But soon as sin and sorrow came,
Thy flower receiv'd its gladdening name,
By Mercy's angel planted.
He took its azure from the sky :
It is the hue of constancy,
And constant should our faith be;
With that he mingled splendid gold,
To show that, if our faith we hold,
We shall be crown'd with glory.
Mary-if GOD within our bower,
Should plant this lovely little flower,
To tend it be our duty;
Then should there be a smile or tear,
So it be mutual, it will rear
And maturate its beauty.
TO A SPIDER, WHICH INHABITED A CELL.
In this wild, groping, dark, and drearie cove,
Of wife, of children, and of health bereft,
I hail'd thee, friendly Spider, who hadst wove
Thy mazy net on yonder mouldering raft:
Would that the cleanlie housemaid's foot had left
Thee tarrying here, nor took thy life away;
For thou, from out this seare old ceiling's cleft,
Came down each morn to hede my plaintive lay,
Joying like me to heare sweet musick play,
Wherewith I'd fein beguile the dull, dark, lingering day.
Spiders are extremely sensible of sound. Lehmann relates, that on observing one descend from the roof by its thread, while he was reading, he began to read aloud: the insect, alarmed at the noise, retreated upwards; he was silent, and it returned. On reading again, it again testified alarm and ascended its thread; nor was its apprehension of danger dispelled, until familiarized with sound, or conquered by the object of its pursuit.
NATURE'S MUSIC.
THE mountain's torrent, and the rill
That bubbles o'er its pebbly bed,
Make music which can soothe and still
The aching heart and weary head;
For Nature's simple minstrelsy
Proffers a thousand charms for me.
The ruthless gale that Autumn brings,
The lispings of the Summer breeze,
And Winter's wildest murmurings,
Have each a sovereign power to please,
And minister untold delight
To fancy in her vagrant flight.
When midnight tempests loudly ring,
And from their crazy thrones on high,
Around the moon's faint glimmering,
The stars are watching tremblingly,-
A calm amidst the storm I find,
And quiet in the wailing wind.
THE COLOURS OF FLOWERS.
WHAT White can match the Lily's virgin snows?
What red, the crimson of the blushing Rose?
What regal purple with the Scabious vie?
Or scarlet match the Poppy's flaming dye?
What yellow, lovely as the golden morn,
The Lupine and the Heliotrope adorn?
How mix'd a hue the streaky Tulip stains!
How curious the Carnation's marbled veins !
Ethereal blue the silky Violets wear!
And all unite their sweets in mingling air.
BEHOLD how lovely shine the gems of rain!
Like sparkling diamonds on the glittering plain;
How, hanging on the flowering shrubs they blaze,
And dart beneath the leaves their silver rays.
The plants refresh'd, their flowers to Heaven disclose,
As grateful for the good its hand bestows.
DRAWN from his refuge in some lonely elm
That age or injury has hollow'd deep,
Where on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the Winter, ventures forth
To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun,
The Squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play :
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,
Ascends the neighbouring beech, there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud,
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm,
And anger insignificantly fierce.
ALONG these blushing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace;
Throws out the snowdrop, and the crocus first;
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;
The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron-brown;
And lavish stock that scents the garden round:
From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed,
Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full ranunculas, of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays
Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd
To family, as flies the feather-dust,
The varied colours run: and, while they break
On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks,
With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes:
Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white.
Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils
Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;
Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask rose,
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
With hues on hues expression cannot paint,
The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.
WHICH VISITED THE WINDOWS OF MY PRISON EVERY DAY.
WELCOME, pretty little stranger!
Welcome to my lone retreat!
Here, secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat.
Robin! how I envy thee,
Happy child of liberty!
Now, though the tyrant Winter howling,
Shakes the world with tempests round;
Heaven above, with vapour scowling,
Frost imprisons all the ground:
Robin! what are these to thee?
Thou art bless'd with liberty.
Though yon fair majestic river,
Mourns in solid icy chains;
Though yon flocks and cattle shiver,
On the desolated plains;
Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.
Hunger never shall distress thee,
While my cates one crumb afford;
Colds nor cramps shall ne'er oppress thee;
Come and share my humble board.
Robin! come and live with me,
Live, yet still in liberty.
Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes,
Steal upon the blooming year,
Then, amid th' enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear ;
Then shall I too, join with thee,
Swell the hymn of liberty.
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