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wild,

      With complex interests weaving human fates,

      Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,

      Evolve the process of eternal good.

      And what if some rebellious, o’er dark realms 60

      Arrogate power? yet these train up to God,

      And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day,

      Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom.

      As ere from Lieule-Oaive’s vapoury head

      The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun 65

      Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows,

      While yet the stern and solitary Night

      Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn

      With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam.

      Guiding his course or by Niemi lake 70

      Or Balda Zhiok, or the mossy stone

      Of Solfar-kapper, while the snowy blast

      Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge,

      Making the poor babe at its mother’s back

      Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while 75

      Wins gentle solace as with upward eye

      He marks the streamy banners of the North,

      Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join

      Who there in floating robes of rosy light

      Dance sportively. For Fancy is the power 80

      That first unsensualises the dark mind,

      Giving it new delights; and bids it swell

      With wild activity; and peopling air,

      By obscure fears of Beings invisible,

      Emancipates it from the grosser thrall 85

      Of the present impulse, teaching Self-control,

      Till Superstition with unconscious hand

      Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain,

      Nor yet without permitted power impressed,

      I deem those legends terrible, with which 90

      The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng:

      Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan

      O’er slaughter’d infants, or that Giant Bird

      Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noise

      Is Tempest, when the unutterable Shape 95

      Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters once

      That shriek, which never murderer heard, and lived.

      Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance

      Pierces the untravelled realms of Ocean’s bed

      Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave 100

      By misshaped prodigies beleaguered, such

      As Earth ne’er bred, nor Air, nor the upper Sea:

      Where dwells the Fury Form, whose unheard name

      With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath,

      And lips half-opening with the dread of sound, 105

      Unsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear

      Lest haply ‘scaping on some treacherous blast

      The fateful word let slip the Elements

      And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,

      Arm’d with Torngarsuck’s power, the Spirit of Good, 110

      Forces to unchain the foodful progeny

      Of the Ocean stream; — thence thro’ the realm of Souls,

      Where live the Innocent, as far from cares

      As from the storms and overwhelming waves

      That tumble on the surface of the Deep, 115

      Returns with far-heard pant, hotly pursued

      By the fierce Warders of the Sea, once more,

      Ere by the frost foreclosed, to repossess

      His fleshly mansion, that had staid the while

      In the dark tent within a cow’ring group 120

      Untenanted. — Wild phantasies! yet wise,

      On the victorious goodness of high God

      Teaching reliance, and medicinal hope,

      Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly Truth

      With gradual steps, winning her difficult way, 125

      Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.

      If there be Beings of higher class than Man,

      I deem no nobler province they possess,

      Than by disposal of apt circumstance

      To rear up kingdoms: and the deeds they prompt, 130

      Distinguishing from mortal agency,

      They choose their human ministers from such states

      As still the Epic song half fears to name,

      Repelled from all the minstrelsies that strike

      The palace-roof and soothe the monarch’s pride. 135

      And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if words

      Witnessed by answering deeds may claim our faith)

      Held commune with that warrior-maid of France

      Who scourged the Invader. From her infant days,

      With Wisdom, mother of retired thoughts, 140

      Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to mark

      The good and evil thing, in human lore

      Undisciplined. For lowly was her birth,

      And Heaven had doomed her early years to toil

      That pure from Tyranny’s least deed, herself 145

      Unfeared by Fellow-natures, she might wait

      On the poor labouring man with kindly looks,

      And minister refreshment to the tired

      Way-wanderer, when along the rough-hewn bench

      The sweltry man had stretched him, and aloft 150

      Vacantly watched the rudely-pictured board

      Which on the Mulberry-bough with welcome creak

      Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the Maid

      Learnt more than Schools could teach: Man’s shifting mind,

      His vices and his sorrows! And full oft 155

      At tales of cruel wrong and strange distress

      Had wept and shivered. To the tottering Eld

      Still as a daughter would she run: she placed

      His cold limbs at the sunny door, and loved

      To hear him story, in his garrulous sort, 160

      Of his eventful years, all come and gone.

      So twenty seasons past. The Virgin’s form,

      Active and tall, nor Sloth nor Luxury

      Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad,

      Her flexile eyebrows wildly haired and low, 165

      And her full eye, now bright, now unillumed,

      Spake more than Woman’s thought; and all her face

      Was moulded to such features as declared

      That Pity there had oft and strongly worked,

      And

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