« ForrigeFortsæt »
Thus sad Tithonus changed his mighty trunk,
But now the lineage of this pigmy band, Their latent life, and the directing hand, I shall unfold. The workman shapes his wood Till, to the human mould, he has subdued His oak-born progeny; with strappings meet Arms to the shoulders binds, to the legs, feet; Limb suits to limb, and joint to joint inserts : Then fits small blocks, through which his hand exerts The easy weights. Thus, dexterous he employs The secret motion, and affords the voice. And now complete, each little puppet shews His lines of deep-trenched thought, and chisselled brows. They leap, they swing, act all their volant airs, And utter sounds compressed, and words, not theirs.
Thou mountain stream, whose early torrent-course
a drear and distant region seen, Windest thy downward way with slacken'd force,
As with the journey thou had'st wearied been ;
And all enamourld of these margins green,
Around the hazel banks that o'er thee lean :
(Forgetful of life's dark and troublous hour)
Through scenes where Fancy frames her fairy bower,
But time and tide wait not--and I like thee,
ON A MOONLIGHT VIEW OF HIGHLAND SCENERY.
How sweet, my friend, at this lone hour, to scale
These moonlight mountain cliffs, and view below
With all its shadowy isles ;-to list alone
Falls on the ear that deep and nameless tone,
Made of all mingling sounds,—30 like the moan
Thus look'd the infant world ere yet the groan
TO THE SAME.
THEY call'd us brother bards !--The same blue streams
Witness'd our youthful sports our tears have sprung
And still, as riper years and judgment came,
Our tastes, our friendships, and our faith the same :
Which, with the tide of feeling, swells or falls,
Shall charm tumultuous camps and courtly halls,
While I shall chant my little madrigals
THE DEPARTURE OF AUTUMN.
3. But see, the morn approaching, a vessel heaves in sight, The waves are sinking once again, the breezes they are light, She sees our waving signal, and swiftly beareth down, The red cross is her flag, and her country is our own; With pleasure then, ye landsmen! our dangers we recall, For we know Affection pour’d her prayers, and mercy hear them all!
TO THE MEMORY OF DR JOHN LEYDEN.
WHERE sleep the brave on Java's strand,
When triumph's tale is westward borne,