XXIII. TO THE SAME ENOUGH of climbing toil! Ambition treads Here, as mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough, Mount tow'rd the empire of the fickle clouds, Unacceptable feelings of contempt, With wonder mixed. that Man could e'er be tied, In anxious bondage, to such nice array And formal fellowship of petty things! -Oh! 'tis the heart that magnifies this life, The umbrageous woods are left-how far beneath! But lo! where darkness seems to guard the mouth Of yon wild cave, whose jagged brows are fringed With flaccid threads of ivy, in the still Long as the heat shall rage, let that dim cave Audible tears, from some invisible source That deepens upon fancy — more and more Drawn tow'rd the centre whence those sighs creep To awe the lightness of humanity. Or, shutting up thyself within thyself, forth There let me see thee sink into a mood Of gentler thought, protracted till thine eye XXIV. FIDELITY. A BARKING Sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a Dog or Fox; He halts and searches with his Among the scattered rocks: eyes And now at distance can discern The Dog is not of mountain breed ; With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the Creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn * below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish In symphony austere ; the Cloud And Mists that spread the flying shroud; But that enormous barrier binds it fast. Not free from boding thoughts, a while Nor far had gone before he found * Tarn is a small Mere or Lake, mostly high up in the mountains. |