Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!
III
If there be movements in the Patriot’s soul,
From source still deeper, and of higher worth,
‘Tis thine the quickening impulse to control,
And in due season send the mandate forth;
Thy call a prostrate Nation can restore,
When but a single Mind resolves to crouch no more.
IV
Dread Minister of wrath!
Who to their destined punishment dost urge
The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened heart!
Not unassisted by the flattering stars,
Thou strew’st temptation o’er the path
When they in pomp depart
With trampling horses and refulgent cars—
Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;
Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;
Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands—
An Army now, and now a living hill
That a brief while heaves with convulsive throes—
Then all is still;
Or, to forget their madness and their woes,
Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!
V
Back flows the willing current of my Song:
If to provoke such doom the Impious dare,
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?
—Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;
Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
In hearts no longer young;
Still may a veteran Few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet;
In fixed resolves by Reason justified;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine tree’s northern side,
When fields are naked far and wide,
And withered leaves, from earth’s cold breast
Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest.
VI
But, if such homage thou disdain
As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favours may obtain
For thy contented Votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn
Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph
That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn;
She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy
Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy,
Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me;
And vernal mornings opening bright
With views of undefined delight,
And cheerful songs, and suns that shine
On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.
VII
But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle
(Freedom’s impregnable redoubt,
The wide earth’s store-house fenced about
With breakers roaring to the gales
That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!—
Thy impulse is the life of Fame;
Glad Hope would almost cease to be
If torn from thy society;
And Love, when worthiest of his name,
Is proud to walk the earth with Thee!
1820.
ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS IN SERIES, 1821-22: PART I
FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION OF THE PAPAL DOMINION
“A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies
Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise
Convert delight into a Sacrifice.”
INTRODUCTION
I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace
Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring,
And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing
Of mountain quiet and boon nature’s grace;
I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace
Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string
Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing,
Won for herself a lasting resting-place;
Now seek upon the heights of Time the source
Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found 10
Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned
Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force;
And, for delight of him who tracks its course,
Immortal amaranth and palms abound.
CONJECTURES
IF there be prophets on whose spirits rest
Past things, revealed like future, they can tell
What Powers, presiding o’er the sacred well
Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed
With its first bounty. Wandering through the west,
Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell,
And call the Fountain forth by miracle,
And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest?
Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors
Flew open, by an Angel’s voice unbarred? 10
Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores
Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe
Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard
The precious Current they had taught to flow?
TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS
SCREAMS round the Arch-druid’s brow the seamew—white
As Menai’s foam; and toward the mystic ring
Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning,
Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight,
Portending ruin to each baleful rite,
That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o’er
Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.
Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight
His transports? wither his heroic strains?
But all shall be fulfilled;—the Julian spear 10
A way first opened; and, with Roman chains,
The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come—they spread—the weak, the suffering, hear;
Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.
DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION
MERCY and Love have met thee on thy road,
Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire
And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,
From every sympathy that Man bestowed!
Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God,
Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire,
These jealous Ministers of law aspire,
As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed,
Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped,
As if with prescience of the coming storm, 10
‘That’ intimation when the stars were shaped;
And still, ‘mid yon thick woods, the primal truth
Glimmers through many a superstitious form
That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.
UNCERTAINTY
DARKNESS surrounds us; seeking, we are lost
On Snowdon’s wilds, amid Brigantian coves,
Or where the solitary shepherd roves
Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost
Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost;
And where the boatman of the Western Isles
Slackens his course—to mark those holy piles
Which yet survive on bleak Iona’s coast.
Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name,
Nor Taliesin’s unforgotten lays, 10
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame,
To an unquestionable Source have led;
Enough—if eyes, that sought the fountainhead
In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.
PERSECUTION
LAMENT! for Diocletian’s fiery sword
&
nbsp; Works busy as the lightning; but instinct
With malice ne’er to deadliest weapon linked
Which God’s ethereal store-houses afford:
Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord
It rages; some are smitten in the field—
Some pierced to the heart through the ineffectual shield
Of sacred home;—with pomp are others gored
And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried,
England’s first Martyr, whom no threats could shake; 10
Self-offered victim, for his friend he died,
And for the faith; nor shall his name forsake
That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise
By Nature decked for holiest sacrifice.
RECOVERY
AS, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain
Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim
Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn
To the blue ether and bespangled plain;
Even so, in many a re-constructed fane,
Have the survivors of this Storm renewed
Their holy rites with vocal gratitude:
And solemn ceremonials they ordain
To celebrate their great deliverance;
Most feelingly instructed ‘mid their fear— 10
That persecution, blind with rage extreme,
May not the less, through Heaven’s mild countenance,
Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer;
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
TEMPTATIONS FROM ROMAN REFINEMENTS
WATCH, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice,
Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await.
Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate,
And temples flashing, bright as polar ice,
Their radiance through the woods—may yet suffice
To sap your hardy virtue, and abate
Your love of Him upon whose forehead sate
The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed, the price
Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts
That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown 10
Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown,
Language, and letters;—these, though fondly viewed
As humanising graces, are but parts
And instruments of deadliest servitude!
DISSENSIONS
THAT heresies should strike (if truth be scanned
Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep,
Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep.
Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand
Uplifting toward high Heaven her fiery brand,
A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized!
But chastisement shall follow peace despised.
The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land
By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries,
And prayers that would undo her forced farewell; 10
For she returns not.—Awed by her own knell,
She casts the Britons upon strange Allies
Soon to become more dreaded enemies
Than heartless misery called them to repel.
STRUGGLE OF THE BRITONS AGAINST THE BARBARIANS
RISE!—they ‘have’ risen: of brave Aneurin ask
How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends:
The Spirit of Caractacus descends
Upon the Patriots, animates their task;—
Amazement runs before the towering casque
Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field
The virgin sculptured on his Christian shield:—
Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask
The Host that followed Urien as he strode
O’er heaps of slain;—from Cambrian wood and moss 10
Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross;
Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon’s still abode,
Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords,
And everlasting deeds to burning words!
SAXON CONQUEST
NOR wants the cause the panic-striking aid
Of hallelujahs tost from hill to hill—
For instant victory. But Heaven’s high will
Permits a second and a darker shade
Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,
The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:
O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains;
Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid
By men yet scarcely conscious of a care
For other monuments than those of Earth; 10
Who, as the fields and woods have given them birth,
Will build their savage fortunes only there;
Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth
Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.
MONASTERY OF OLD BANGOR
‘THE oppression of the tumult—wrath and scorn—
The tribulation—and the gleaming blades’—
Such is the impetuous spirit that pervades
The song of Taliesin;—Ours shall mourn
The ‘unarmed’ Host who by their prayers would turn
The sword from Bangor’s walls, and guard the store
Of Aboriginal and Roman lore,
And Christian monuments, that now must burn
To senseless ashes. Mark! how all things swerve
From their known course, or vanish like a dream; 10
Another language spreads from coast to coast;
Only perchance some melancholy Stream
And some indignant Hills old names preserve,
When laws, and creeds, and people all are lost!
CASUAL INCITEMENT
A BRIGHT-HAIRED company of youthful slaves,
Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale
Of a sad market, ranged for public sale,
Where Tiber’s stream the immortal City laves:
ANGLI by name; and not an ANGEL waves
His wing who could seem lovelier to man’s eye
Than they appear to holy Gregory;
Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves
For Them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire,
His questions urging, feels, in slender ties 10
Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies;
DE-IRIANS—he would save them from God’s IRE;
Subjects of Saxon AELLA—they shall sing
Glad HALLE-lujahs to the eternal King!
GLAD TIDINGS
FOR ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread,
And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead
Of martial banner, in procession bear;
The Cross preceding Him who floats in air,
The pictured Saviour!—By Augustin led,
They come—and onward travel without dread,
Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer—
Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free!
Rich conquest waits them:—the tempestuous sea 10
Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high
And heeded not the voice of clashing swords,
These good men humble by a few bare words,
And calm with fear of God’s divinity.
PAULINUS
BUT, to remote Northumbria’s royal Hall,
Where thoughtful Edwin, tutored in the school
Of sorrow, still maintains a heathen rule,
‘Who’ comes with functions apostolical?
Mark him, of shoulders curved, and stature tall,
Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek,
His prominent feature like an eagle’s beak;
A Man whose aspect doth at once appal
And strike with reverence. The Monarch leans
Toward the pure truths this Delegate propounds 10
Repeatedly his own deep mind
he sounds
With careful hesitation,—then convenes
A synod of his Councillors:—give ear,
And what a pensive Sage doth utter, hear!
PERSUASION
“MAN’S life is like a Sparrow, mighty King!
“That—while at banquet with your Chiefs you sit
“Housed near a blazing fire—is seen to flit
“Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering,
“Here did it enter; there, on hasty wing,
“Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold;
“But whence it came we know not, nor behold
“Whither it goes. Even such, that transient Thing,
“The human Soul; not utterly unknown
“While in the Body lodged, her warm abode; 10
“But from what world She came, what woe or weal
“On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown;
“This mystery if the Stranger can reveal,
“His be a welcome cordially bestowed!”
CONVERSION
PROMPT transformation works the novel Lore;
The Council closed, the Priest in full career
Rides forth, an armed man, and hurls a spear
To desecrate the Fane which heretofore
He served in folly. Woden falls, and Thor
Is overturned; the mace, in battle heaved
(So might they dream) till victory was achieved,
Drops, and the God himself is seen no more.
Temple and Altar sink, to hide their shame
Amid oblivious weeds. “O come to me, 10
Ye heavy laden!” such the inviting voice
Heard near fresh streams; and thousands who rejoice
In the new Rite, the pledge of sanctity,
Shall, by regenerate life, the promise claim.
APOLOGY
NOR scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth lend
The Soul’s eternal interests to promote:
Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot;
And evil Spirits ‘may’ our walk attend
For aught the wisest know or comprehend;
Then be ‘good’ Spirits free to breathe a note
Of elevation; let their odours float
Around these Converts; and their glories blend,
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 270