"NOT IN THE LUCID INTERVALS OF LIFE"
Composed 1834.—Published 1835
[The lines following "nor do words" were written with Lord Byron's character as a poet before me, and that of others his contemporaries who wrote under like influences.—I. F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."—Ed.
Not in the lucid intervals of life
That come but as a curse to party-strife;
Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh
Of languor puts his rosy garland by;
Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave 5
Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave—
Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words,
Which practised talent[993] readily affords,
Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords;
Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 10
With genuine rapture and with fervent love
The soul of Genius, if he dare[994] to take
Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake;
Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent
Of all the truly great and all the innocent. 15
But who is innocent? By grace divine,
Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine,
Through good and evil thine, in just degree
Of rational and manly sympathy. 19
To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing,
And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing,
Add every charm the Universe can show
Through every change its aspects undergo—
Care may be respited, but not repealed;
No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 25
Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace,
If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease,
Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance,
Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance;
To the distempered Intellect refuse 30
His gracious help, or give what we abuse.
FOOTNOTES:
[993] See the Fenwick note.—Ed.
[994] 1837.
... dares ... 1835.
BY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE
Composed 1834.—Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."—Ed.
The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,
Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose;
The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again
The monitor revives his own sweet strain;
But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 5
Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,
Ere some commanding star[995] dismiss to rest
The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest,
(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,
And a last game of mazy hoverings 10
Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise
Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.
O Nightingale! Who ever heard thy song
Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong
That listening sense is pardonably cheated 15
Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.[996]
Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands,
Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands,
This hour of deepening darkness here would be
As a fresh morning for new harmony; 20
And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night:
A dawn she has both beautiful and bright,
When the East kindles with the full moon's light;[997]
Not like the rising sun's impatient glow
Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow 25
Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow.
Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led,
For sway profoundly felt as widely spread;
To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear,
And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear; 30
How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale
Fairer than Tempe![998] Yet, sweet Nightingale!
From the warm breeze that bears thee on, alight
At will, and stay thy migratory flight;
Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 35
Who shall complain, or call thee to account?
The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they
That ever walk content with Nature's way,
God's goodness—measuring bounty as it may;
For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 40
Chastening the fulness of a present bliss,
Is with that wholesome office satisfied,
While unrepining sadness is allied
In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.
FOOTNOTES:
[995] Compare the Lines, composed at Grasmere in 1806 (vol iv. p. 48), when Mr. Fox's death was hourly expected—
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.—Ed.
[996] The nightingale is not usually heard in England farther north than the valley of the Trent.
Compare The Excursion, book iv. l. 1167 (vol. v. p. 188); also the lines (vol. iv, p. 67) beginning—
O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a "fiery heart."—Ed.
[997] 1837.
... moon's light.
Wanderer by ... 1835.
[998] The Thessalian valley, five miles long, from Olympus to Ossa, through which the Peneus makes its way to the Ægean sea.—Ed.