INTENSE SYMPATHY WITH NATURE.

47

immediately following have seldom by any poet been

equalled.

"I heard a thousand blended notes,

As in a grove I sat reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts,
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did nature link,

The human soul that through me ran,
And much it grieved my heart to think,
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths,
And tis my faith that every flower,
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion that they made,
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air,

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament,

What man has made of man."

And thus, the sympathy established between the poet and his world, that world becomes his instructor:

"One impulse from a vernal wood,

Will teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

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STUDY NATURE.

Enough of science and of art,

Close up those barren leaves,

Come forth-and bring with you a heart,

That watches, and receives."

How much truth there is in this the reader knows, of old this lesson has come to us as the wisest and the best, the only lesson indeed worth communicating. Study Nature; man is the minister and interpreter of nature-it is the study of nature that best calls out the inner life within us, that best suggests to us the worthy and the noble; it is surprising says the Apologist and Lover of nature, how little we learn from books; they are only valuable as they suggest to us natural analogies and teachings; the greatest masters learned of nature. "Believe me on my own experience," said St. Bernard, "you will find more in the woods than in books; the forests and rocks will teach you more than you can learn of the greatest masters." And all men become wise only as they sit at the feet of nature and make her the instructress, director, and teacher. Books are in many instances barren and unprofitable leaves;-they cramp the free soul, but let a man walk by the margin of the sea, or through the forest alcove for two hours each day, with no other pages save his own heart and the boundless worlds around him, and it is wonderful through what phases of mental and moral being he will pass.

Books are only valuable as they suggest ideas to the mind, but that man will be incomparably most rich in ideas who brings his consciousness to derive its power

STUDY NATURE.

49

from the great moods of revolving nature; "to him," says the loving Rhapsodist, "who listens to what nature says, she soon speaks in tones eloquently intelligible, who reverently seeks her, finds her, as Numa found the fond Egeria of old in the grotto and the cave, but nature must be wooed to be won; no coquet is she, to dance before the eyes of all, to unveil her beauties to the gaze of all, who likes to tread her exterior demesnes may-she opens free her pastures and her forests to all, the wilderness and the field, the mossy thyme-covered bank, the lonely woodland, the resounding shore, she never locks up her rainbows from the most vulgar eye; her mountain passes, her inland lakes, her bleak headlands, and ocean isles who will may see; but these are but the thresholds of her court and her temple; the grotto and the grove you may see, but the spirit, the arch priestess, it is possible to frequent the porch all your days, nor ever to behold her; the mind must be purged from earth's impurities, it must pass through trials and through mysteries like the Eleusinian of old, from hatred and scorn it must be purged, must come to the woods and groves chastened and forgiving; must come, not to be amused, not to kill time, but as a learner -come in this mood and no matter how else the pilgrim come, poor, persecuted, despised, bereaved, sorrowing, let him come and he shall be comforted; for him soft ministering voices shall run along the boughs in music; for him the nymph shall return to the wood, and the naiad to the stream; for him as he lies upon the margin of the stream, or beneath the branches of

F

50

STUDY NATURE.

the beech, thoughts shall descend like angels, comforting his spirit; he shall never go unattended upon his way,

'The common things that round him lie,
Some random blessings will impart.'

Profound meditation will everywhere salute him, the ages with all their deeds, the strifes of the little battlers on this grave, our world, law, and order, and government, will unfold their pages to him, and above all and around all, for him there will be a presence palpable to the soul although invisible to the sense, the solemn presence of an active living power, every spot of ground will be charmed, this will make the world to him whatever it may be to others, one wide temple o'ercanopied with its fire-fretted concave; will impart to all his feelings the holiness of worship, and make his life a perpetual sabbath. The lessons of nature in this spirit obtained, impart to the mind a consecrating, all-hallowing love of rectitude and duty, training down the wild passions of the soul, and chastening and beautifying the austere." Thus far the Rhapsodist on Nature; still this is the key to the rich and wonderful charm of the verses we are now noticing. Passing by the peculiarity of Wordsworth's diction for the moment, or noticing it only to say that every great poet creates his own diction, that it is the result of his mental character, and that its fluency or dignity are the transcript of his own mind, we notice now the intense love of nature in our poet moulds the thought, and moulds the

WORDSWORTH'S IMAGERY OF NATURE.

51

speech to the thought. Let the reader again and again revolve these most affecting images,

"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,

The holy time is quiet as a Nun, breathless with adoration."

"The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up gathered now like sleeping flowers."

In the following bold imagery he embodies the idea of Duty.

"Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,

And fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,

And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong."

But the poem in which this lofty feeling of intimate communion with nature is most unfolded as a Philosophy and an Experience, is that written at Tintern Abbey, that poem like a mighty organ gives breath to every note and key of the poet's mind; the poem is lengthy, and a few sentences therefore must suffice this picture of the boyhood of an enthusiast.

"The sounding cataract,

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood;
Their colours and their forms were then to me

An appetite; a feeling and a love,

That had no need of a remoter charm

By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye."

So the following sublime description of a mind dependent on nature for its inspiration and its power,