« ПредишнаНапред »
Creature none can she decoy
| The same whom in my school-boy-days Into open sign of joy:
I listen'd to; that Cry Is it that they have a fear
Which made me look a thousand ways; Of the dreary season near?
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green; Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
And thou wert still a hope, a love; In the impenetrable cell
Still long'd for, never seen! of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every Creature,
And I can listen to thee yet; Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Can lie upon the plain Too sedate for outward show,
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for thee!
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton-Vale, Now and then I may possess
Which to this day stands single, in the midst Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Pleased by any random toy;
Nor loth to furnish weapons for the Bands By a Kitten's busy joy,
Of Umfra ville and Percy ere they marched Or an Infant's laughing eye
To Scotland's Heaths; or those that crossed Sharing in the ecstasy;
the Sea I would fare like that or this,
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Keep the sprightly soul awake,
Of vast circumference and gloom profound And have faculties to take,
This solitary Tree!-a living thing Even from things by sorrow wrought
Produced too slowly ever to decay; Matter for a jocund thought;
Of form and aspect too magnificent Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To be destroyed. But worthier still of note To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale,
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine,
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,O BLITAB New-comer! I have heard,
Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks I hear thee and rejoice:
That threaten the profane; - a pillared 0 Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird,
shade, Or but a wandering Voice?
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage While I am lying on the grass,
tinged Thy loud note smites my ear!
Perennially-beneath whose sable roof From hill to bill it seems to pass,
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked At once far off and near!
With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes
Silence and Foresight-Death the Skeleton, And unto me thou bringst a tale
And Time the Shadow,- there to celebrate, Of visionary hours.
As in a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring!
United worship; or in mute repose Even yet thou art to me
To lie, and listen to the mountain-flood No Bird; but an invisible Thing,
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caver. A voice, a mystery.
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK | At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,and, COMB.
More ragged than need was. Among the This Height a ministering Angel might |
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way For from the summit of Black COMB (dread Until, at length, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough Derived from clouds and storms!) the am-Drooped with its withered leaves, ungraplest range
cious sign Of unobstructed prospect may be seen Of devastation, but the bazele rose That British ground commands:-low dusky Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,
A virgin-scene!-A little while I stood, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Breathing with such suppression of the heart
Cambrian Hills As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint To the south-west, a multitudinous show; Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The banquet,-or beneath the trees I sate, The hoary Peaks of Scotland that give birth Among the flowers, and with the flowers I To Tiviot's Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and
A temper known to those, who, after long Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes And weary expectation, have been blessed
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.Gigantic Mountains rough with crags ; Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose beneath,
leaves Right at the imperial Station's western base, The violets of five seasons re-appear Main Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched And fade, unseen by any human eye; Far into silent regions blue and pale ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on And visibly engirding Mona's Isle
For ever,-and I saw the sparkling foam, That, as we left the Plain, before our sight And with my cheek on one of those green Stood like a lofty Mount, uplifting slowly,
stones (Above the convex of the watery globe) That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady Înto clear view the cultured fields that streak
trees, Its habitable shores; but now appears Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, A dwindled object, and submits to lic I heard the murmur and the murmuring At the Spectator's feet.-Yon azure Ridge,
sound, Is it a perishable cloud ? Or there
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to Do we behold the frame of Erin's Coast ? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxnriates with indifferent things, Like the bright confines of another world, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, Not doubtfully perceived.--Look homeward And on the vacant air. Then ap I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
with crash The spectacle, how pure ! Of Nature's And merciless ravage ; and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, | Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up A Revelation infinite it seems;
Their quiet being: and, unless I now Display angust of man's inheritance, Confound my present feelings with the past, of Britain's calm felicity and power. Even then, when from the bower I turned
away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kinge, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.NUTTIN G.
Then, dearest Maiden! move along these
shades - It seems a day, In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand (I speak of one from many singled out) | Touch-for there is a spirit in the woode One of those heavenly days which cannot die, When forth I sallied from our cottage-door, With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, A nutting-crook in hand, and turn'd my steps Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint, THE PERFECT WOMAN. Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off
SAE was a Phantom of delight Which for that service had been husbanded, When first she gleamed upon my sight; By exhortation of my frugal Dame.
A lovely Apparition, sent Motley accoutrement of power to smile To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
| The Stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
And vital feelings of delight I saw her upon nearer view,
Shall rear her form to stately height, A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her virgin-bosom swell; Her household-motions light and free,
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give And steps of virgin-liberty;
While she and I together live
Here in this happy Dell.
Thus Nature spake the work was doneFor transient sorrows, simple wiles, How soon my Lucy's race was run! Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL.
A TRUE STORY.
Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.
In March, December, and in July,
"Tis all the same with Harry Gill; A Lady of my own.
The Neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
At night, at inorning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; Both law and impulse: and with me Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, The Girl, in rock and plain,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His voice was like the voice of three.
Old Goody Blake was old and poor; That wild with glee across the lawn
Il fed she was, and thinly clad; Or up the mountain springs;
And any man who pass'd her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.
All day she spun in her poor dwelling:
And then her three hours' work at night! The floating Clonds their state shall lend | Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling, To her; for her the willow bend;
It would not pay for candle-light. Nor shall sbe fail to see
-This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,--Even in the motions of the storm
| Her but was on a cold hill-side, Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form | And in that country coals are dear, By silent sympathy.
| For they come far by wind and tide.
By the same fire to boil their pottage,
And fiercely by the arm he took her,
But when the ice our streams did fetter, She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said: And then for cold not sleep a wink. And icy cold he turned away.
'The waves beside them danced, but they | If a Thief could be here he inight pilfer at Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
ease; A Poet could not but be gay
She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees! In such a jocund company : I gazed-and gazed--but little thought What wealth the shew to me had brought: He stands, back'd by the Wall;—he abates
not his din; For oft when on my couch I lie
His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropIn vacant or in pensive mood,
ping in, They flash upon that inward eye
From the Old and the Young, from the Which is the bliss of solitude,
Poorest; and there! And then my heart with pleasure fills,
The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare. And dances with the Daffodils.
O blest are the Hearers and proud be the
Of the pleasure it spreads through so thank
ful a Band;
I am glad for him, blind as he is!-all the As Orpheus! An Orpheus !--yes, Faith may
while grow bold,
If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise And take to herself all the wonders of old ;
with a smile. Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with
the same, In the street that from Oxford hath bor
| That tall Man, a Giant in bulk and in height, rowed its name.
Not an inch of his body is free from delight;
not he! His station is there ;—and he works on the.
The music stirs in him like wind through He sways them with harmony merry and
a tree. loud; He fills with his power all their hearts to There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; the brim
like a Tower Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him! That long has lean'd forward, leans hour
A Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound, What an eager assembly! what an empire While she dandles the babe in her arms to is this!
the sound. The weary have life and the hungry have
Now, Coaches and Chariots, roar on like a The mourner is cheered, and the anxious
stream; have rest; And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer
Here are twenty souls happy as Souls in a
dream: opprest. They are deaf to your murmurs- they care
not for you, As the Moon brightens round her the clouds Nor what ve are Aving, or what ye pursue!
of the night, So he where he stands is a center of light; It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket GLEN - ALMAIN, OR THE NARROW on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing | In this still place, remote from men
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN; What matter! he's caught-and his time In this still place, where murmurs on
runs to waste | But one mcek Streamlet, only one: The News-man is stopped, though he stops He sang of battles, and the breath
on the fret,
Of stormy war, and violent death; And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's | And should, methinks, when all was past,
in the net!
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;
Where sights were rough, and sounds were The Lass with her barrow wheels hither
her store; And every thing unreconciled;