Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Ode to Memory
For other versions of this work, see Ode to Memory.
ODE TO MEMORY.
WRITTEN VERY EARLY IN LIFE.
I.Thou who stealest fire,From the fountains of the past,To glorify the present; oh, haste,Visit my low desire!Strengthen me, enlighten me!I faint in this obscurity,Thou dewy dawn of memory.
II.Come not as thou cam'st of late,Flinging the gloom of yesternightOn the white day; but robed in softened lightOf orient state.Whilome thou camest with the morning mist,Even as a maid, whose stately browThe dewimpearléd winds of dawn have kist,When she, as thou,Stays on her floating locks the lovely freightOf overflowing blooms, and earliest shootsOf orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits,Which in wintertide shall starThe black earth with brilliance rare.
III.Whilome thou camest with the morning mist,And with the evening cloud,Showering thy gleanéd wealth into my open breast,(Those peerless flowers which in the rudest windNever grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind,Because they are the earliest of the year).Nor was the night thy shroud.In sweet dreams softer than unbroken restThou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope,The eddying of her garments caught from theeThe light of thy great presence; and the copeOf the half attained futurity,Though deep not fathomless,Was cloven with the million stars which trembleO'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.Small thought was there of life's distress,For sure she deemed no mist of earth could dullThose spiritthrilling eyes so keen and beautiful:Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres,Listening the lordly music flowing fromThe illimitable years.Oh strengthen me, enlighten me!I faint in this obscurity,Thou dewy dawn of memory.
IV.Come forth I charge thee, arise,Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes!Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vinesUnto mine inner eye,Divinest memory!Thou wert not nursed by the waterfallWhich ever sounds and shinesA pillar of white light upon the wallOf purple cliffs, aloof descried,Come from the woods that belt the gray hillside,The seven elms, the poplars fourThat stand beside my father's door,And chiefly from the brook that lovesTo purl o'er matted cress and ribbéd sand,Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves,Drawing into his narrow earthen urn,In every elbow and turn,The filtered tribute of the rough woodland.O! hither lead thy feet! Pour round mine ears the livelong bleatOf the thickfleecéd sheep from wattled folds,Upon the ridgéd wolds,When the first matinsong hath wakéd loudOver the dark dewy earth forlorn,What time the amber mornForth gushes from beneath a lowhung cloud.
V.Large dowries doth the raptured eyeTo the young spirit presentWhen first she is wed;And like a bride of oldIn triumph led,With music and sweet showersOf festal flowers,Unto the dwelling she must sway.Well hast thou done, great artist Memory,In setting round thy first experimentWith royal framework of wrought gold;Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay, And foremost in thy various galleryPlace it, where sweetest sunlight fallsUpon the storied walls,For the discoveryAnd newness of thine art so pleased thee,That all which thou hast drawn of fairestOr boldest since, but lightly weighsWith thee unto the love thou bearestThe firstborn of thy genius. Artistlike,Ever retiring thou dost gazeOn the prime labour of thine early days:No matter what the sketch might be;Whether the high field on the bushless Pike,Or even a sandbuilt ridgeOf heapéd hills that mound the sea,Overblown with murmurs harsh,Or even a lowly cottage whence we seeStretched wide and wild the waste enormous marsh,Where from the frequent bridge,Emblems or glimpses of eternity,The trenchéd waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bowered closeWith pleachéd alleys of the trailing rose,Long alleys falling down to twilight grots,Or opening upon level plotsOf crownéd lilies, standing nearPurplespikéd lavender:Whither in after life retiredFrom brawling storms,From weary wind,With youthful fancy reinspired,We may hold converse with all formsOf the manysided mind,The few whom passion hath not blinded,Subtlethoughted, myriadminded.My friend, with thee to live alone,Methinks were better than to ownA crown, a sceptre, and a throne.O strengthen me, enlighten me!I faint in this obscurity,Thou dewy dawn of memory.