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On which it stood; great changes have been | Some steady love ; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight; In all the neighbourhood ;-yet the Oak is Some chime of fancy wrong or right; left
Or stray invention.
roohood | If stately passions in me burn,
And one chance look to Thee should turn,
A lowlier pleasure;
The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs
Of hearts at leisure.
A Nun demure, of lowly port,
| Meek, yielding to the occasion's call,
Thy function apostolical
In peace fulfilling.
Sweet Flower, belike one day to have That thought comes next-and instantly
A place upon thy Poet's grave,
I welcome thee once more:
But He, who was on land, at sea, A silver Shield with boss of gold,
My Brother, too, in loving thee, That spreads itself, some Faery bold
Although he loved more silently,
Sleeps by his native shore.
Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day
When to that Ship he bent his way And then thou art a pretty Star,
To govern and to guide:
His wish was gained: a little time
Would bring him back in manhood's prime,
And full of hope day followed day
While that stout Ship at anchor lay Sweet Flower! for by that name at last,
Beside the shores of Wight;
The May had then made all things green, When all my reveries are past,
And, floating there in pomp serene,
That Ship was goodly to be seen
His pride and his delight! Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
Yet then, when called ashore, he sought My heart with gladness, and a share
The tender peace of rural thought;
In more than happy mood
A starry multitude.
But hark the word !--the Ship is gone;
Sets sail :- in season due And all the long year through the heir Once more on English earth they stand: Of joy or sorrow, !
But, when a third time from the land Methinks that there abides in thee
They parted, sorrow was at hand
For Him and for his Crew.
Il-fated Vessel!-ghastly shock!
At length delivered from the rock Is it that Man is soon deprest?
The deep she hath regained; A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest,
And through the stormy night they steer,
Labouring for life, in hope and fear, Does little on his memory rest,
| Towards a safer shore-how near, Or on his reason; And Thou wouldst teach him how to find
Yet not to be attained ! A shelter under every wind,
Silence! the brave Commander cried ;
To that calm word a shriek replied,
It was the last death-shriek.
-A few appear by morning-light, Thou wanderest the wide world about, Preserved upon the tall mast's height; l'ncheck d by pride or scrupulous doubt, oft in my soul I see that right; With friends to greet thee, or without, But one dear remnant of the nightYet pleased and willing;
For him in vain I seek.
Six weeks beneath the moving sea Poets, vain men in their mood! He lay in slumber quietly;
Travel with the multitude; Unforced by wind or wave
Never heed them; I aver To quit the Ship for which he died, That they all are wanton Wooers; (All claims of duty satisfied)
But the thrifty Cottager,
Joys to spy thee near her home,
Spring is coming, Thou art come!
Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost shew thy pleasant face Near what he loved, at last;
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane—there's not a place, That neighbourhood of grove and field
Howsoever mean it be,
But 'tis good enough for thee.
Children of the flaring hours!
Whether we will sce or no;
Little, humble Celandine!
Prophet of delight and mirth,
Scorn'd and slighted upon earth!
Herald of a mighty band, Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
Of a joyous train ensning, Let them live upon their praises ;
Singing at my heart's command, Long as there's a sun that sets
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, Primroses will have their glory;
I will sing, as doth behove, Long as there are Violets,
Hymns in praise of what I love! They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
An abont with full-blown flowers, Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold! With the proudest Thou art there, Mantling in the tiny square.
TO MY INFANT DAUGI'TER,
Often have I sighed to measure
Blithe of heart, from week to week
On being reminded that she was a month old, on
--Hist 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 wbom 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
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
Though, as if with eagle-pinion,
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 wåndered 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:
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
Day and night my toils redouble !
But thou, how leisurely thou filist thy horn With a tiger-leap half way
Like an Indian Conjuror; That will suffice thee; and it seems that now Quick as he in feats of art, Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye Thou travell’st so contentedly, and sleepst Of a thousand Standers-by, In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon Clapping hands with shout and stare, Hath this conception grateful to behold, What would little Tabby care Changed countenance, like an object sullied For the plaudits of the Crowd?
Over-happy to be proud,
. "Tis a pretty baby-treat; Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn, Nor, I deem, for me unmeet: To shoot, and circulate;-smiles have there Here, for neither Babe or me,
Other Play-mate can I see. Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports of the countless living things, The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers That with stir of feet and wings, Thy loneliness ;-or shall those smiles be|(In the sun or under shade
Upon bough or grassy blade)
Multitudes are swept away Which, when the appointed season bath Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping ; some in bands
Far from human neighbourhood;
With us openly abide,
Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright, That way look, my Infant, lo!
Who was blest as bird could be, What a pretty baby-show!
Feeding in the apple-tree; See the Kitten on the Wall,
Made such wanton spoil and ront, Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Turning blossoms inside out, Wither'd leaves--one-- two-and three, Hung with head towards the ground, From the lofty Elder-tree!
Flutter'd, perch'd, into a round Through the calm and frosty air
Bound himself, and then unbound; of this morning bright and fair,
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin, Eddying round and round they sink
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen, Softly, slowly: one might think,
Light of heart, and light of limb, From the motions that are made,
What is now become of Him? Every little leaf convey'd
Lambs, that through the mountains went Sylph or Faery hither tending,
Frisking, bleating merriment, To this lower world descending,
When the year was in it's prime, Each invisible and mute,
They are sober'd by this time In his wavering parachute.
If you look to vale or hill, But the Kitten, how she starts,
If you listen, all is still, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts ! Save a little neighbouring Rill; First at one and then it's fellow
That from out the rocky ground Just as light and just as yellow;
Strikes a solitary sound. There are many now-now one
Vainly glitters hill and plain. Now they stop; and there are none
And the air is calm in vain; What intenseness of desire
Vainly Morning spreads the lare In her upward eye of fire !
of a sky serene and pure ;