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Written at Rydal Mount. The incident of the trees growing and withering put the subject into my thoughts, and I wrote with the hope of giving it a loftier tone than, so far as I know, has been given to it by any of the Ancients who have treated of it. It cost me more trouble than almost anything of equal length I have ever written. (Wordsworth.)

Laodamia is a very original poem; I mean original with reference to your own manner. You have nothing like it. I should have seen it in a strange place, and greatly admired it, but not suspected its derivation.. (Lamb to Wordsworth. Talfourd, Final Memories of Charles Lamb, p. 151.)

"WITH sacrifice before the rising morn Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;

And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn

Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I

required:

Celestial pity I again implore ;— Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!"

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed

With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud.

Her countenance brightens-and her eye expands;

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;

And she expects the issue in repose.

O terror! what hath she perceived ?—O joy!

What doth she look on ?--whom doth she behold?

Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy? His vital presence? his corporeal mould! It is--if sense deceive her not-'tis He? And a God leads him, wingéd Mercury!

Mild Hermes spake--and touched her with his wand That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,

Laodamía! that at Jove's command Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;

Accept the gift, behold him face to face!

Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;

Again that consummation she essayed; But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp As often as that eager grasp was made, The Phantom parts--but parts to re-unite, And re-assume his place before her sight.

"Protesiláus, lo! thy guide is gone! Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy

voice:

This is our palace,yonder is thy throne; Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.

Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamía! doth not leave His gifts imperfect :--Spectre though I

be,

I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.
And something also did my worth obtain;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless
gain.

"Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold

That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand

Should die; but me the threat could not withhold;

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"Ah, wherefore?-Did not Hercules by

force

Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb

Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of

years,

And son stood a youth 'nid youthful

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peers.

The Gods to us are merciful--and they Yet further may relent: for mightier far

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway

Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favorite seat be feeble
woman's breast.

"But if thou goest, I follow-""Peace!" he said ;

She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;

The ghastly color from his lips had fled; In his deportment, shape, and mien, ap-peared

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel

In worlds whose course is equable and

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way,

And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay.

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, She perished; and, as for a wilful crime, By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,

Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,

Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers

Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

-Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown

Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,

As fondly he believes.-Upon the side Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew From out the tomb of him for whom she

died;

And ever, when such stature they had gained

That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,

The trees' tall summits withered at the

sight:

A constant interchange of growth and blight! 1814. 1815.

YARROW VISITED

SEPTEMBER, 1814

As mentioned in my verses on the death of the Ettrick Shepherd, my first visit to Yarrow was in his company. We had lodged the night before at Traquhair, where Hogg had joined us ... I seldom read or think of this poem without regretting that my dear Sister was not of the party, as she would have had so much delight in recalling the time when, travelling together in Scotland, we declined going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion. (Wordsworth.)

AND is this-Yarrow?-This the Stream
Of which my fancy cherished,
So faithfully, a waking dream?
An image that hath perished!

O that some Minstrel's harp were near,
To utter notes of gladness,

And chase this silence from the air,
That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why?-a silvery current flows
With uncontrolled meanderings;
Nor have these eyes by greener hills
Been soothed, in all my wanderings.
And, through her depths, Saint Mary's
Lake

Is visibly delighted;

For not a feature of those hills
Is in the mirror slighted.

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale,
Save where that pearly whiteness
Is round the rising sun diffused,
A tender hazy brightness;
Mild dawn of promise! that excludes
All profitless dejection;

Though not unwilling here to admit
A pensive recollection.

Where was it that the famous Flower
Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding?
His bed perchance was yon smooth
mound

On which the herd is feeding:
And haply from this crystal pool,
Now peaceful as the morning,

The Water-wraith ascended thrice-
And gave his doleful warning.

Delicious is the Lay that sings
The haunts of happy Lovers,

The path that leads them to the grove,
The leafy grove that covers:
And Pity sanctifies the Verse
That paints, by strength of sorrow,

The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow !

But thou, that didst appear so fair
To fond imagination,

Dost rival in the light of day
Her delicate creation:

Meek loveliness is round thee spread,
A softness still and holy;

The grace of forest charms decayed,
And pastoral melancholy.

That region left, the vale unfolds
Rich groves of lofty stature,
With Yarrow winding through the

pomp

Of cultivated nature;

And, rising from those lofty groves,
Behold a Ruin hoary!

The shattered front of Newark's Towers,
Renowned in Border story.

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,

For sportive youth to stray in;
For manhood to enjoy his strength;
And age to wear away in!

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
A covert for protection

Of tender thoughts, that nestle there-
The brood of chaste affection.

How sweet, on this autumnal day,
The wild-wood fruits to gather,
And on my True-love's forehead plant
A crest of blooming heather!
And what if I enwreathed my own!
'Twere no offence to reason;
The sober Hills thus deck their brows
To meet the wintry season.

I see-but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;
A ray of fancy still survives-
Her sunshine plays upon thee!
Thy ever-youthful waters keep
A course of lively pleasure;
And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,
Accordant to the measure.

The vapors linger round the Heights,
They melt, and soon must vanish;
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine-
Sad thought, which I would banish,
But that I know, where'er I go,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow!
Will dwell with me-to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in sorrow,

1814. 1815.

TO B. R. HAYDON

B. R. Haydon, the painter, was for many years a friend of Wordsworth. On November 27, 1815, Haydon wrote: "I have benefited and have been supported in the troubles of life by your poetry.

I will bear want, pain, misery, and blindness; but I will never yield one step I have gained on the road I am determined to travel over." Wordsworth's answer to this letter was the following sounet.

HIGH is our calling, Friend !-Creative Art

(Whether the instrument of words she

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