WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF WINANDERMERE, ON RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS.
ONCE more, dear Lake! along thy banks I rove,
And bless thee in my heart that flows with love.
Methinks, as life's awakening embers burn,
Nature rejoices in her son's return;
And, like a parent, after absence long,
Sings from her heart of hearts a cheerful song.
Oh! that fresh breeze through all my being stole,
And made sweet music in my gladdened soul !
To me just rescued from the opening grave,
How bright the radiance of the dancing wave!
A gleam of joy, a soft endearing smile,
Plays 'mid the greenness of each sylvan isle,
And, in the bounty of affection, showers
A loving welcome o'er these blissful bowers.
Quick glides the hymning streamlet, to partake
The deep enjoyment of the happy lake;
The pebbles, sparkling through the yellow brook,
Seem to my gaze to wear a livelier look ;
And little wild-flowers, that in careless health
Lay round my path in unregarded wealth,
In laughing beauty court my eyes again,
Like friends unchanged by coldness or disdain.
Now life and joy are one :-to Earth, Air, Heaven,
An undisturbed jubilee is given;
While, happy as in dreams, I seem to fly,
Skimming the ground, or soaring through the sky,
And feel, with sudden life-pervading glee,
As if this rapture all were made for me.
And well the glory to my soul is known;
For mystic visions stamped it as my own.
While sickness lay, like ice, upon my breath,
With eye prophetic, through the shades of death
That brooded o'er me like a dreary night,
This beauteous scene I saw in living light.
No friend was near me: and a heavy gloom
Lay in deep silence o'er the lonely room;
Even hope had fled; and as in parting strife
My soul stood trembling on the brink of life,—
When lo! sweet sounds, like those that now I hear,
Of stream and zephyr stole into my ear.
Far through my heart the mingled music ran,
Like tones of mercy to a dying man.
Beneath the first light of the morning's mirth,
Like new-waked beauty lay the dewy earth;
The mighty sun I saw, as now I
see,
And my soul shone with kindred majesty :
Calm smiled the Lake; and from that smile arose
Faith, hope, and trust, oblivion of my woes :
I felt that I should live ; nor could despair
Bedim a scene so glorious, and so fair.
Now is the vision truth. Disease hath flown,
And in the midst of joy I stand alone.
The eye of God is on me: the wide sky
Is sanctified with present Deity,
And, at his bidding, Nature's aspect mild
Pours healing influence on her wasted child.
My eye now brightens with the brightening scene,
Cheered with the hues of kind restoring green;
As with a lulling sound the fountain flows,
My tingling ear is filled with still repose;
The summer silence, sleeping on the plain,
Sends settled quiet to my dizzy brain;
And the moist freshness of the glittering wood
Cools with a heart-felt dew my feverish blood.
O blessed Lake! thy sparkling waters roll Health to my frame, and rapture to my soul. Emblem of peace, of innocence, and love! Sleeping in beauty given thee from above: This earth delighting in thy gentle breast, And the glad heavens attending on thy rest! Can he e'er turn from virtue's quiet bowers, All fragrant dropping with immortal flowers,
Whose inward eye, as with a magic art,
Beholds thy glory imaged in his heart?
No! he shall live, from guilt and vice afar,
As in the silent Heavens some lonely star.
A light shall be around him to defend
The holy head of Nature's bosom friend.
And if the mists of error e'er should come
To that bright sphere where virtue holds her home,
She has a charm to scare the intruder thence;
Or, powerful in her spotless innocence,
With one calm look her spirit will transform
To a fair cloud the heralds of the storm.
Nor less, Winander! to thy power I owe
Rays of delight amid the gloom of woe.
Yes! oft, when self-tormenting fancy framed
Forms of dim fear that grief has never named ;
When the whole world seemed void of mental cheer,
Nor spring nor summer in the joyless year,
Oft has thy image of upbraiding love,
Seen on a sudden through some opening grove,
Even like the tender unexpected smile
Of some dear friend I had forgot the while,
In silence said, "My son, why not partake
The peace now brooding o'er thy darling lake?
Oh! why in sullen discontent destroy
The law of Nature, Universal Joy?"
Sweet Lake! I listen to thy guardian voice:
I look abroad; and, looking, I rejoice.
My home is here; ah! never shall we part,
Till life's last pulse hath left my wasted heart.
True that another land first gave me birth,
And other lakes beheld my infant mirth :
Far from these skies dear friendships have I known,
And still in memory lives their softened tone;
Yet though the image of my earlier years
'Mid Scotland's mountains dim my eyes with tears,
And the heart's day-dreams oft will lingering dwell
On that wild region which she loves so well,-
Think not, sweet Lake! before my years are told
My love for thee and thine can e'er grow cold:
For here hath Hope fixed her last earthly bound,
And where Hope rests in peace, is hallowed ground.
And oh! if e'er that happy time shall come,
When she I love sits smiling in my home,
And, oft as chance may bid us meet or part,
Speaks the soft word that slides into the heart,
Then fair as now thou art, yea! passing fair,
Thy scarce-seen waters melting into air,
Far lovelier gleams will dance upon thy breast,
And thine isles bend their trees in deeper rest.
Then will my joy-enlightened soul descry
All that is beautiful on land or sky;
For, when the heart is calm with pure delight,
Revels the soul 'mid many a glorious sight.
The earth then kindles with a vernal grace,
Glad as the laugh upon an infant-face :
The sun himself is clothed with vaster light,
And showers of gentler sadness bathe the night.
Dreams of delight! while thus I fondly weave Your fairy-folds, oh! can ye e'er deceive? Are ye in vain to cheated mortals given, Lovely impostors in the garb of Heaven?
Fears, hopes, doubts, wishes, hush my pensive shell, Fount of them all, dear Lake! farewell! farewell!
WHY sits so long beside yon cottage-door
That aged man with tresses thin and hoar?
Fixed are his eyes in one continued gaze,
Nor seem to feel the sun's meridian blaze;
Yet are the orbs with youth-like colours bright,
As o'er the iris falls the trembling light.
Changeless his mien; not even one flitting trace
Of spirit wanders o'er his furrowed face;
No feeling moves his venerable head :
-He sitteth there-an emblem of the dead!
The staff of age lies near him on the seat,
His faithful dog is slumbering at his feet,
And yon fair child, who steals an hour for play
While thus her father rests upon his way,
Her sport will leave, nor cast one look behind,
Soon as she hears his voice,--for he is blind!
List! as in tones through deep affection mild He speaks by name to the delighted child! Then, bending mute in dreams of painful bliss Breathes o'er her neck a father's tenderest kiss, And with light hand upon her forehead fair Smooths the stray ringlets of her silky hair! A beauteous phantom rises through the night For ever brooding o'er his darkened sight, So clearly imaged both in form and limb, He scarce remembers that his eyes are dim, But thinks he sees in truth the vernal wreath His gentle infant wove, that it might breathe A sweet restoring fragrance through his breast, Chosen from the wild-flowers that he loves the best. In that sweet trance he sees the sparkling glee That sanctifies the face of infancy;
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