UNS fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells And students with their pensive citadels : Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells : In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. HE world is too much with us; late and soon, powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The winds that will be howling at all hours, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. LONDON, 1802. ILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour: Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free; So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. . ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. NCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee; Venice, the eldest child of Liberty. She was a maiden city, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. POET!-He hath put his heart to school, `By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; But from its own divine vitality. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. |