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lirik lagu sir cedric hardwicke - growth of a poet's mind

oh, many a time have i, a five years’ child
in a small mill~race severed from his stream
made one long bathing of a summer’s day;
basked in the sun, and plunged and basked again
alternate, all a summer’s day, or scoured
the sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves
of yellow ragwort; or when rock and hill
the woods, and distant skiddaw’s lofty height
were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone
beneath the sky, as if i had been born
on indian plains, and from my mother’s hut
had run abroad in wantonness, to sport
a naked savage, in thе thunder shower

fair seed~time had my soul, and i grеw up
fostered alike by beauty and by fear:
much favoured in my birth~place, and no less
in that beloved vale to which erelong
we were transplanted—there were we let loose
for sports of wider range. ere i had told
ten birth~days, when among the mountain slopes
frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped
the last autumnal crocus, ’twas my joy
with store of springes o’er my shoulder hung
to range the open heights where woodc~cks run
along the smooth green turf. through half the night
scudding away from snare to snare, i plied
that anxious visitation;—moon and stars
were shining o’er my head. i was alone
and seemed to be a trouble to the peace
that dwelt among them. sometimes it befel
in these night wanderings, that a strong desire
o’erpowered my better reason, and the bird
which was the captive of another’s toil
became my prey; and when the deed was done
i heard among the solitary hills
low breathings coming after me, and sounds
of undistinguishable motion, steps
almost as silent as the turf they trod
nor less when spring had warmed the cultured vale
moved we as plunderers where the mother~bird
had in high places built her lodge; though mean
our object and inglorious, yet the end
was not ign0ble. oh! when i have hung
above the raven’s nest, by knots of grass
and half~inch fissures in the slippery rock
but ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed)
suspended by the blast that blew amain
shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time
while on the perilous ridge i hung alone
with what strange utterance did the loud dry wind
blow through my ear! the sky seemed not a sky
of earth—and with what motion moved the clouds!

dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
like harmony in music; there is a dark
inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
discordant elements, makes them cling together
in one society. how strange that all
the terrors, pains, and early miseries
regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
within my mind, should e’er have borne a part
and that a needful part, in making up
the calm existence that is mine when i
am worthy of myself! praise to the end!
thanks to the means which nature deigned to employ;
whether her fearless visitings, or those
that came with soft alarm, like hurtless light
opening the peaceful clouds; or she may use
severer interventions, ministry
more palpable, as best might suit her aim
one summer evening (led by her) i found
a little boat tied to a willow tree
within a rocky cave, its usual home
straight i unloosed her chain, and stepping in
pushed from the shore. it was an act of stealth
and troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
of mountain~echoes did my boat move on;
leaving behind her still, on either side
small circles glittering idly in the moon
until they melted all into one track
of sparkling light. but now, like one who rows
proud of his sk!ll, to reach a chosen point
with an unswerving line, i fixed my view
upon the summit of a craggy ridge
the horizon’s utmost boundary; far above
was nothing but the stars and the grey sky
she was an elfin pinnace; l~stily
i dipped my oars into the silent lake
and, as i rose upon the stroke, my boat
went heaving through the water like a swan;
when, from behind that craggy steep till then
the horizon’s bound, a huge peak, black and huge
as if with voluntary power instinct
upreared its head. i struck and struck again
and growing still in stature the grim shape
towered up between me and the stars, and still
for so it seemed, with purpose of its own
and measured motion like a living thing
strode after me. with trembling oars i turned
and through the silent water stole my way
back to the covert of the willow tree;
there in her mooring~place i left my bark,—
and through the meadows homeward went, in grave
and serious mood; but after i had seen
that spectacle, for many days, my brain
worked with a dim and undetermined sense
of unknown modes of being; o’er my thoughts
there hung a darkness, call it solitude
or blank desertion. no familiar shapes
remained, no pleasant images of trees
of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;
but huge and mighty forms, that do not live
like living men, moved slowly through the mind
by day, and were a trouble to my dreams
wisdom and spirit of the universe!
thou soul that art the eternity of thought
that givest to forms and images a breath
and everlasting motion, not in vain
by day or star~light thus from my first dawn
of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
the passions that build up our human soul;
not with the mean and vulgar works of man
but with high objects, with enduring things—
with life and nature, purifying thus
the elements of feeling and of thought
and sanctifying, by such discipline
both pain and fear, until we recognise
a grandeur in the beatings of the heart
nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me
with stinted kindness. in november days
when vapours rolling down the valley made
a lonely scene more lonesome, among woods
at noon and ‘mid the calm of summer nights
when, by the margin of the trembling lake
beneath the gloomy hills homeward i went
in solitude, such intercourse was mine;
mine was it in the fields both day and night
and by the waters, all the summer long

and in the frosty season, when the sun
was set, and visible for many a mile
the cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom
i heeded not their summons: happy time
it was indeed for all of us—for me
it was a time of rapture! clear and loud
the village clock tolled six,—i wheeled about
proud and exulting like an untired horse
that cares not for his home. all shod with steel
we hissed along the polished ice in games
confederate, imitative of the chase
and woodland pleasures,—the resounding h~rn
the pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare
so through the darkness and the cold we flew
and not a voice was idle; with the din
smitten, the precipices rang aloud;
the leafless trees and every icy crag
tinkled like iron; while far distant hills
into the tumult sent an alien sound
of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars
eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west
the orange sky of evening died away
not seldom from the uproar i retired
into a silent bay, or sportively
glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng
to cut across the reflex of a star
that fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes
when we had given our bodies to the wind
and all the shadowy banks on either side
came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
the rapid line of motion, then at once
have i, reclining back upon my heels
stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
wheeled by me—even as if the earth had rolled
with visible motion her diurnal round!
behind me did they stretch in solemn train
feebler and feebler, and i stood and watched
till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep

- lirik lagu sir cedric hardwicke

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