Vernal Ode
I
BENEATH
the
concave
of
an
April
sky,
When
all
the
fields
with
freshest
green
were
dight,
Appeared,
in
presence
of
the
spiritual
eye
That
aids
or
supersedes
our
grosser
sight,
The
form
and
rich
habiliments
of
One
Whose
countenance
bore
resemblance
to
the
sun,
When
it
reveals,
in
evening
majesty,
Features
half
lost
amid
their
own
pure
light.
Poised
like
a
weary
cloud,
in
middle
air
He
hung,--then
floated
with
angelic
ease
(Softening
that
bright
effulgence
by
degrees)
Till
he
had
reached
a
summit
sharp
and
bare,
Where
oft
the
venturous
heifer
drinks
the
noontide
breeze.
Upon
the
apex
of
that
lofty
cone
Alighted,
there
the
Stranger
stood
alone;
Fair
as
a
gorgeous
Fabric
of
the
east
Suddenly
raised
by
some
enchanter's
power,
Where
nothing
was;
and
firm
as
some
old
Tower
Of
Britain's
realm,
whose
leafy
crest
Waves
high,
embellished
by
a
gleaming
shower!
II
Beneath
the
shadow
of
his
purple
wings
Rested
a
golden
harp;--he
touched
the
strings;
And,
after
prelude
of
unearthly
sound
Poured
through
the
echoing
hills
around,
He
sang--
'No
wintry
desolations,
Scorching
blight
or
noxious
dew,
Affect
my
native
habitations;
Buried
in
glory,
far
beyond
the
scope
Of
man's
inquiring
gaze,
but
to
his
hope
Imaged,
though
faintly,
in
the
hue
Profound
of
night's
ethereal
blue;
And
in
the
aspect
of
each
radiant
orb;--
Some
fixed,
some
wandering
with
no
timid
curb:
But
wandering
star
and
fixed,
to
mortal
eye,
Blended
in
absolute
serenity,
And
free
from
semblance
of
decline;--
Fresh
as
if
Evening
brought
their
natal
hour,
Her
darkness
splendour
gave,
her
silence
power
To
testify
of
Love
and
Grace
divine.
III
'What
if
those
bright
fires
Shine
subject
to
decay,
Sons
haply
of
extinguished
sires,
Themselves
to
lose
their
light,
or
pass
away
Like
clouds
before
the
wind,
Be
thanks
poured
out
to
Him
whose
hand
bestows,
Nightly,
on
human
kind
That
vision
of
endurance
and
repose.
--And
though
to
every
draught
of
vital
breath
Renewed
throughout
the
bounds
of
earth
or
ocean,
The
melancholy
gates
of
Death
Respond
with
sympathetic
motion;
Though
all
that
feeds
on
nether
air,
Howe'er
magnificent
or
fair,
Grows
but
to
perish,
and
entrust
Its
ruins
to
their
kindred
dust;
Yet,
by
the
Almighty's
ever-during
care,
Her
procreant
vigils
Nature
keeps
Amid
the
unfathomable
deeps;
And
saves
the
peopled
fields
of
earth
From
dread
of
emptiness
or
dearth.
Thus,
in
their
stations,
lifting
tow'rd
the
sky
The
foliaged
head
in
cloud-like
majesty,
The
shadow-casting
race
of
trees
survive:
Thus,
in
the
train
of
Spring,
arrive
Sweet
flowers;--what
living
eye
hath
viewed
Their
myriads?--endlessly
renewed,
Wherever
strikes
the
sun's
glad
ray;
Where'er
the
subtle
waters
stray;
Wherever
sportive
breezes
bend
Their
course,
or
genial
showers
descend!
Mortals,
rejoice!
the
very
Angels
quit
Their
mansions
unsusceptible
of
change,
Amid
your
pleasant
bowers
to
sit,
And
through
your
sweet
vicissitudes
to
range!'
IV
Oh,
nursed
at
happy
distance
from
the
cares
Of
a
too-anxious
world,
mild
pastoral
Muse!
That,
to
the
sparkling
crown
Urania
wears,
And
to
her
sister
Clio's
laurel
wreath,
Prefer'st
a
garland
culled
from
purple
heath,
Or
blooming
thicket
moist
with
morning
dews;
Was
such
bright
Spectacle
vouchsafed
to
me?
And
was
it
granted
to
the
simple
ear
Of
thy
contented
Votary
Such
melody
to
hear!
'Him'
rather
suits
it,
side
by
side
with
thee,
Wrapped
in
a
fit
of
pleasing
indolence,
While
thy
tired
lute
hangs
on
the
hawthorn-tree,
To
lie
and
listen--till
o'er-drowsed
sense
Sinks,
hardly
conscious
of
the
influence--
To
the
soft
murmur
of
the
vagrant
Bee.
--A
slender
sound!
yet
hoary
Time
Doth
to
the
'Soul'
exalt
it
with
the
chime
Of
all
his
years;--a
company
Of
ages
coming,
ages
gone;
(Nations
from
before
them
sweeping,
Regions
in
destruction
steeping,)
But
every
awful
note
in
unison
With
that
faint
utterance,
which
tells
Of
treasure
sucked
from
buds
and
bells,
For
the
pure
keeping
of
those
waxen
cells;
Where
She--a
statist
prudent
to
confer
Upon
the
common
weal;
a
warrior
bold,
Radiant
all
over
with
unburnished
gold,
And
armed
with
living
spear
for
mortal
fight;
A
cunning
forager
That
spreads
no
waste;
a
social
builder;
one
In
whom
all
busy
offices
unite
With
all
fine
functions
that
afford
delight--
Safe
through
the
winter
storm
in
quiet
dwells!
V
And
is
She
brought
within
the
power
Of
vision?--o'er
this
tempting
flower
Hovering
until
the
petals
stay
Her
flight,
and
take
its
voice
away!--
Observe
each
wing!--a
tiny
van!
The
structure
of
her
laden
thigh,
How
fragile!
yet
of
ancestry
Mysteriously
remote
and
high;
High
as
the
imperial
front
of
man;
The
roseate
bloom
on
woman's
cheek;
The
soaring
eagle's
curved
beak;
The
white
plumes
of
the
floating
swan;
Old
as
the
tiger's
paw,
the
lion's
mane
Ere
shaken
by
that
mood
of
stern
disdain
At
which
the
desert
trembles.--Humming
Bee!
Thy
sting
was
needless
then,
perchance
unknown,
The
seeds
of
malice
were
not
sown;
All
creatures
met
in
peace,
from
fierceness
free,
And
no
pride
blended
with
their
dignity.
--Tears
had
not
broken
from
their
source;
Nor
Anguish
strayed
from
her
Tartarean
den;
The
golden
years
maintained
a
course
Not
undiversified
though
smooth
and
even;
We
were
not
mocked
with
glimpse
and
shadow
then,
Bright
Seraphs
mixed
familiarly
with
men;
And
earth
and
stars
composed
a
universal
heaven!
William Wordsworth
The English poet William Wordsworth is considered to be one of the most important literary figures in modern history, as well as one of the leading purveyors of the Romantic Movement. He was born in 1770, in Cumbria, and was one of four children. Over the course of his life, he continued to return to the Lake District, and eventually passed away in Cumbria, in 1850. The influence of William Wordsworth should not be underestimated, as he not only helped to kick-start the Romantic Age, he also formed half of one of the most famous literary partnerships in history. The friendship that he shared with fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge is now the stuff of legend, as is the subsequent fallout after the friendship fell apart.