Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried:
Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,
Made-to his ear attentively applied-
A pipe on which the wind would deftly play:
Glasses he had that little things display,
The beetle panoplied in gems and gold,
A mailèd angel on a battle day;
The mysteries that cups of flowers infold,
And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
He would entice that other man to hear
His music, and to view his imagery:
And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,
As far as love in such a place could be;
There did they dwell-from earthly labour free,
As happy spirits as were ever seen;
If but a bird, to keep them company,
Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,
As pleased as if the same had been a maiden queen.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!-not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us, on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song:
And summer days when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
FAREWELL, thou little nook of mountain ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell!-we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And safely she will ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that decorate our door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes and sun doth shine upon;
Here they are in our sight-we have no more.
Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought;
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky well.
We go for one to whom ye will be dear;
And she will prize this bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, building without peer!
A gentle maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered.
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
Will come to you; to you herself will wed-
And love the blessed life that we lead here.
Dear spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed,
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our sakes, though nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need.
And oh, most constant, yet most fickle place,
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st when we forsake thee, 'Let them go !'
Thou easy-hearted thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
And travel with the year at a soft pace.
Help us to tell her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring the best beloved and best.
Joy will be flown in its mortality;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest,
Of which I sung one song that will not die.
Oh, happy garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
Look at the fate of summer flowers,
Which blow at daybreak, droop ere evensong
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours,
Measured by what we are and ought to be,
Measured by all that trembling we foresee,
Is not so long!
Perishing yet more swiftly than the flower
Whose frail existence is but of a day;
What space hath virgin's beauty to disclose
Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing rose!
Not even an hour!
The deepest grove whose foliage hid
The happiest lovers Arcady might boast,
Could not the entrance of this thought forbid:
Oh, be thou wise as they, soul-gifted maid!
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,
So soon be lost.
Then shall love teach some virtuous youth
"To draw out of the object of his eyes,"
The whilst on thee they gaze in simple truth,
Hues more exalted, "a refinèd form,"
That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm,
And never dies.
"ERE WITH COLD BEADS OF MIDNIGHT DEW."
ERE with cold beads of midnight dew
Had mingled tears of thine,
I grieved, fond youth! that thou shouldst sue
To haughty Geraldine.
Immoveable by generous sighs,
She glories in a train
Who drag, beneath our native skies,
An oriental chain.
Pine not like them with arms across,
Forgetting in thy care
How the fast-rooted trees can toss
Their branches in mid air.
The humblest rivulet will take
Its own wild liberties;
And, every day, the imprisoned lake
Is flowing in the breeze.
Then crouch no more on suppliant knee,
But scorn with scorn outbrave;
A Briton, e'en in love, should be
A subject, not a slave!
I MET Louisa in the shade;
And having seen that lovely maid,
Why should I fear to say
That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong:
And down the rocks can leap along,
Like rivulets in May?
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