BY THE SEA

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

To the Evening Star

The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea :
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

297

Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
W. WORDSWORTH

CCLXII

TO THE EVENING STAR

Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!

If

any star shed

peace, 'tis Thou That send'st it from above,

Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven

Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.

T. CAMPBELL

298

To the Moon

CCLXIII

DATUR HORA QUIETI
The sun upon the lake is low,

The wild birds hush their song,
The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.
Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.
The noble dame, on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.
The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,

Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart,

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.
The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song—

All meet whom day and care divide,
But Leonard tarries long!

SIR W. SCOTT

CCLXIV

TO THE MOON

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,—

To Sleep

And ever-changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

P. B. SHELLEY

CCLXV

A widow bird sate mourning for her Love
Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon

the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound.

P. B. SHELLEY

299

CCLXVI

TO SLEEP

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ;-
I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees,
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away :

Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blesséd barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health !
W. WORDSWORTH