Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy: Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety?
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every Creature, Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks,- Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Laura's face; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even, as ye do, thoughtless Pair ! And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness. Pleased by any random toy; By a Kitten's busy joy, Or an Infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy;
I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss; Keep the sprightly soul awake, And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought Matter for a jocund thought; Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
TO THE CUCKO0.
O ELITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice:
0 Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?
While I am lying on the grass, Thy loud note smites my ear!- From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near!
I hear thee babbling to the Vale Of sunshine and of flowers, And unto me thou bringst a tale Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me
No Bird; but an invisible Thing, A voice, a mystery.
THERE is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton-Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Nor loth to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville and Percy ere they marched To Scotland's Heaths; or those that crossed the Sea
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary Tree!—a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks!-and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine, Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,— Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane; a pillared
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially-beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes May meet at noontide-Fear and trembling Hope,
Silence and Foresight-Death the Skeleton, And Time the Shadow,- there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain-flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth, More ragged than need was. Among the woods;
THIS Height a ministering Angel might
For from the summit of BLACK-COMв (dread Derived from clouds and storms!) the am- plest range
Of unobstructed prospect may be seen That British ground commands:-low dusky tracts,
Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian Hills
To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The hoary Peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde ;-
Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth
Gigantic Mountains rough with crags; beneath,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way Until, at length, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungra- cious sign
Of devastation, but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin-scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate, Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blessed With sudden happiness beyond all hope.- Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green
Right at the imperial Station's western base, Main Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale ;- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle That, as we left the Plain, before our sight Stood like a lofty Mount, uplifting slowly, (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Its habitable shores; but now appears A dwindled object, and submits to lie At the Spectator's feet.-Yon azure Ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Do we behold the frame of Erin's Coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep. I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage; and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, Even then, when from the bower I turned away
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees and the intruding sky.- Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods
SAE was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament;
The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee :- A Poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company:
I gazed and gazed-but little thought What wealth the shew to me had brought:
For oft when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude, And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the Daffodils.
POWER OF MUSIC.
AN Orpheus! An Orpheus!-yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;- Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with
If a Thief could be here he might pilfer at
She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees!
He stands, back'd by the Wall;-he abates not his din;
His hat gives him vigour, with boons drop- ping in,
From the Old and the Young, from the Poorest; and there! The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
O blest are the Hearers and proud be the Hand
Of the pleasure it spreads through so thank- ful a Band;
I am glad for him, blind as he is!-all the while
If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile.
In the street that from Oxford hath bor-That tall Man, a Giant in bulk and in height,
Not an inch of his body is free from delight; Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he!
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.
There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower That long has lean'd forward, leans hour after hour!-
A Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound.
Now, Coaches and Chariots, roar on like a stream; Here are twenty souls happy as Souls in a dream:
They are deaf to your murmurs-they care not for you, Nor what ye are flying, or what ye pursue!
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket GLEN - ALMAIN, OR THE NARROW on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste
What matter! he's caught-and his time
The News-man is stopped, though he stops on the fret,
And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's in the net!
In this still place, remote from men Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN; In this still place, where murmurs on But one meek Streamlet, only one: He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war, and violent death; And should, methinks, when all was past, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent
The Porter sits down on the weight which As by a spirit turbulent;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;
Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And every thing unreconciled;
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