2. Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? What boots the enquiry? Neither friend nor foe Ever before her, and a wind to blow. Yet still I ask, what Haven is her mark? And, almost as it was when ships were rare, From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Crossing the waters; doubt, and something dark, Of the old Sea some reverential fear, Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark! 3. COMPOSED after a Journey across THE HAMILTON HILLS, YORKSHIRE. Ere we had reach'd the wish'd-for place, night fell: Or Clock to toll from. Many a glorious pile These words were utter'd in a pensive mood, Even while mine eyes were on that solemn sight: 5. TO SLEEP. O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee, These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove, A Captive never wishing to be free. This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove Upon a fretful rivulet, now above, Now on the water vex'd with mockery. I have no pain that calls for patience, no; But once and deeply let me be beguiled. 6. TO SLEEP. A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds melodies Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees; And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? |