Cloath you with Rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?- GOD! let the Torrents, like a Shout of Nations Answer! and let the Ice-plains echo, God! GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice ! Ye Pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they too have a voice, yon piles of Snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye livery flowers that skirt th' eternal Frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the Eagle's nest ! Ye Eagles, play-mates of the Mountain-Storm ! Ye Lightnings, the dread arrows of the Clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the element !
Utter forth God, and fill the Hills with Praise !
Once more, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing
Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering thro' the pure Serene, Into the depth of Clouds that veil thy breast- Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low In adoration, upward from thy Base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffus'd with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of Incense, from the Earth! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent Sky, And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising Sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
Written in the Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest.
I STOOD on *Brocken's sovran height, and saw Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills, A surging scene, and only limited By the blue distance. Heavily my way Downward I dragg'd through fir-groves evermore, Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard, The sweet bird's song became an hollow sound ; And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct From many a note of many a waterfall,
And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet stones The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell
Leapt frolicsome, or old romantic goat Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on
In low and languid *mood: for I had found That outward Forms, the loftiest, still receive Their finer influence from the Life within : Fair Cyphers of vague import, where the Eye Traces no spot, in which the Heart may read History or Prophecy of Friend, or Child, Or gentle Maid, our first and early love, Or Father, or the venerable name
Of our adored Country! O thou Queen, Thou delegated Deity of Earth,
O dear, dear England! how my longing eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds Thy sands and high white cliffs !
Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Floated away, like a departing dream, Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses
From some high eminence on goodly vales, And cots and villages embowered below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home.
SOUTHEY'S Hymn to the Penates.
Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is every where ! the God who framed Mankind to be one mighty Family,
Himself our Father, and the World our Home.
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