If such thy meaning, O forbear, Sweet Bird! to do me wrong; Love, blessed Love, is every where The spirit of my song: 20 'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside, Love animates my lyre-- That coo again!--'tis not to chide, I feel, but to inspire. FOOTNOTES: [672] In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled "Twenty minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within doors."--ED. [673] Compare the Sonnet beginning-- While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)--ED. [674] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 164.--ED. PRESENTIMENTS Composed 1830.--Published 1835 [Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.] One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED. Presentiments! they judge not right Who deem that ye from open light Retire in fear of shame; All _heaven-born_ Instincts shun the touch Of vulgar sense,--and, being such, 5 Such privilege ye claim. The tear whose source I could not guess, The deep sigh that seemed fatherless, Were mine in early days; And now, unforced by time to part 10 With fancy, I obey my heart, And venture on your praise. What though some busy foes to good, Too potent over nerve and blood, Lurk near you--and combine 15 To taint the health which ye infuse; This hides not from the moral Muse Your origin divine. How oft from you, derided Powers! Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 20 Builds castles, not of air: Bodings unsanctioned by the will Flow from your visionary skill, And teach us to beware. The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 25 That no philosophy can lift, Shall vanish, if ye please, Like morning mist: and, where it lay, The spirits at your bidding play In gaiety and ease. 30 Star-guided contemplations move Through space, though calm, not raised above Prognostics that ye rule; The naked Indian of the wild, And haply, too, the cradled Child, 35 Are pupils of your school. But who can fathom your intents, Number their signs or instruments? A rainbow, a sunbeam, A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 40 Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds, An echo, or a dream.[675] The laughter of the Christmas hearth With sighs of self-exhausted mirth Ye feelingly reprove; 45 And daily, in the conscious breast, Your visitations are a test And exercise of love.