And children, coming home from school,
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bews roar,
And catch the bung sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach;
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in paradise !
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing-
Onward through life he goes:
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
EXTRACT FROM COWPER'S TASK. 75
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
NOR rural sights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit and restore
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood,
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike
The dash of Ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once.
Nor less composure waits upon the roar
76 EXTRACT FROM COWPER'S TASK.
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice
Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
But animated Nature sweeter still,
To soothe and satisfy the human ear;
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The livelong night; nor these alone, whose notes,
Nice-fingered Art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl,
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me,
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there please highly for their sake.
Che Icy Palace of St. Petersburg,
BUILT BY ORDER OF EMPRESS ANNE.
SILENTLY as a dream the fabric rose;
No sound of hammer or of saw was there;
Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts
Were soon conjoined, nor other cement asked
Than water interfused, to make them one.
Lamps, gracefully disposed and of all hues,
Illumined every side; a watery light
Gleamed through the clear transparency, that
Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen
From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene.
So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth
And slippery the materials, yet, frost-bound,
Firm as a rock; nor wanted aught within,
That royal residence might well befit,
For grandeur or for use. Long, wavy wreaths
Of flowers, that feared no enemy but warmth,
Blushed on the panels. Mirror needed none
78 THE ICY PALACE OF ST. PETERSBURG.
Where all was vitreous; but, in order due,
Convivial table and commodious seat
(What seemed at least commodious seat) was there,
Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august,— The same lubricity was found in all,
And all was moist to the warm touch; a scene Of evanescent glory, once a stream, And soon to slide into a stream again. Alas! 'twas but a mortifying stroke Of undesigned severity, that glanced (Made by a monarch) on her own estate, On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 'Twas durable; as worthless, as it seemed Intrinsically precious; to the foot
Treacherous and false; it smiled, and it was
|