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Gaily from thy mother-stalk
O give me, from this heartless scene released, Wert thou danced and wafted high
To hear our old musician, blind and gray Soon on this unshelter'd walk
(Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kissid), Flung to fade, to rot and die.
His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,
The while I dance amid the tedded hay
With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light TE AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE Or lies the purple evening on the bay THEATRE.
Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide
Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow,
That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, Fearful saw his pleading look,
And the gust pelting on the out-house shed
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow,
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Soft the glances of the youth,
Ballad of shipwreck'd sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true love buried in the sands! But no sound like simple truth,
Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures But no true love in his eye.
Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of Nature utter; birds or trees, Lothing thy polluted lot,
Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves,
Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves. Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Thou hast felt that vice is woe : With a musing melancholy
Inly arm’d, go, Maiden! go.
Firm thy steps, 0 Melancholy!
Is the memory of past folly.
While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn,
Or the bean-field's odorous blooms :
THE tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
Show summer gone, eré come. The foxglove tall
Soon with renovated wing
Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring,
And embathe in heavenly light.
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM.
In the cool morning twilight, early waked
By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Nor cold, nor stern, my soul ! yet I detest
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,
Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, In mtricacies of laborious song.
Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,
Making a quiet image of disquiet
There, in that bower where first she own'd her love But when the long-breathed singer's uptrill'd strain And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.
From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd Hark the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate !
Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer * One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the My lady eyes some maid of humbler state,
Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve
inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest,
the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergist Prattles accordant scandal in her ear.
mein nicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden
The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
You made us grow devouter!
How can we do without her! Besides, what vex'd us worse, we knew, They have no need of such as you
In the place where you were going; This World has angels all too few,
And Heaven is overflowing !
SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY
TO A LADY.
WITH FALCONER'S “SHIPWRECK."
WRITTEN IN GERMANY.
Au! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice ; Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice; Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell; Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strew'd,
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell; Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! Now mounts, now totters on the Tempest's wings,
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging Bark! Cling to the shrouds !” In vain! The breakers
roarDeath shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
No classic roamer, but a shipwreck'd man ! Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the
If I had but two little wings,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
And I stay here.
The world is all one's own.
All, all alone.
For though my sleep be gone, Yet, while 't is dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.
WRITTEN IN GERMANY.
Of Gratitude! Remembrances of Friend,
Or absent or no more! Shades of the Past, Which Love makes Substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last ! I send with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship form'd' this work to
thee : And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.
'Tis sweet to him, who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day
Sincere, affectionate, and gay,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.
Who having long been doom'd to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back,
Before the door of his own home? Home-sickness is a wasting pang ;
This feel I hourly more and more : There's Healing only in thy wings,
Thou Breeze that playest on Albion's shore !
TO A YOUNG LADY.
ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.
Why need I say, Louisa dear!
A lovely convalescent;
And feverish heat incessant. She sunny Showers, the dappled Sky, The little Birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing, Will better welcome you than I
With their sweet influencing.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the
Dove, The Linnet and Thrush, say, “ I love and I love!" In the winter they 're silent—the wind is so strong, What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm
weather, And singing, and loving--all come back together
How warm this woodland wild Recess!
Love surely hath been breathing here,
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks, with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near.
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On seaward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray,
And high o'erhead the sky-lark shrills
Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,
No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name; yet why
That asking look ? that yearning sigh ? That sense of promise every where?'
Beloved! flew your spirit by ? As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child
I met, I loved you, maiden mild ! As whom I long had loved before
So deeply, had I been beguiled. You stood before me like a thought,
A dream remember'd in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did see m To tell me, Love within you wrought
O Greta, dear domestic stream!
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore,
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in Clamor's hour.
THE HAPPY HUSBAND.
Of transient joys, that ask no sting,
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing, And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again.
Of notes, that eddy in the flow
Fashion's pining sons and daughters,
That seek the crowd they seem to fly, Trembling they approach thy waters;
And what cares Nature, if they die ? Me a thousand hopes and pleasures,
A thousand recollections bland, Thoughts sublime, and stately measures Revisit on thy echoing strand:
Dreams (the soul herself forsaking),
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc!
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form'
Risest from forth thy silent Sea of Pines,
How silently! Around thee and above O ye hopes, that stir within me,
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer Cupid, if storying legends* tell aright,
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, With these the magic dews, which evening brings, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings: Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy : Each tender pledge of sacred faith he join'd,
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Each gentler pleasure of the unspotted mind
Into the mighty vision passing--there Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow. As in her natural form, swell’d vast to Heaven! And Hope, the blameless parasite of woe. The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise, The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs;
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Sweet sounds transpired, as when th'enamour'd dove Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Pours the soft murm’ring of responsive love.
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale!
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink :
Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, 0 wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, Warmeth the inner frame.
From dark and icy caverns call'd
For ever shatter'd and the same for ever?
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents And who commanded (and the silence came), rush down its sides, and within a few paces of the Glaciers, Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ? the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its “flowers of loveliest blue.”
Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amainHast thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, In ms steep course ? So long he seems to pause
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven * Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem
Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the Sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?-
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds Et quot Acidalius gaudia Cestus habet.
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost
My native land!
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Blame thou not lightly ; nor will I profane,
That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
Mankind to be one mighty Family,
Himself our Father, and the World our Home.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST CF
SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth,
Nipp'd by Consumption 'mid untimely charms ?
Or to Bristowa's Bard,* the wondrous boy!
Till Disappointment came, and pelting wrong
Beat it 10 earth? or with indignant grief
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope,
Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud ?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine,
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize
The attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE..
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leaved
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light Thou delegated Deity of Earth,
Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from you bean-field! and the world so
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
And that simplest Lute,
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lo.',