Hark! ’tis the Thrush, undaunted, undeprest, By twilight premature of cloud and rain; Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain[174] Who carols thinking of his Love and nest, And seems, as more incited, still more blest. 5 Thanks; thou hast snapped a fire-side Prisoner’s chain, Exulting Warbler! eased a fretted brain, And in a moment charmed my cares to rest. Yes, I will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast, That we may sing together, if thou wilt, 10 So loud, so clear, my Partner through life’s day, Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past, Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay. RYDAL MOUNT, 1838. [174] 1838. … undaunted, unopprest, Struggling with twilight premature and rain. Loud roars the wind, but smothers not his strain MS. “’TIS HE WHOSE YESTER-EVENING’S HIGH DISDAIN” Composed 1838.--Published 1838 One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED. ’Tis He whose yester-evening’s high disdain Beat back the roaring storm--but how subdued His day-break note, a sad vicissitude! Does the hour’s drowsy weight his glee restrain? Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein 5 Pleased to renounce, does this dear Thrush attune His voice to suit the temper of yon Moon Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane? Rise, tardy Sun! and let the Songster prove (The balance trembling between night and morn 10 No longer) with what ecstasy upborne He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness. COMPOSED AT RYDAL ON MAY MORNING, 1838[175] Composed 1st May 1838.--Published 1838 [This and the following sonnet were composed on what we call the “Far Terrace” at Rydal Mount, where I have murmured out many thousands of verses.--I.F.] This sonnet was first published in the Volume of Collected Sonnets in 1838. In 1842 it was classed among the “Miscellaneous Sonnets”; but in 1845 it was transferred to the “Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837.”--ED. If with old love of you, dear Hills! I share New love of many a rival image brought From far, forgive the wanderings of my thought: Nor art thou wronged, sweet May! when I compare[176] Thy present birth-morn with thy last,[177][178] so fair, 5 So rich to me in favours. For my lot Then was, within the famed Egerian Grot To sit and muse, fanned by its dewy air Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning too, Warblers I heard their joy unbosoming 10 Amid the sunny, shadowy, Coliseum;[179] Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue,[180] For victories there won by flower-crowned Spring,[181] Chant in full choir their innocent Te Deum.