Written at the request of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., and in "Not without heavy grief of heart did he " Pause, courteous spirit!-Balbi supplicates Lines composed at Grasmere during a walk, one evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly Book VI.-The Churchyard among the Mountains WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So be it when I shall grow old, The child is father of the man ; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. TO A BUTTERFLY. STAY near me-do not take thy flight! Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart ! Dead times revivo in thee: Thou bring'et, gay creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart, My father's family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when in our childish plays, Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey:-with leaps and springs But she, God love her! fear'd to brush FORESIGHT, OR THE CHARGE OF A CHILD TO HIS YOUNGER COMPANION. THAT is work of waste and ruin- B Look at it the flower is small, Pull the primrose, sister Anne! -Here are daisies, take your fill! Make your bed, and make your bower; Primroses, the Spring may love them--- Wither'd on the ground must lie; Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower! CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD. LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild; Mock-chastisement and partnership in play. Not less if unattended and alone, Than when both young and old sit gather'd round And take delight in its activity, Even so this happy creature of herself Is all-sufficient solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couch'd; Unthought-of, unexpected as the stir Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow flowers; The many-colour'd images impress'd Upon the bosom of a placid lake. |