The Robin, WILD Redbreast! hadst thou at Jemima's lip in the Woods Pecked, as at mine, thus boldly, Love might say, of Rydal A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip
Its glistening dews; but hallowed is the clay Which the Muse warms; and I, whose head is grey, Am not unworthy of thy fellowship;
Nor could I let one thought-one motion-slip That might thy sylvan confidence betray. For are we not all His without whose care Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground? Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air, And rolls the planets through the blue profound; Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear To trust a Poet in still musings bound.
Ministering WHEN Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle spirits Like a Form Sculptured on a monument
Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile The rigid features of a transient smile, Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent, Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment From his loved home, and from heroic toil. And trust that spiritual Creatures round us move, Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal; Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove To fettered wretchedness that no Bastille Is deep enough to exclude the light of love, Though man for brother man has ceased to feel.
WHILE Anna's peers and early playmates tread, Anna's Owl In freedom, mountain-turf and river's marge;
Or float with music in the festal barge;
Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led; Her doom it is to press a weary bed-
Till oft her guardian Angel, to some charge More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large, And friends too rarely prop the languid head. Yet, helped by Genius-untired comforter, The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out To ivied castles and to moonlight skies, Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout; Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.
Nor the whole warbling grove in concert heard To the When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill Cuckoo Like the first summons, Cuckoo! of thy bill, With its twin notes inseparably paired.
The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. The lordly eagle-race through hostile search May perish; time may come when never more The wilderness shall hear the lion roar;
But, long as cock shall crow from household perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing, And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring!
Lesbia's "WAIT, prithee, wait!" this answer Lesbia threw Dove Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed. Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed; But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew, Whence the poor unregarded Favorite, true To old affections, had been heard to plead With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain Of harmony!-a shriek of terror, pain, And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite Pounced, and the Dove, which from its ruth- less beak
She could not rescue, perished in her sight!
The Infant UNQUIET Childhood here by special grace Mary Monk- Forgets her nature, opening like a flower house That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power
In painful struggles. Months each other chase, And nought untunes that Infant's voice; no trace Of fretful temper sullies her pure cheek; Prompt, lively, self sufficing, yet so meek That one enrapt with gazing on her face (Which even the placid innocence of death Could scarcely make more placid, heaven more bright)
Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith, The Virgin, as she shone with kindred light; A nursling couched upon her mother's knee, Beneath some shady palm of Galilee.
SUCH age how beautiful! O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet❜st my sight,
When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, And head that droops because the soul is meek, Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare; That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb From desolation toward the genial prime; Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, And filling more and more with crystal light As pensive Evening deepens into night.
To Lady F-, in her Seventieth year
ROTHA, my Spiritual Child! this head was grey To Rotha When at the sacred font for thee I stood;
Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood,
And shalt become thy own sufficient stay: Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan! was the day For steadfast hope the contract to fulfil; Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still, Embodied in the music of this Lay,
Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain Stream
Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's ear After her throes, this Stream of name more dear Since thou dost bear it,- -a memorial theme For others; for thy future self, a spell To summon fancies out of Time's dark cell.
A Grave- " MISERRIMUS!" and neither name nor date, stone in the Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone; cloisters of Nought but that word assigned to the unknown, Cathedral That solitary word—to separate
From all, and cast a cloud around the fate Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one, Who chose his epitaph?-Himself alone Could thus have dared the grave to agitate, And claim, among the dead, this awful crown; Nor doubt that He marked also for his own Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place, That every foot might fall with heavier tread, Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass Softly!-To save the contrite, Jesus bled.
Roman WHILE poring Antiquarians search the ground Antiquities Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer, at Bishop- Takes fire :-The men that have been reappear; stone Romans for travel girt, for business gowned; And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear, As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins, Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil : Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness the wolf, whose suckling Twins The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.
« AnteriorContinuar » |