It was a thing of wild delight,
To find thee on the bank,
Where all the day thy opening leaves
The golden sunlight drank-
To see thee in the sister group
That clustering grew together,
And seem'd too delicate for aught
Save summer's brightest weather,
Or for the gaze of Leila's eyes-
Thou happiest primrose 'neath the skies!
I know not what it was that made
My heart to love thee so;
For though all gentle things to me
Were dear, long, long ago,
There was no bird upon the bough,
No wild-flower on the lea,
No twinkling star, no running brook,
I loved so much as thee;
I watch'd thy coming every spring,
And hail'd thee as a living thing.
And yet I look upon thee now
Without one joyful thrill;
The spirit of the past is dead,
My heart is calm and still:
A lovelier flower than e'er thou art
Has faded from my sight,
And the same chill that stole her bloom
Brought unto me a blight,
"Tis fitting thou should'st sadder seem,
Since Leila perish'd like a dream.
ETTY'S ROVER.
THOU lovely and thou happy child,
Ah, how I envy thee!
I should be glad to change our state,
If such a change might be.
And yet it is a lingering joy
To watch a thing so fair,
To think that in our weary life
Such pleasant moments are
A little monarch thou art there,
And of a fairy realm,
Without a foe to overthrow,
A care to overwhelm.
Thy world is in thy own glad will,
And in each fresh delight,
And in thy unused heart, which makes
Its own, its golden light.
With no misgivings in thy past,
Thy future with no fear:
The present circles thee around,
An angel's atmosphere.
How little is the happiness
That will content a child-
A favourite dog, a sunny fruit,
A blossom growing wild.
A word will fill the little heart
With pleasure and with pride;
It is a harsh, a cruel thing,
That such can be denied.
And yet how many weary hours
Those joyous creatures know;
How much of sorrow and restraint
They to their elders owe!
How much they suffer from our faults: How much from our mistakes;
How often, too, mistaken zeal
An infant's misery makes!
We over-rule and over-teach,
We curb and we confine,
And put the heart to school too soon,
To learn our narrow line.
No, only taught by love to love,
Seems childhood's natural task;
Affection, gentleness, and hope,
Are all its brief years ask.
Enjoy thy happiness, sweet child,
With careless heart and eye;
Enjoy those few bright hours which now,
E'en now, are hurrying by:
And let the gazer on thy face
Grow glad with watching thee,
And better, kinder;-such at least
Its influence on me.
IMAGINATION; honourable aims;
Free commune with the choir that cannot die;
Science and song; delight in little things,
The buoyant child surviving in the man;
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices-O dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard? O no! no!
It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so?
For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice
Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
Beloved! 'tis not thine; thou art not there!
Then melts the bubble into idle air.
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.
The mother, with anticipated glee
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight;
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes
aright,
Then is she tenfold gladder than before!
But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake?
Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee:
Why was I made for Love, and Love denied to me?"
RECORDS OF PASSING THOUGHT.
A REMEMBRANCE OF GRASMERE.
O VALE and lake, within your mountain-urn
Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep,
Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return,
Colouring the tender shadows of my sleep
With light Elysian:-for the hues that steep
Your shores in melting lustre seem to float
On golden clouds from spirit-lands remote,
Isles of the blest; and in our memory keep
Their place with holiest harmonies. Fair scene,
Most loved by evening and the dewy star,
Oh! ne'er may man, with touch unhallow'd, jar
The perfect music of thy charm serene!
Still, still unchanged may one sweet region wear Smiles that subdue the soul to love, and tears, and prayer!
THOUGHTS CONNECTED WITH TREES.
Trees, gracious trees; how rich a gift ye are,
Crown of the earth! to human hearts and eyes!
How doth the thought of home, in lands afar,
Link'd with your forms and kindly whisperings,
rise?
How the whole picture of a childhood lies
Oft 'midst your boughs forgotten, buried deep,
Till gazing through them up the summer skies, As hush'd we stand, a breeze perchance may creep, And old sweet leaf-sounds reach the inner world Where memory coils; and lo! at once unfurl'd The past, a glowing scroll, before our sight
Spreads clear! while gushing from their long-seal'd
Young thoughts, pure dreams, undoubting prayers
And a lost mother's eye gives back its holy light.
And ye are strong to shelter! all meek things,
All that need home and covert, love your shades:
Birds of shy song, and low-voiced quiet springs,
And stealthy violets, by the winds betray'd.
Childhood beneath your fresh green tents hath
play'd
With his first primrose-wealth; there Love hath sought
A veiling gloom for his unutter'd thought,
And silent grief, of day's keen glance afraid, A refuge for his tears; and oft-times there Hath lone devotion found a place of prayer, A native temple, solemn, hush'd, and dim; For wheresoe'er your murmuring tremors thrill The woody twilight, there man's heart hath still Confess'd a spirit's breath, and heard a ceaseless hymn.
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