(I speak of one from many singled out). One of those heavenly days which cannot die, When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door*, With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, A nutting-crook in hand, and turn'd my steps Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame.
Motley accoutrement of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,
More ragged than need was. Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
* The house at which. I was boarded during the time I was at School.
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation, but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blessed
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves (The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash And merciless ravage; and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past, Even then, when from the bower I turned away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.― Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.
SHE was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller betwixt life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.
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