With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice 10
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another’s wealth:—­tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? 15
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth’s inconstancy? 20
Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? 
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled 25
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery. 30

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase;—­the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs. 
Be as thou art.  Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. 35

NOTES:  1 of 1816; in 1839. 8 moonlight 1816; mountain 1839.

***

TO WORDSWORTH.

[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]

Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return: 
Childhood and youth, friendship and love’s first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. 
These common woes I feel.  One loss is mine 5
Which thou too feel’st, yet I alone deplore. 
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter’s midnight roar: 
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:  10
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,—­
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

***

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE.

[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]