The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 2

had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.
III.
If my inheritance of storms hath been In other elements, and on the rocks Of perils overlook'd or unforeseen, I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks, The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen My errors with defensive paradox; I have been cunning in mine overthrow, The careful pilot of my proper woe.
IV.
Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. My whole life was a contest, since the day That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd The gift--a fate, or will, that walk'd astray; And I at times have found the struggle hard, And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay: But now I fain would for a time survive, If but to see what next can well arrive.
V.
Kingdoms and empires in my little day I have outlived, and yet I am not old; And when I look on this, the petty spray Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away: Something--I know not what--does still uphold A spirit of slight patience--not in vain, Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.
VI.
Perhaps the workings of defiance stir Within me--or perhaps a cold despair, Brought on when ills habitually recur-- Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, (For even to this may change of soul refer, And with light armour we may learn to bear,) Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not The chief companion of a calmer lot.
VII.
I feel almost at times as I have felt In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks, Which do remember me of where I dwelt Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, Come as of yore upon me, and can melt My heart with recognition of their looks: And even at moments I could think I see Some living thing to love--but none like thee.
VIII.
Here are the Alpine landscapes which create A fund for contemplation.--to admire Is a brief feeling of a trivial date; But something worthier do such scenes inspire: Here to be lonely is not desolate. For much I view which I could most desire, And, above all, a lake I can behold Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.
IX.
Oh that thou wert but with me!--but I grow The fool of my own wishes, and forget The solitude which I have vaunted so Has lost its praise in this but one regret; There may be others which I less may show;-- I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet I feel an ebb in my philosophy And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.
X.
I did remind thee of our own dear lake, By the old hall which may be mine no more, Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: Sad havoc Time must with my memory make Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before; Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.
XI.
The world is all before me; I but ask Of nature that with which she will comply-- It is but in her summer sun to bask, To mingle with the quiet of her sky, To see her gentle fare without a mask, And never gaze on it with apathy. She was my early friend, and now shall be My sister--till I look again on thee.
XII.
I can reduce all feelings but this one: And that I would not;--for at length I see Such scenes as those wherein my life begun. The earliest--even the only paths for me-- Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, I had been better than I now can be: The passions which have torn me would have slept: I had not suffered, and thou hadst not wept.
XIII.
With false ambition what had I to do? Little with love, and least of all with fame; And yet they came unsought, and with me grew, And made me all which they can make--a name. Yet this was not the end I did pursue; Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. But all is over--I am one the more To baffled millions which have gone before.
XIV.
And for the future, this world's future may From me demand but little of my care; I have outlived myself by many a day; Having survived so many things that were; My years have been no slumber, but the prey Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share Of life that might have filled a century, Before its fourth in time had passed me by.
XV.
And for the remnant which may be to come I am content; and for the past I feel Not thankless--for within the crowded sum Of struggles, happiness at times would steal, And