Where, in his bed of wool and matted leaves, And perks [1] his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud, Cowper. 181.-INVITATION TO BIRDS. Ye gentle warblers! hither fly, Here freely hop from spray to spray, And weave the mossy nest; Amid this cool transparent rill, That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, No school-boy rude, to mischief prone, [1] Perks-raises, tosses up. Hither the vocal thrush repairs, The goldfinch dreads no slimy snare Sweet nightingale! oh quit thy haunt, Let not the harmless redbreast fear, My trees for you, ye artless tribe, For you these cherries I protect, To you these plums belong ; Sweet is the fruit that you have peck'd, But sweeter far your song. Graves. 182.-CONTENTMENT. See the soft, green willow springing, O'er the moist and reedy grass. Long ere winter blasts are fled, Though the rudest hand assail her, But when showers and breezes hail her, Keble. 183. THE ARAB TO HIS FAVOURITE STEED.[2] My beautiful! by, my beautiful! that standest meekly With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye, Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed, I may not mount on thee again—thouʼrt sold, my Arab steed! Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the breezy wind . The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind: [1] The Catkin-see note [1], p. 3. [2] These lines represent the grief of an Arab, who had been induced by poverty to sell his favourite steed. The stranger hath thy bridle-rein-thy master hath his gold Fleet-limb'd and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold! Farewell! those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home ; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare, Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's care! The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be: Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, Thy master's house-from all of these my exil'd one must fly; Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet. Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing bright; Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; Y And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, Then must I, starting, wake to feel,-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Ah! rudely, then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side: And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant pain, Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each starting vein. Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but no, it cannot be Thou art so swift, yet easy curb'd; so gentle, yet so free: And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return? Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do, When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanish'd from his view? When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and, through the gathering tears, Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage [1] appears; [1] Mirage-a deception of the sight, by which objects on the earth or water appear raised into the air. |