HARK! 'tis the Thrush, undaunted, undeprest,
By twilight premature of cloud and rain ;

Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain
Who carols thinking of his Love and nest,

And seems, as more incited, still more blest.
Thanks, thou hast snapped a fire-side Prisoner's chain,
Exulting Warbler! eased a fretted brain,

And in a moment charmed my cares to rest.

Yes, I will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast,
That we may sing together, if thou wilt,

So loud, so clear, my Partner through life's day,
Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built
Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past,
Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay.

RYDAL MOUNT, I

'Tis Ile whose yester-evening's high disdain
Beat back the roaring storm-but how subdued
His day-break note, a sad vicissitude!

Does the hour's drowsy weight his glee restrain?
Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein
Pleased to renounce, does this dear Thrush attune
Ilis voice to suit the temper of yon Moon
Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane?
Rise, tardy Sun! and let the Songster prove
(The balance trembling between night and morn
No longer) with what ecstasy upborne

He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above,
And earth below, they best can serve true gladness
Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

FAILING impartial measure to dispense

To every suitor, Equity is lame;

And social Justice, stript of reverence

For natural rights, a mockery and a shame;
Law but a servile dupe of false pretence,

If, guarding grossest things from common claim
Now and for ever, She, to works that came
From mind and spirit, grudge a short-lived fence.
"What! lengthened privilege, a lineal tie

For books!" Yes, heartless Ones, or be it proved
That 'tis a fault in Us to have lived and loved
Like others, with like temporal hopes to die;
No public harm that Genius from her course

Be turned; and streams of truth dried up, even at their

source!

VI.

A POET TO HIS GRANDCHILD.

(Sequel to the foregoing.)

"Sox of my buried Son, while thus thy hand Is clasping mine, it saddens me to think

"How Want may press thee down, and with thee sink

Thy Children left unfit, through vain demand

“Of culture, even to feel or understand

My simplest Lay that to their memory

· May cling ;—hard fate! which haply need not be "Did Justice mould the Statutes of the Land. "A Book time-cherished and an honoured name “Are high rewards; but bound they nature's claim "Or Reasons? No-hopes spun in timid line "From out the bosom of a modest home

66

Extend through unambitious years to come,

66 My careless Little-one, for thee and thine!"

MAY 23RD.

'NOTES.

Dedicatory Sonnet, Page 3, two last lines.

Something less than joy, but more than dull content.'

COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA.

Page 93. Line 1

Wild Redbreast, &ć.

This Sounet, as Poetry, explains itself, yet the scene of the incident having been a wild wood, it may be doubted, as a point of natural history, whether the bird was aware that his attentions were bestowed upon a human, or even a living creature. But a Redbreast will perch upon the foot of ̧à gardener at work, and alight on the handle of the spade when his hand is half upon it-this I have seen. And under my own roof I have witnessed affecting instances of the creature's friendly visits to the chambers of sick persons, as described in the Author's poems, vol. i., page 252. One of these welcome intruders used frequently to roost upon a nail in the wall, from which a picture had hung, and was ready, as morning came, to pipe his song in the hearing of the Invalid, who had been long confined to her room. These attachments to a particular person, when marked and continued, used to be reckoned ominous; but the superstition is passing away.

GG