Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess, It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father, Across my chest there lay a weight so warm ! Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were! I gazed with stifled breath and feared to stir it, No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit! And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, Thy own dear self in our own quiet home; There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me: 'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb, And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping. I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a weeping! * See Note. 1798-9. SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL. WRITTEN IN GERMANY. IF I had but two little wings, But thoughts like these are idle things, But in my sleep to you I fly : I'm always with you in my sleep! But then one wakes, and where am I? Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: For though my sleep be gone, 1798-9. ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE, AFTER LONG ABSENCE, UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NOT TO BATHE. GOD be with thee, gladsome Ocean! Dissuading spake the mild physician, "Those briny waves for thee are death!" But my soul fulfilled her mission, And lo! I breathe untroubled breath! Fashion's pining sons and daughters, Me a thousand hopes and pleasures, Dreams, (the soul herself forsaking,) A blessed shadow of this Earth! O ye hopes, that stir within me, God is with me, God is in me! I cannot die, if Life be Love. 1801. THE KEEPSAKE. THE tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil, tall, Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, lark, Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose (In vain the darling of successful love) That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not! * And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she owned her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy stretched The silk upon the frame, and worked her name Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-notHer own dear name, with her own auburn hair! That forced to wander till sweet spring return, * One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmein nicht) and, I believe, in Denmark and Sweden. |