'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet To hear the Sabbath-bell, 'Tis sweet to hear them both at once, His limbs along the moss, his head With shut-up senses, Edward lay: And he had passed a restless night, And talked as 'twere by stealth. "The sun peeps through the close thick leaves, See, dearest Ellen! see! 'Tis in the leaves, a little sun, No bigger than your ee; "A tiny sun, and it has got A perfect glory too; Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, Make up a glory, gay and bright, Round that small orb, so blue." And then they argued of those rays, Says this, "they're mostly green;" says that, They're amber-like to me." So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts Were troubling Edward's rest; But soon they heard his hard quick pants, "A mother too!" these self-same words His face was drawn back on itself, Both groaned at once, for both knew well He sat upright; and ere the dream "O God, forgive me! (he exclaimed) I have torn out her heart." Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after. 1805-6 Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum, and To-morrow! and To-morrow! To-morrow! - MELANCHOLY.* A FRAGMENT. STRETCH'D on a mouldered Abbey's broadest wall, The fern was press'd beneath her hair, The dark green adder's tongue † was there; That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook, And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought. 1794. COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS AND IN ABSENCE.+ DIM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, See Note. † A botanical mistake The plant which the poet here describes is called the Hart's Tongue See Note. While finely-flushing float her kisses meek, 1796. THE VISIT OF THE GODS. IMITATED FROM SCHILLER. NEVER, believe me, Appear the Immortals, Never alone: Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler, Terrestrial hall! How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial quire? Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance, Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul! O give me the nectar! O fill me the bowl! Give him the nectar! Pour out for the poet, Hebe! pour free! Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, That Styx the detested no more he may view, The wine of the Immortals Forbids me to die! A CHRISTMAS CAROL. I. THE shepherds went their hasty way, And now they checked their eager tread, II. They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night! While sweeter than a mother's song, Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth. Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth. 1798. |