Caliban – Opinion and Righteous Anger

                                     I
                   STRANGE fits of passion have I known:
                           And I will dare to tell,
                       But in the lover's ear alone,
                           What once to me befell.
 
                When she I loved look'd every day
                           Fresh as a rose in June,
                       I to her cottage bent my way,
                           Beneath an evening moon.
 
 
                       Upon the moon I fix'd my eye,
                      All over the wide lea;
                  With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
                          Those paths so dear to me.
 
                    And now we reach'd the orchard-plot;
                         And, as we climb'd the hill,
                 The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
                         Came near and nearer still.
 
                   In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
                         Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
                      And all the while my eyes I kept
                      On the descending moon.
 
                     My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
                        He raised, and never stopp'd:
                     When down behind the cottage roof,
                      At once, the bright moon dropp'd.
 
            What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
                             Into a lover's head!
                       `O mercy!' to myself I cried,
                          `If Lucy should be dead!'
 
                                     II
                     She dwelt among the untrodden ways
                    Beside the springs of Dove;
                   A maid whom there were none to praise,
                            And very few to love.
 
                         A violet by a mossy stone
                          Half-hidden from the eye!
                 --Fair as a star, when only one
                            Is shining in the sky.
 
                   She lived unknown, and few could know
                           When Lucy ceased to be;
                      But she is in her grave, and, O!
                       The difference to me!
 
                                    III
                       I travell'd among unknown men
                           In lands beyond the sea;
                     Nor, England! did I know till then
                          What love I bore to thee.
 
                'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
                          Nor will I quit thy shore
                      A second time, for still I seem
                         To love thee more and more.
 
                       Among thy mountains did I feel
                       The joy of my desire;
                    And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel
                           Beside an English fire.
 
                 Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd
                        The bowers where Lucy play'd;
              And thine too is the last green field
                          That Lucy's eyes survey'd.
 
                                     IV
                  Three years she grew in sun and shower;
                    Then Nature said, `A lovelier flower
                          On earth was never sown:
                This child I to myself will take;
                     She shall be mine, and I will make
                             A lady of my own.
 
                       `Myself will to my darling be
                     Both law and impulse: and with me
                  The girl, in rock and plain,
                  In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
                       Shall feel an overseeing power
                           To kindle or restrain.
 
                     `She shall be sportive as the fawn
               That wild with glee across the lawn
 
                        Or up the mountain springs;
                   And her's shall be the breathing balm,
                     And her's the silence and the calm
                         Of mute insensate things.
 
           `The floating clouds their state shall lend
                      To her; for her the willow bend;
                         Nor shall she fail to see
                      E'en in the motions of the storm
                  Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
                       By silent sympathy.
 
                    `The stars of midnight shall be dear
                     To her; and she shall lean her ear
                           In many a secret place
                 Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
               And beauty born of murmuring sound
                         Shall pass into her face.
 
                       `And vital feelings of delight
                   Shall rear her form to stately height,
                          Her virgin bosom swell;
                Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
                       Where she and I together live
                         Here in this happy dell.'
 
                   Thus Nature spake--The work was done--
                      How soon my Lucy's race was run!
                    She died, and left to me
                   This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
                        The memory of what has been,
                          And never more will be.
 
                                     V
                       A slumber did my spirit seal;
                      I had no human fears:
                   She seem'd a thing that could not feel
                         The touch of earthly years.
 
                      No motion has she now, no force;
                         She neither hears nor sees;
             Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course
                      With rocks, and stones, and trees.

I STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved look'd every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening moon. Upon the moon I fix'd my eye, All over the wide lea; With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reach'd the orchard-plot; And, as we climb'd the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon! And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon. My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopp'd: When down behind the cottage roof, At once, the bright moon dropp'd. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! `O mercy!' to myself I cried, `If Lucy should be dead!' II She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove; A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye! --Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, O! The difference to me! III I travell'd among unknown men In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time, for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd The bowers where Lucy play'd; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd. IV Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, `A lovelier flower On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. `Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. `She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. `The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. `The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. `And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Where she and I together live Here in this happy dell.' Thus Nature spake--The work was done-- How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. V A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seem'd a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees.