« AnteriorContinuar »
Her skin was of Egyptian brown:
Advancing, forth she stretched her hand
Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live
As might from India's farthest plain
Assist me to detain
The lovely Fugitive: Check with thy notes the impulse which, betrayed By her sweet farewell looks, I longed to aid. Here let me gaze enrapt upon that eye, The impregnable and awe-inspiring fort Of contemplation, the calm port By reason fenced from winds that sigh Among the restless sails of vanity. But if no wish be hers that we should part, A humbler bliss would satisfy my heart.
Where all things are so fair, Enough by her dear side to breathe the air
Of this Elysian weather; And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy Shade upon the sunshine lying
Faint and somewhat pensively;
With its upright living tree
I left her, and pursued my way ;
The other wore a rimless crown
Nor less the joy with many a glance
Or watch, with mutual teaching,
Adown a rocky maze;
Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit
ween, To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level
They dart across my path—but lo,
BEGGARS. She had a tall man's height or more ; Her face from summer's noontide heat No bonnet shaded, but she wore A mantle, to her very feet Descending with a graceful flow, And on her head a cap as ite as new-fallen snow,
“She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”— “ Hush, boys! you ’re telling me a lie; It was your Mother, as I say !" And, in the twinkling of an eye, “ Come ! come !" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew!
SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING,
COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER.
WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys ?
Yet are they here the same unbroken knot
Men, women, children, yea the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!
That on their Gipsy-faces falls,
Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. -Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone,
while I Have been a traveller under open sky,
Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left I find them here!
Outshining like a visible God
The glorious path in which he trod. And now, ascending, after one dark hour And one night's diminution of her power,
Behold the mighty Moon ! this way
She looks as if at them—but they Regard not her :-oh better wrong and strife (By nature transient) than this torpid life;
Life which the very stars reprove
As on their silent tasks they move !
And breeding suffer them to be ;
They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed As with the breath of one sweet flower,A time to overrule the power Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, The most familiar bane of life Since parting Innocence bequeathed Mortality to Earth! Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky—the brooks ran clear; The lambs from rock to rock were bounding; With songs the budded groves resounding; And to my heart are still endeared The thoughts with which it then was cheered ; The faith which saw that gladsome pair Walk through the fire with unsinged hair. Or, if such faith must needs deceiveThen, Spirits of beauty and of grace, Associates in that eager chase ; Ye, who within the blameless mind Your favourite seat of empire find Kind Spirits ! may we not believe That they, so happy and so fair Through your sweet influence, and the care Of pitying Heaven, at least were free From touch of deadly injury? Destined, whate'er their earthly doom, For mercy and immortal bloom !
WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
And she had made a pipe of straw,