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Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy:
Ih it that they have* a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures he
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 bujy 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 nwake,
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 CUCKOO.

0 Slitiib New-comer! I have heard,

1 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 ofT and near!

1 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

>o Bird; but an invisible Thing,

A voice, a mystery.

The same whom in my school boy-days
I listen'd to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways;
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thbu wert still a hope, n love;
Still long'd for, never seen!

And I can listen to thee yet;
.Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do .beget
That golden time again-.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for thee!

YEW-TREES.

TimiK 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 Poictiera. Of vast circumference nnd 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 FoHr of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks!—and each particular trunk a

growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine, Up-coiling, and invctcratcly convolved.— Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane; — n pillared

shade. Upon whose grnsslcss 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 COMB.

This Height a ministering; Angel might

select: For from the summit of Black Comb (dread

name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen That British ground commands:—low dusky

tract*, 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, Right at the imperial Station's western base. Main Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale;— And visibly engirding Mnna's Isle That, ns 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 wc behold the frame of Erin's Coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherdswain, Like the bright confines of another world, Not doubtfully perceived.—Look homeward

now! In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene The spectacle, how pure!—Of Nature's

Works, In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A Revelation infinite it seems; Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power.

NUTTING.

-it seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days which riinnot die.
When forth I sallied from our cottnge-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.
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off

weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame.
Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and,

in truth, More ragged than need was. Among the

woods; 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, ungracious 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

stones Thill, 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 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure. 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 teelings with the past. Even then, when from the bower I turned

awny 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 wood*.

THE PERFECT WOMAN.

SriF was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes ns stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her.'dusky hair;
Hut all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household-motions light and free,

And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A Creature not top bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Bring breathing thoughtful breath;
A Traveller betwixt life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Kndurance, foresight, strength and skill;
A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel-light.

NATURE'S FAVOURITE.

Thrk* years she grew in sun and shower,

Then Nature said: A lovelier flower

On earth was never sown;

This Child I to myself will take;

She shall be mine, and I will make

A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling be

Holli law and impulse: and with me

The Girl, in rock and plain.

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,

Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

She shall be sportive as the Fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

The floating Clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend;

Jjor shall she fail to see

E»cn in the motions of the storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

"y silent sympathy.

The Stars of midnight shall be dear

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where Rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin-bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

While she and I together live

Here in this happy Hell.

Thus Nature spake—the work was done—

How soon my Lucy's race was run!

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 STOH.Y.

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his hack,
And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The Neighbours tell, and tell you truly.
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His checks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice wns like the voice of three.
Old Goody Blake was old and poor;
III fed she was, and thinly clad;
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!
Alas! 'twos hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
—This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,—
Her hut was on a cold hill-side,
And in that country coals are dear.
For they come far by wind and tide.

By the name fire to lioil their pottage.
Two poor old Dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage;
But she, poor Woman, dwelt alone.
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the canly Dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said, if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead!
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed;
And then for cold not sleep a wink.

Oh joy for her! Whene'er in winter
The winds at night had made a rout,
And scattered many a lusty splinter
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile before her, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then, it must be said.
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake;
And vowed that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm lire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take;
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley.
Thus looking out did Harry stand:
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble-land.
—He hears a noise—he's all awake—
Again?—on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps—'tis Goody Blake,
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull:
He stood behind n bush of elder,
Till she bad filled her apron full.
Then with her load she turned about,
The by-road back again to take.
He started forward with a shout
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her.

And by'the arm he held her fast.

And fiercely by the arm he shook her.

And cried: I've caught you then at last!

Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall;

And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed

To God that is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing.
While Harry held her by the arm—
God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm!—
The cold, cold moon above her head.
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said:
And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow

That he was cold, and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,

Alas! that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding-coat.

But not a whit the warmer he:

Another was on Thursday brought,

And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter—
And blankets .were about him pinn'd;
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter.
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say, 'tis plain.
That, live as long as live he may.
He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,
A-bcd of up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters:
Poor Harry Gill is very rold.
A-bed or up, by night or day,
His teeth, they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray.
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.*

ELEMENTARY FEELING.

I Waivdkked lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden Daffodils;

Beside the Lake, beneath the trees.

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine,
And twinkle on the milky way.
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance.
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The witifs beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—

A Poet could not but be gay

In Midi 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 the same,

In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.

Hii station is there;—and he works on the

crowd, He sways them with harmony merry and

loud; He fills with his power all their hearts to

the brim— Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him!

What an eager assembly! what an empire

is this! The weary have life and the hungry have

bliss! The mourner is cheered, and the anxious

have rest; And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer

opprest.

At the Moou brightens round her the clouds of the night,

So he where he stands is a center of light;

It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack,

And the palc-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.

That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing

in haste— "hat matter! he's caught—and his time

runs to waste— The News-man is stopped, though he stops

on the fret, And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's

in the net!

The Porter sits down on the weight which

he bore; The Lass with her barrow wheels hither

her store;— |

If a Thief could be here he might pilfer at

ease; 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 dropping in,

From the Old and the Young, from the Poorest; und there!

The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.

0 blest are the Hearers and proud be the

Hand Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a Band;

1 am glad for him, blind as he is!—all the

while If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile.

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 V 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 muVmurs—they care

not for you, Nor what ye are flying, or what ye pursue!

GLEN-ALMAIN, OR THE NARROW GLEN.

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 heup'd, and rent

As by a spirit turbulent;

Where sights were rough, and sounds were

wild, And every thing unreconciled;

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