[159-61] At their own vices. Fondly some expect [We have been . . . enmity _om._] 1802. [161-4] Restless in enmity have thought all change Involv'd in change of constituted power. As if a Government were but a robe On which our vice and wretchedness were sewn. 1809. [162] constituted] delegated 1802. [163] had been] were but 1809. [163-75] As if a government were but a robe To which our crimes and miseries were affix'd, Like fringe, or epaulet, and with the robe Pull'd off at pleasure. Others, the meantime, Doat with a mad idolatry, and all Who will not bow their heads, and close their eyes, And worship blindly--these are enemies Even of their country. Such have they deemed _me_. 1802. [166-71] Fondly . . . nursed them om. 1809. [171] nursed] nurse 4{o}, S. L. meanwhile] meantime 1809. [175] _Such have I been deemed_ 1809. [177] prove] be 1802, 1809. [179] father] parent 1809. [180] All natural bonds of 1802. [181] limits] circle 1802, 1809. [183] couldst thou be 1802: shouldst thou be 1809. [184-5] To me who from thy brooks and mountain-hills, Thy quiet fields, thy clouds, thy rocks, thy seas 1802. To me who from thy seas and rocky shores Thy quiet fields thy streams and wooded hills 1809. [207] Aslant the ivied] On the long-ivied MS. W., 4{o}. [214] nook] scene MS. W., 4{o}, P. R. THE NIGHTINGALE[264:1] A CONVERSATION POEM, APRIL, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge! You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 5 But hear no murmuring: it flows silently, O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, A balmy night! and though the stars be dim, Yet let us think upon the vernal showers That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 10 A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. And hark! the Nightingale begins its song, 'Most musical, most melancholy' bird![264:2] A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought! In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 15 But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, Or slow distemper, or neglected love, (And so, poor wretch! filled all things with himself, And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 20 Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he, First named these notes a melancholy strain. And many a poet echoes the conceit; Poet who hath been building up the rhyme When he had better far have stretched his limbs 25 Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, By sun or moon-light, to the influxes Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song And of his fame forgetful! so his fame 30 Should share in Nature's immortality,