Nugae Canorae :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye Powers unseen, whose pure aërial forms
Hover on Cambria's awful mountains hoar!
Who breathe your fury in her raging storms,
And join your deep yells to the tempest's roar,
Assist my visionary soul to soar
Once more enraptur'd o'er your prospects drear;
Let each sensation warm my heart once more,
That wont to prompt th' enthusiastic tear,
And raise my restless soul when your wild scenes were near!

Sure ye who viewless range those prospects blest,
And swiftly glance o'er many a heath-clad hill—
Sure ye oft animate the glowing breast,
And often warm with many a mystic thrill
The pure poetic fancy!—Oh! deign still
Those high, those speechless pleasures to renew,
Let Memory trace each scene with faithful skill,
And let Imagination's fervour true,
With no dim tints recal each magic mountainview.

In all the tedious intercourse of life,
Say, is there aught of bliss sublime and high?
Amid the fluttering world's unmeaning strife,
Say, is there aught to sooth or satisfy
The soul aspiring to her kindred sky?—
No!—Nature, thou alone canst boast the power
To reillume the melancholy eye—
Cheer the dejection of the restless hour,
Or bid advent'rous thought to trackless regions tower.

If thou, perchance, hast ever felt the smart
Of unrequited friendship, go and soothe,
In independence wild, thy wearied heart!—
The charm of solitary pleasures prove,

Ye who the world's cold scorn may sometimes move
To curse mankind!—and ye that doubt and fear,
Oh! see how Nature beams with boundless love!—
The God of Nature shall instruct you there,
All rapture to the heart, all music to the ear.

And you ye Cambrian hills and valleys sweet,—
You gave such pleasure to a wearied mind,
You fill'd a heart, which thought all joy deceit,
With unfeign'd rapture, and with peace refin'd.
Thanks to your charms and glories unconfin'd!
Thanks to that God who gave a heart to feel!
And may your rude scenes with an influence kind
Continue long the wound of care to heal,
And warm afresh with joy, Affliction's bosom chill!

And you, ye shadowy spirits, that unseen
All wildly glance those fabled scenes among,
Whose solemn voices, oft Night's conscious queen
Salute with murmur sweet, and mystic song;

May you for him that raptur'd roves along,
Or climbs some rock whose fork'd peak cleaves the sky,
If chance the powers of verse to him belong,
Bid dreams of hallow'd import flutter by,
And purge from mortal film, his half-enlighten'd eye!