THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chant More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago:

TO SLEEP.

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and

pure sky;

I thought of all by turns, and yet I lie Sleepless! and soon the small birds' mel

odies

Must hear, first uttered from my orchard

trees;

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more,

I lay,

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:

So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's

wealth?

Come, blessed barrier between day and day,

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE EOLIAN HARP. My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it

is

To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown With white-flowered jasmin, and the broadleaved myrtle,

(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)

And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,

Slow saddening round, and mark the star

of eve

Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the
world so hush'd!

The stilly murmur of the distant sea
Tells us of silence.

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 lover,

It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs

And thus, my love! as on the midway slope

Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold

The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,

And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncalled and undetained,

And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute!

And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed,

strings

Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
Where melodies round honey-dropping
flowers,

Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing!

O! the one life within us and abroad,

Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,

A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,

Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere!

Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled; Where the breeze warbles, and the mute

still air

Is Music slumbering on her instrument!

sweeps,

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts

Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek daughter in the family of Christ! Well hast thou said and holily dispraised These shapings of the unregenerate mind; Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of Him, The Incomprehensible! save when with awe I praise Him, and with faith that inly feels:

Who with His saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man, Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honored

Maid!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

THE FAIRY QUEEN.
COME, follow, follow me-
You, fairy elves that be,
Which circle on the green-

Come, follow Mab, your queen! Hand in hand let's dance around, For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest,
Unheard and unespied,
Through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep;

There we pinch their arms and thighs-
None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duly she is paid;
For we use, before we go,
To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroom's head
Our tablecloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat

Is manchet, which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups, fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snails,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that's wondrous nice.
51

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.

AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM.

Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sed juvat hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.-MART.

CANTO I.

803

WHAT dire offence from amorous causes springs,

What mighty contests rise from trivial things,

I sing This verse to Caryl, muse! is due ; This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view; Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, If she inspire, and he approve my lays.

Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel

A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,

Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwell such mighty rage?
Sol through white curtains shot a timor-

ous ray,

And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day.

Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,

And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake: Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,

And the press'd watch returned a silver sound.

Belinda still her downy pillow prestHer guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest;

'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head:

A youth more glittering than a birthnight beau

(That e'en in slumber caused her cheek to glow),

Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay, And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to

say:

"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd

care

Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch'd thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest have

taught,