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And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire;
Ah! quiet dell ! dear Cot, and mount sublime ! I was constrained to quit you.
Was it right, While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled, That I should dream away the entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart With feelings all too delicate for use ? Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: And he that works me good with unmoved face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother man ! Yet even this, this cold beneficence, Praise, praise it, O my soul ! oft as thou scann'st The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe ! Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies ! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of science, freedom, and the truth in Christ.
Yet oft when after honourable toil
such ! It might be so—but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come!
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE
FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy russet
stem Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering
Month Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon
thee With blue voluptuous eye,) alas, poor Flower! These are but flatteries of the faithless year. Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
E'en now the keen North-East is on its way.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
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 Snatched from yon bean-field ! and the world so
hushed ! The stilly murmur of the distant sea Tells us of silence.
And that simplest lute Placed lengthways in the clasping casement,
hark ! How by the desultory breeze caressed, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
And thus, my love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eyelids 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 fitting 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