On which it stood; great changes have been | Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention.
In all the neighbourhood;-yet the Oak is
That grew beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head
Ghyll.
If stately passions in me burn,
And one chance look to Thee should turn,
I drink out of an humbler urn
A lowlier pleasure;
The homely sympathy that heeds
The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs
Of hearts at leisure.
When, smitten by the morning-ray,
I see thee rise alert and gay,
Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play
With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sinkst, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast
Of careful sadness.
And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,
To thee am owing;
An instinct call it, a blind sense;
A happy, genial influence,
Coming one knows not how nor whence,
Nor whither going.
Child of the Year! that round dost run
Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
And cheerful when the day's begun
As morning Leveret,
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;
Dear shalt thou be to future men
As in old time;-thou not in vain
Art Nature's Favorite.
WITH little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,
Which Love makes for thee!
Oft do I sit by thee at ease,
And weave a web of similies,
Loose types of Things through all degrees,
Thoughts of thy raising:
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing,
A Nun demure, of lowly port,
Or sprightly Maiden, of Love's Court,
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
A Queen in crown of rubies drest,
A Starveling in a scanty vest,
Are all, as seem to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.
A little Cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next-and instantly
The freak is over,
The shape will vanish, and behold!
A silver Shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some Faery bold
In fight to cover.
I see thee glittering from afar ;-
And then thou art a pretty Star,
Not quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee!
Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seemst to rest;-
May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!
Sweet Flower! for by that name at last,
When all my reveries are past,
I call thee, and to that cleave fast,
Sweet silent Creature!
That breath'st with me in sun and air,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
My heart with gladness, and a share
Of thy meek nature!
BRIGHT Flower, whose home is every where!
A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care,
And all the long year through the heir
Of joy or sorrow,
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity,
Given to no other Flower I see
The forest thorough!
Is it that Man is soon deprest?
A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest,
Does little on his memory rest,
And full of hope day followed day
While that stout Ship at anchor lay
Beside the shores of Wight;
The May had then made all things green,
And, floating there in pomp serene,
That Ship was goodly to be seen
His pride and his delight!
Yet then, when called ashore, he sought
The tender peace of rural thought;
In more than happy mood
To your abodes, bright Daisy-flowers!
He then would steal at leisure-hours
And loved you glittering in your bowers,
A starry multitude.
But hark the word!--the Ship is gone;-
From her long course returns:-anon
Sets sail:--in season due
Once more on English earth they stand:
But, when a third time from the land
They parted, sorrow was at hand
For Him and for his Crew.
Ill-fated Vessel!-ghastly shock !—
At length delivered from the rock
The deep she hath regained;
And through the stormy night they steer,
Labouring for life, in hope and fear,
Towards a safer shore-how near,
And Thou wouldst teach him how to find Yet not to be attained!
A shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind
And every season?
Thou wanderest the wide world about,
Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt,
With friends to greet thee, or without,
Yet pleased and willing;
Silence! the brave Commander cried;
To that calm word a shriek replied,
It was the last death-shriek.
—A few appear by morning-light,
Preserved upon the tall mast's height;
Oft in my soul I see that sight;
But one dear remnant of the night—
For him in vain I seek.
Six weeks beneath the moving sea
He lay in slumber quietly;
Unforced by wind or wave
To quit the Ship for which he died,
(All claims of duty satisfied)
And there they found him at her side;
And bore him to the grave..
Vain service! yet not vainly done For this, if other end were none, That he, who had been cast Upon a way of life unmeet
For such a gentle soul and sweet, Should find an undisturbed retreat Near what he loved, at last;
That neighbourhood of grove and field
To Him a resting-place should yield,
A meek man and a brave!
The birds shall sing and ocean make
A mournful murmur for his sake;
And Thou, sweet Flower,shalt sleep and wake
Upon his senseless grave!
PANSIES, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are Violets,
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.
Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;
Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little flower!-I'll make a stir
Like a great Astronomer.
Modest, yet withal an Elf
Bold, and lavish of thyself,
Since we needs must first have met
I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet
"Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.
Ere a leaf is on a bush,
In the time before the Trush
Has a thought about it's nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;
Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth, or none.
All about with full-blown flowers, Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold! With the proudest Thou art there, Mantling in the tiny square.
Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think, I read a book
Only read perhaps by me;
Yet I long could overlook
Thy bright coronet and Thee,
And thy arch and wily ways,
And thy store of other praise.
Blithe of heart, from week to week
Thou dost play at hide-and-seek;
While the patient Primrose sits
Like a Beggar in the cold,
Thou, a Flower of wiser wits,
Slipst into thy shelter'd hold;
Bright as any of the train
When ye all are out again.
Thou art not beyond the moon,
But a thing beneath our shoon;
Let, as old Magellan did,
Others roam about the sea;
Build who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four
Who will love my little Flower.
THE WANDERING JEW'S SONG.
THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.
Though, as if with eagle-pinion, O'er the rocks the Chamois roam, Yet he has some small dominion Where he feels himself at home.
If on windy days the Raven Gambol like a dancing skiff, Not the less he loves his haven In the bosom of the cliff.
Though the Sea-horse in the Ocean
Own no dear domestic cave;
Yet he slumbers without motion
On the calm and silent wave.
Day and night my toils redouble!
Never nearer to the goal;
Never-never does the trouble
Of the Wanderer leave my soul.
On being reminded that she was a month old, on that day.
HAST thou then survived,
Mild offspring of infirm humanity,
Meek Infant! among all forlornest things
The most forlorn, one life of that bright Star,
The second glory of the heavens?—Thou
hast;
Already hast survived that great decay; That transformation through the wide earth felt,
And by all nations. In that Being's sight
From whom the Race of human kind proceed,
A thousand years are but as yesterday;
And one day's narrow circuit is to him
No less capacious than a thousand years.
But what is time? What outward glory?
neither
A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend
Through heaven's eternal year.-Yet hail
to Thee,
Frail feeble Monthling!-by that name,
methinks,
Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Not idly. Hadst thou been of Indian birth,
Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,
And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed
On the blank plains, the coldness of the
night,
Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Of beauty, by the changing Moon adorned,
Would, with imperious admonition, then
Have scored thine age, and punctually timed
Thine infant history, on the mind of those
Who might have wandered with thee.—
Mother's love,
Nor less than Mother's love in other breasts,
Will,among us warm clad and warmly housed,
Do for thee what the finger of the heavens
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest Coevals, amid wilds
Where Fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or refine;
And the maternal sympathy itself,
Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.
Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours!
Even now, to solemnize thy helpless state,
And to enliven in the mind's regard
Thy passing beauty, parallels have risen,
Resemblances or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a Father's thoughts,
Thee and thy Mate and Sister of the sky.
And first; thy sinless progress; through
a world
By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed, Apt likeness bears to hers through gathered clouds
Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering ofttimes their reluctant gloom.
Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain:
But thou, how leisurely thou filist thy horn | With a tiger-leap half way
With brightness!-leaving her to post along
And range about-disquieted in change,
And still impatient of the shape she wears.
Once up, once down the hill, one journey,
Babe,
That will suffice thee; and it seems that now
Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task
is thine;
Thou travell'st so contentedly, and sleepst
In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon
Hath this conception grateful to behold,
Changed countenance, like an object sullied
By breathing mist; and thine appears to be
A mournful labour, while to her is given
Hope-and a renovation without end,
That smile forbids the thought;-for on
thy face
Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn, To shoot, and circulate ;-smiles have there been seen,
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 eye
Of a thousand Standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the Crowd?
Over-happy to be proud,
Over-wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
"Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet:
Here, for neither Babe or me,
Other Play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings,
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers
Thy loneliness; or shall those smiles be│(In the sun or under shade
Feelers of love,-put forth as if to explore
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage intricate and dim?
Such are they,—and the same are tokens,
signs,
Which, when the appointed season hath
arrived,
Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt;
And Reason's god-like Power be proud to own.
Upon bough of 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
Travell'd into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING All have laid their mirth aside.
THAT way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the Kitten on the Wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Wither'd leaves-one-- two-and three,
From the lofty Elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf convey'd
Sylph or Faery hither tending,-
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one and then it's fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop; and there are none-
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out,
Hung with head towards the ground,
Flutter'd, perch'd, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin,
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen,
Light of heart, and light of limb,
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in it's prime,
They are sober'd by this time
If you look to vale or hill,
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring Rill;
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitters hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
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