百度搜索 Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems 天涯 Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.

    <strong>LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS</strong>

    OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, July 13, 1798.

    Five years have passed; ?ve summers, with the length

    Of ?ve long winters! and again I hear

    These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

    With a sweet inland murmur.[4]--Once again

    Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

    Whi a wild secluded se impress

    Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and ect

    The landscape with the quiet of the sky<s>藏书网</s>.

    The day is e when I again repose

    Here, uhis dark sycamore, and view

    These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,

    Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,

    Among the woods and copses lose themselves,

    Nor, with their green and simple hue, disturb

    The wild green landscape. Once again I see

    These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines

    Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms

    Green to the very door; and wreathes of smoke

    Sent up, in silence, from among the trees,

    With some uain notice, as might seem,

    Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,

    Or of some hermits cave,></a> where by his ?re

    The hermit sits alone.

    Though absent long,

    These forms of beauty have not been to me,

    As is a landscape to a blind mans eye:

    But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din

    Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,

    In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

    Felt in the blood, a along the heart,

    And passing even into my purer mind

    With tranquil restoration:--feelings too

    Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,

    As may have had no tbbr>?</abbr>rivial in?uence

    On that best portion of a good mans life;

    His little, nameless, unremembered acts

    Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

    To them I may have owed anift,

    Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

    In which the burthen of the mystery,

    In which the heavy and the weary weight

    Of all this unintelligible world

    Is lightend:--that serene and blessed mood,

    In which the affes gently lead us on,

    Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,

    And eveion of our human blood

    Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

    In body, and bee a living soul:

    While with an eye made quiet by the power

    Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

    We see into the life of things.

    If this

    Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,

    In darkness, and amid th<dfn>?99lib.</dfn>e many shapes

    Of joyless day-light; when the fretful stir

    Unpro?table, and the fever of the world,

    Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,

    How oft, in spirit, have I turo thee

    O sylvahou wahrough the woods,

    How often has my spirit turo thee!

    And now, with gleams of half-extinguishd thought,

    With many reitions dim and faint,

    And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

    The picture of the mind revives again:

    While here I stand, not only with the sense

    Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts

    That in this moment there is life and food

    For future years. And so I dare to hope

    Though ged, no doubt, from what I was, when ?rst

    I came among these hills; when like a roe

    I bounded oer the mountains, by the sides

    Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

    Wherever nature led; more like a man

    Flying from something that he dreads, than one

    Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then

    (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,

    And their glad animal movements all gone by,)

    To me was all in all.--I ot paint

    What then I was. The sounding cataract

    Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

    The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

    Their colours and their forms, were then to me

    An appetite: a feeling and a love,

    That had no need of a remoter charm,

    By thought supplied, or any i

    Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,

    And all its ag joys are now no more,

    And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

    Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: ifts

    Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,

    Abundant repence. For I have learned

    To look on nature, not as in the hour

    Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes

    The still, sad music of humanity,

    Not harsh nrating, though of ample power

    To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

    A presehat disturbs me with the joy

    Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

    Of something far more deeply interfused,

    Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

    And the round o, and the living air,

    And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,

    A motion and a spirit, that impels

    All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

    And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still

    A lover of the meadows and the woods,

    And mountains; and of all that we behold

    From this greeh; of all the mighty world

    Of eye and ear, both what they half-create,[5]

    And erceive; well pleased tnize

    In nature and the language of the sense,

    The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,

    The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul

    Of all my moral being.

    Nor, perce,

    If I were not thus taught, should I the more

    Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

    For thou art with me, here, upon the banks

    Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend,

    My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch

    Th<mark></mark>e language of my former heart, and read

    My former pleasures in the shooting lights

    Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while

    May I behold in thee what I was once,

    My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make,

    Knowing that Nature never did betray

    The heart that loved her; tis her privilege,

    Through all the years of this our life, to lead

    From joy to joy: for she  so inform

    The mind that is within us, so impress

    With quietness ay, and so feed

    With lofty thoughts, that her evil tongues,

    Rash judgments, nor the sneers of sel?sh men,

    Nreetings where no kindness is, nor all

    The dreary intercourse of daily life,

    Shall eer prevail against us, or disturb

    Our chearful faith that all which we behold

    Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon

    Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

    Ahe misty mountain winds be free

    To blow against thee: and in after years,

    When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

    Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind

    Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

    Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

    For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then,

    If solitude, or fear, or pain, rief,

    Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

    Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,

    And these my exhortations! Nor, perce,

    If I should be, where I no more  hear

    Thy voior catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

    Of past existence, wilt thou then fet

    That on the banks of this delightful stream

    We stood together; and that I, so long

    A worshipper of Nature, hither came,

    Unwearied in that service: rather say

    With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal

    Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then fet,

    That after many wanderings, many years

    Of absehese steep woods and lofty cliffs,

    And this green pastoral landscape, were to me

    More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake.

    [4] The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above

    Tintern.

    [5] This line has a close resemblao an admirable line of

    Young, the exact expression of which I ot recollect.

    END.

百度搜索 Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems 天涯 Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.

章节目录

Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems所有内容均来自互联网,天涯在线书库只为原作者威廉·华兹华斯 塞缪尔·泰勒·柯尔的小说进行宣传。欢迎各位书友支持威廉·华兹华斯 塞缪尔·泰勒·柯尔并收藏Lyrical Ballads: With a Few Other Poems最新章节