No More Learning

Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, 280
Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star,
Where the duck dabbles 'mid the rustling sedge,
And feeding pike starts from the water's edge,
Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill
Wetting, that drip upon the water still; 285
And heron, as resounds the trodden shore,
Shoots upward, darting his long neck before.
[86]
Now, with religious awe, the farewell light
Blends with the solemn colouring of night; [87]
'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow, 290
And round the west's proud lodge their shadows throw,
Like Una [T] shining on her gloomy way,
The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray;
Shedding, through paly loop-holes mild and small,
Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall; [88] 295
[89] Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale
Tracking the motions of the fitful gale. [90]
With restless interchange at once the bright
Wins on the shade, the shade upon the light.
No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze 300
On lovelier spectacle in faery days;
When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase,
Brushing with lucid wands the water's face;
While music, stealing round the glimmering deeps,
Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. 305
--The lights are vanished from the watery plains:
No wreck of all the pageantry remains.
Unheeded night has overcome the vales:
On the dark earth the wearied vision fails;
The latest lingerer of the forest train, 310
The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain;
Last evening sight, the cottage smoke, no more,
Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar;
And, towering from the sullen dark-brown mere,
Like a black wall, the mountain-steeps appear. [91] 315

--Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel
A sympathetic twilight slowly steal,
And ever, as we fondly muse, we find
The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind.
Stay! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay! 320
Ah no! as fades the vale, they fade away:
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains;
Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains.

The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread
Silent the hedge or steamy rivulet's bed, [92] 325
From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon
Salute with gladsome note the rising moon,
While with a hoary light she frosts the ground,
And pours a deeper blue to Aether's bound;
Pleased, as she moves, her pomp of clouds to fold 330
In robes of azure, fleecy-white, and gold. [93]

Above yon eastern hill, [94] where darkness broods
O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods;
Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace,
Even now she shows, half-veiled, her lovely face: [95] 335
Across [96] the gloomy valley flings her light,
Far to the western slopes with hamlets white;
And gives, where woods the chequered upland strew,
To the green corn of summer, autumn's hue.

Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn 340
Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn,
'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer
The weary hills, impervious, blackening near;
Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while
On darling spots remote her tempting smile. 345

Even now she decks for me a distant scene,
(For dark and broad the gulf of time between)
Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray,
(Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; 350
How fair its lawns and sheltering [97] woods appear!
How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear! )
Where we, my Friend, to happy [98] days shall rise,
'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs
(For sighs will ever trouble human breath) 355
Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death.

But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains,
And, rimy without speck, extend the plains:
The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays [99]
Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays; 360
From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide
The hills, while gleams below the azure tide;
Time softly treads; throughout the landscape breathes
A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths
Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood, 365
Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood. [100]

The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day,
Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. [U]
Air listens, like the sleeping water, still,
To catch the spiritual music of the hill, [101] 370
Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep,
Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep,
The echoed hoof nearing the distant shore,
The boat's first motion--made with dashing oar; [102]
Sound of closed gate, across the water borne, 375
Hurrying the timid [103] hare through rustling corn;
The sportive outcry of the mocking owl; [104]
And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl;
The distant forge's swinging thump profound;
Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound. 380



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE ABOVE POEM:


[Variant 1:

1836.

His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes
Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore:
Where silver rocks the savage prospect chear
Of giant yews that frown on Rydale's mere; 1793.

Where Derwent stops his course to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs . . . 1827.

(Omitting two lines of the 1793 text quoted above. )]


[Variant 2:

1836.

Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander peeps 1793.

Where, deep embosom'd, shy Winander peeps 1827. ]


[Variant 3:

1836.