Ye mountains, on whose torrent-furrowed slopes,
And bare and silent brows uplift to heaven,
I envied oft the soul which fills your
Of pure and stern sublime, and still
Unbroken by the petty
Of noisy life:
Oh hear me once again!
Winds, upon whose racked eddies, far aloft,
Above the murmur of the uneasy world,
My thoughts in exultation held their way:
Whose tremulous whispers through the rustling
Were once to me unearthly tones of love,
Joy without object, wordless music,
Through all my soul, until my pulse beat
With aimless hope, and unexpressed desire—Thou sea, who wast to me a prophet
Through all thy restless waves, and wasting shores,
Of silent labour, and eternal change;
First teacher of the dense
Of ever-stirring life, in thy strange
Of fish, and shell, and worm, and oozy weed:
To me alike thy frenzy and thy
Have been a deep and breathless joy:
Oh hear!
Mountains, and winds, and waves, take back your child!
Upon thy balmy bosom,
Mother Nature,
Where my young spirit dreamt its years away,
Give me once more to nestle:
I have
Far through another world, which is not thine.
Through sunless cities, and the weary
Of smoke-grimed labour, and foul
My flagging wing has swept.
A mateless
My pilgrimage has been; through sin, and doubt,
And darkness, seeking love.
Oh hear me,
Nature!
Receive me once again: but not alone;
No more alone,
Great Mother!
I have
One who has wandered, yet not sinned, like me.
Upon thy lap, twin children, let us lie;
And in the light of thine immortal
Let our souls mingle, till The Father
To some eternal home the charge He gives thee.
Cambridge, 1841.
