Just three days after, passing by In clearer light the moss-built cell The Primrose for a veil had spread Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent, Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. THAT way look, my Infant, lo! What a pretty baby-show! See the Kitten on the wall, Withered leaves-one-two-and three- Through the calm and frosty air In his wavering parachute. But the Kitten, how she starts, In her upward eye of fire! Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjuror; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart, Were her antics played in the Of a thousand standers-by, eye Clapping hands with shout and stare, For the plaudits of the crowd? Over wealthy in the treasure 'Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space, And this vale so blithe a place; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day: Some are sleeping; some in bands Travelled into distant lands: Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighborhood; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside. Where is he, that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colors bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Hung-head pointing towards the ground Fluttered, perched, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin! Prettiest Tumbler ever seen! Light of heart and light of limb; What is won become of Him? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill, Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell Furnishes to every creature; Whatsoe'er we feel and know Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! Will walk through life in such a way I would fare like that or this, Keep the sprightly soul awake, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought, Spite of care, and spite of grief, 1804 |