Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/139

79 Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray,

And apple sickens pale in summer's ray;

Ev'n here Content has fixed her smiling reign

With Independence, child of high Disdain.

Exulting mid the winter of the skies,

Shy as the jealous chamois, Freedom flies,

And often grasps her sword, and often eyes:

Her crest a bough of Winter's bleakest pine,

Strange "weeds" and alpine plants her helm entwine,

And wildly-pausing oft she hangs aghast,

While thrills the "Spartan fife" between the blast.

'Tis storm; and, hid in mist from hour to hour,

All day the floods a deepening murmur pour;

The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight:

Dark is the region as with coming night;

But what a sudden burst of overpowering light!

Triumphant on the bosom of the storm,

Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form;

Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine

The wood-crowned cliffs that o'er the lake recline;

Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams unfold,

At once to pillars turned that flame with gold;