XVIII. FROM FREDERICK.

Eight wedding-days gone by, and none

Yet kept, to keep them all in one,

Jane and myself, with John and Grace

On donkeys, visited the place

I first drew breath in, Knatchley Wood.

Bearing the basket, stuff'd with food.

Milk, loaves, hard eggs, and marmalade,

I halted where the wandering glade

Divides the thicket. There I knew,

It seem'd, the very drops of dew

Below the unalter'd eglantine.

Nothing had changed since I was nine!

In the green desert, down to eat

We sat, our rustic grace at meat

Good appetite, through that long climb

Hungry two hours before the time.

And there Jane took her stitching out,

And John for birds’ - nests pry'd about,

And Grace and Baby, in between

The warm blades of the breathing green,

Dodged grasshoppers; and I no less,

In conscientious idleness,

Enjoy'd myself, under the noon

Stretch'd, and the sounds and sights of June

Receiving, with a drowsy charm,

Through muffled ear and folded arm.

And then, as if I sweetly dream'd,

I half-remember'd how it seem'd

When I, too, was a little child

About the wild wood roving wild.

Pure breezes from the far-off height

Melted the blindness from my sight,

Until, with rapture, grief, and awe,

I saw again as then I saw.

As then I saw, I saw again

The harvest-waggon in the lane,

With high-hung tokens of its pride

Left in the elms on either side;

The daisies coming out at dawn

In constellations on the lawn;

The glory of the daffodil;

The three black windmills on the hill,

Whose magic arms, flung wildly by,

Sent magic shadows o'er the rye.

Within the leafy coppice, lo,

More wealth than miser's dreams could show,

The blackbird's warm and woolly brood,

Five golden beaks agape for food;

The Gipsies, all the summer seen

Native as poppies to the Green;

The winter, with its frosts and thaws

And opulence of hips and haws:

The lovely marvel of the snow;

The Tamar, with its altering show

Of gay ships sailing up and down,

Among the fields and by the Town;

And, dearer far than anything,

Came back the songs you used to sing.

( Ah, might you sing such songs again,

And I, your child, but hear as then,

With conscious profit of the gulf

Flown over from my present self! )

And, as to men's retreating eyes,

Beyond high mountains higher rise,

Still farther back there shone to me

The dazzling dusk of infancy.

Thither I look'd, as, sick of night,

The Alpine shepherd looks to the height,

And does not see the day,‘ tis true,

But sees the rosy tops that do.

Meantime Jane stitch'd, and fann'd the flies

From my repose, with hush'd replies

To Grace, and smiles when Baby fell.

Her countenance love visible

Appear'd, love audible her voice.

Why in the past alone rejoice,

Whilst here was wealth before me cast

Which, I could feel, if‘ twere but past

Were then most precious? Question vain,

When ask'd again and yet again,

Year after year; yet now, for no

Cause, but that heaven's bright winds will blow

Not at our pray'r but as they list,

It brought that distant, golden mist

To grace the hour, firing the deep

Of spirit and the drowsy keep

Of joy, till, spreading uncontain'd,

The holy power of seeing gained

The outward eye, this owning even

That where there's love and truth there's heaven.

Debtor to few, forgotten hours

Am I, that truths for me are powers.

Ah, happy hours,‘ tis something yet

Not to forget that I forget!

And now a cloud, bright, huge and calm,

Rose, doubtful if for bale or balm;

O'ertoppling towers and bulwarks bright

Appear'd, at beck of viewless might.

Along a rifted mountain range.

Untraceable and swift in change,

Those glittering peaks, disrupted, spread

To solemn bulks, seen overhead;

The sunshine quench'd, from one dark form

Fumed the appalling light of storm.

Straight to the zenith, black with bale,

The Gipsies’ smoke rose deadly pale;

And one wide night of hopeless hue

Hid from the heart the recent blue.

And soon, with thunder crackling loud,

A flash reveal'd the formless cloud:

Lone sailing rack, far wavering rim,

And billowy tracts of stormland dim.

We stood, safe group'd beneath a shed.

Grace hid behind Jane's gown for dread,

Who told her, fondling with her hair,

‘ The naughty noise! but God took care

Of all good girls.’ John seem'd to me

Too much for Jane's theology,

Who bade him watch the tempest. Now

A blast made all the woodland bow;

Against the whirl of leaves and dust

Kine dropp'd their heads; the tortured gust

Jagg'd and convuls'd the ascending smoke

To mockery of the lightning's stroke.

The blood prick'd, and a blinding flash

And close coinstantaneous crash

Humbled the soul, and the rain all round

Resilient dimm'd the whistling ground,

Nor flagg'd in force from first to last,

Till, sudden as it came,‘ twas past,

Leaving a trouble in the copse

Of brawling birds and tinkling drops.

Change beyond hope! Far thunder faint

Mutter'd its vast and vain complaint,

And gaps and fractures, fringed with light,

Show'd the sweet skies, with squadrons bright

Of cloudlets, glittering calm and fair

Through gulfs of calm and glittering air.

With this adventure, we return'd.

The roads the feet no longer burn'd.

A wholesome smell of rainy earth

Refresh'd our spirits, tired of mirth.

The donkey-boy drew friendly near

My Wife, and, touch'd by the kind cheer

Her countenance show'd, or sooth'd perchance

By the soft evening's sad advance,

As we were, stroked the flanks and head

Of the ass, and, somewhat thick-voiced, said,

‘ To‘ ave to wop the donkeys so

‘ Ardens the‘ art, but they wo n't go

Without!’ My wife, by this impress'd,

As men judge poets by their best,

When now we reach'd the welcome door,

Gave him his hire, and sixpence more.