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Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,

And custom lie upon thee with a weight,

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

IX.

O joy! that in our embers

Is something that doth live,

That nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive!

The thought of our past years in me doth breed

Perpetual benediction; not indeed

For that which is most worthy to be blest;

Delight and liberty, the simple creed

Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,

With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:

παιδίον, ἰσχύϊ θάλλον ἐλευθερίης θεοφάντῳ

ζωῆς ἐν κορυφῇσι, τὶ δὴ χρόνον ὧδέ σ ̓ ἀνάγκῃς

ἐνζεύξαι σπεύδων κέλεαι σπεύδοντα καὶ αὐτόν,

ὧδε μάτην σῇς αὐτὸς ἐϋτυχίῃς πολεμίζων;

δέξεαι ὡς ναύτης φρεσὶ μόρσιμον αὐτίκα φόρτον, καὶ τὸ νομιζόμενόν σοι ἐπέσσεται, ἄχθεί βρῖθον ὡς παγετός, ζωῆς δ ̓ ὅσον οὐχ ὑπὸ βένθεα δῦνον. ὦ βροτοὶ εὐτυχέες, τῶν ἐν φρεσὶ δαιμονίη φλὸξ οὐδὲ καταψυχθεῖσά περ ἔφθιται, ἀλλὰ πέφυκεν

ἐς βραχὺ παρμείνασα μακρὸν πόθον ἐγκαταθεῖναι. ἢ θεὸν εὐλογίῃσιν ἐποίχομαι, εὖτε βίοιο

τοῦ πρὶν ἔχω μνήμην· οὐ μὴν τόσον εἵνεκα κείνων

ὧν τις ἔμελλε μάλιστ ̓, οὐ τέρψιος αὐτονόμοιο,

οὐδὲ νόου παίδων εὐηθέος οἷς φιλοέργοις

εἴτ ̓ ἀργοῖς κέαρ ἐλπὶς ὑπόπτερος ἄρτι πατάσσει

Nor for these I raise

The song of thanks and praise;

But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things,

Fallings from us, vanishings;

Blank misgivings of a creature

Moving about in worlds not realised,

High instincts before which our mortal Nature

Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:

But for those first affections,

Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,

To perish never :

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,

οὐ διὰ κεῖν ̓ ἀνέβη παιὰν ἐμὸς ἀλλ ̓ ἐπὶ τούτοις, οὖνεκ ̓, ὅσ ̓ αἰσθήσει τις φράζεται, οὐκ ἀποκάμνει ταῦτ ̓ ἐς ἔλεγχον ἄγων, κεἰ κάρτα πεφυκότ ̓ ἀπορρεῖν πρὶν καταληφθῆναι φροῦδ' οἴχεται· οὖνεκά θ ̓ αὑτῷ πᾶς τις ἄπιστος ἀλᾶται ἀμήχανος, ἀμφιπολεύων

ληπτὰ μὲν οὐ περίληπτα δ', ἀνήρ τ ̓ ἐπὶ θεῖα προβαίνων
δαιμόνιόν τι πέπονθε, παθὼν δ ̓ ἄρα δείματι φρίσσει
ὥσθ' ὅτε τις φωρᾶται ἀτασθαλίῃς ἐπιχειρῶν·

ταῦτ ̓ ἄγαμαι καὶ τοῦτό γ', ὁθούνεκα γιγνομένοισιν
εὐθὺς ἔρως τις ἀμαύρ ̓ ὑπομιμνήσκων ἐνυπάρχει,
ὢν ἀσαφὴς τίς ἄρ ̓ ἐστί, φάους δ ̓ οὖν ὅσσον ὁρῶμεν
ἄρχων τ ̓ ὀρνυμένου καὶ ὀρωρότος ἡγεμονεύων·
ὅς θ ̓ ἡμᾶς ἀνέχει τε τροφῇς τ ̓ ἀγανῇσιν ἀτάλλει
καὶ δύναται τόσον ὥστε βροτῶν αἰῶνα φανῆναι
ἀθανάτων βιότοιο μέρος τι βράχιστον ἐόντα,
εὐφήμου κελαδεινόν, ἐφήμερον ἀλλήκτοιο·

τοῖος ἔρως ἰδέας ἀψευδέας αἰὲν ἐόντων

ἐν φρεσὶν οὐκέτ ̓ ἔπειτ ̓ ἀφανιζομένας ἀναφαίνει·

καὶ τόνδ ̓ οὐκ ἀμέλει, οὐκ οἰστροδόνητος ἐφορμή,

Nor Man nor Boy,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy,

Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence in a season of calm weather

Though inland far we be,

Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither,

Can in a moment travel thither,

And see the Children sport upon the shore,

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

X.

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young Lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound!

We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May!

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