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Large space, mid dreadful clouds, of purest sky,
An azure orb-shield of tranquillity,
Invisible, unlooked for minister
of providential goodness ever nigh!

TO A SNOWDROP. Lone flower, hemmed in with snows, and white as they, But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend. Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing On the soft west wind, and his frolic peers; Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste snowdrop, venturous harbinger of spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years !

COMPOSED A FEW DAYS AFTER THE

FOREGOING. WHEN haughty expectations prostrate lie, And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring Mature release, in fair society Survive, and fortune's utmost anger try; Like these frail snowdrops that together cling, And nod their helmets smitten by the wing Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by. Observe the faithful flowers! is small to great May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand

The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate ;
And so the bright immortal Theban band,
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

“THE STARS ARE MANSIONS.” The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand; The sun is peopled ; and with spirits blest, Say, can the gentle moon be unpossessed ? Huge ocean shows, within his yellow strand, A habitation marvellously planned, For life to occupy in love and rest ; All that we seeis dome, or vault, or nest, Or fort, erected at her sage command. Is this a vernal thought ? Even so, the spring Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart, Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring ; And while the youthful year's prolific art-Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower--was fashioning Abodes, where self-disturbance hath no part.

THE PLEASURE OF POETIC PAINS. There is a pleasure in poetic pains Which only poets know ;- 'twas rightly said, Whom could the muses else allure to tread Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains ? When happiest fancy has inspired the strains, How oft the malice of one luckless word Pursues the enthusiast to the social board, Haunts him belated on the silent plains ! Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear At last of hindrance and obscurity, Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn; Bright, speckless as a softly-moulded tear

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The moment it has left the virgin's eye,
Or raindrop lingering on the pointed thorn.

THE VEILED MOON. The shepherd, looking eastward, softly said, “Bright is thy veil, O moon, as thou art bright !" Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread, And penetrated all with tender light, She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Uncovered ; dazzling the beholder's sight As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd. Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, Went floating from her, darkening as it went; And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, Approached the glory of this firmament; Who meekly yields, and is obscured :-content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

TO THE MOON. With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the sky: How silently, and with how wan a face! Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high Running among the clouds a wood-nymph's race! Unhappy nuns, whose common breath's a sigh Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! The northern wind, to call thee to the chase, Must blow to-night his bugle-horn. Had I The power of Merlin, goddess ! this should be: And the keen stars, fast as the clouds were riven, Should sally forth, an emulous company, Sparkling and hurrying through the clear blue heaven; But, Cynthia ! should to thee the palm be given, Queen both for beauty and for majesty.

TWILIGHT.
Hall, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour !
Not dull art thou as undiscerning night :
But studious only to remove from sight
Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient power !
Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower,
To the rude Briton, when, in wolfskin vest,
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower
Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen
The self-same vision which we now behold,
At thy meek bidding, shadowy power! brought forth;
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between ;
The floods—the stars-a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

THE DISTANT TAPER.
Even as the dragon's eye that feels the stress
Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp
Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,
So burns yon taper mid a black recess
Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless :
The lake below reflects it not; the sky
Muffled in clouds affords no company
To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.
Yet around the body of that joyous thing,
Which sends so far its melancholy light,
Perhaps are seated in domestic ring
A gay society with faces bright,
Conversing, reading, laughing ;--or they sing,
While hearts and voices in the song unite.
“MARK THE CONCENTRED HAZELS.”

Mark the concentred hazels that enclose
Yon old gray stone, protected from the ray

Of noontide suns: and even the beams that play
And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,
Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows
Upon that roof-amid embowering gloom
The very image fraining of a tomb,
In which some ancient chieftain finds repose
Among the lonely mountains. Live, ye trees!
And thou, gray stone, the pensive likeness keep
Of a dark chamber where the mighty sleep:
Far more than fancy to the influence bends
When solitary Nature condescends
To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.

CAPTIVITY. As the cold aspect of a sunless way Strikes through the traveller's frame with deadlier chill, Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill, Glistening with unparticipated ray, Or shining slope where he must never stray: So joys remembered without wish or will, Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill,On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay. Just Heaven, contract the compass of my mind To fit proportion with my altered state! Quench those felicities whose light I find Reflected in my bosom all too late ! Oh, be my spirit like my thraldom, strait; And, like mine eyes that stream with sorrow, blind

· TO A BROOK.
BROOK! whose society the poet seeks
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,

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