A holy sadness shared.

The Eclipse of the Sun, 1820    William Wordsworth

High on her speculative Tower Stood Science waiting for the Hour When Sol was destined to endure That darkening of his radiant face Which Superstition strove to chase, Erewhile, with rites impure.   Afloat beneath Italian skies, Through regions fair as Paradise We gaily passed,--till Nature wrought A silent and unlooked-for change, That checked the desultory range Of joy and sprightly thought.   Where'er was dipped the toiling oar, The waves danced round us as before, As lightly, though of altered hue; Mid recent coolness, such as falls At noon-tide from umbrageous walls That screen the morning dew.   No vapour stretched its wings; no cloud Cast far or near a murky shroud; The sky an azure field displayed; 'Twas sunlight sheathed and gently charmed, Of all its sparkling rays disarmed, And as in slumber laid:--   Or something night and day between, Like moonshine--but the hue was green; Still moonshine, without shadow, spread On jutting rock, and curvèd shore, Where gazed the Peasant from his door, And on the mountain's head.   It tinged the Julian steeps--it lay, Lugano! on thy ample bay; The solemnizing veil was drawn O'er Villas, Terraces, and Towers, To Albogasio's olive bowers, Porlezza's verdant lawn.   But Fancy, with the speed of fire, Hath fled to Milan's loftiest spire, And there alights 'mid that aërial host Of figures human and divine, White as the snows of Apennine Indúrated by frost.   Awe-stricken she beholds the array That guards the Temple night and day; Angels she sees that might from Heaven have flown, And Virgin Saints--who not in vain Have striven by purity to gain The beatific crown;   Sees long-drawn files, concentric rings Each narrowing above each;--the wings-- The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips, The starry zone of sovereign height, All steeped in this portentious light! All suffering dim eclipse!   Thus after Man had fallen, (if aught These perishable spheres have wrought May with that issue be compared) Throngs of celestial visages, Darkening like water in the breeze, A holy sadness shared.   Lo! while I speak, the labouring Sun His glad deliverance has begun: The cypress waves its sombre plume More cheerily; and Town and Tower, The vineyard and the Olive bower, Their lustre re-assume!   O ye, who guard and grace my Home While in far-distant Lands we roam, Was such a vision given to you? Or, while we looked with favoured eyes, Did sullen mist hide lake and skies And mountains from your view?   I ask in vain--and know far less If sickness, sorrow, or distress Have spared my Dwelling to this hour: Sad blindness! but ordained to prove Our Faith in Heaven's unfailing love And all-controlling Power.