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And yet it is a lingering joy
To watch a thing so fair,
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,
Its own, its golden light.
Thy fulure with no fear:
An angel's atmosphere.
How little is the happiness
That will content a child
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,
To learn our narrow line.
No, only taught by love to love,
Seems childhood's natural task;
Are all its brief years ask.
With careless heart and eye;
E'en now, are hurrying by:
Grow glad with watching thee,
LINES. 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— 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!
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
Isles of the blest; and in our memory keep
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
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 unfurld The past, a glowing scroll, before our sight
Spreads clear! while gushing from their long-seal'd Young thoughts, pure dreams, undoubting prayers
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
READING “PAUL AND VIRGINIA IN CHILDHOOD. O gentle story of the Indian Isle !
loved thee in my lonely childhood well, On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell Unto thine ocean-pictures. 'Midst thy palms,
And strange bright birds, my fancy joy'd to dwell, And watch the Southern Cross through midnight
calms, And track the spicy woods. Yet more I bless'd
Thy vision of sweet love, kind, trustful, true, Lighting the citron groves—a heavenly guest
With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew. Even then my young heart wept o'er this world's
THOUGHT AT SUNSET.
O Sun! to morrow will give back, we know,
When Earth too much adored thee, what a swell Of mournful passion, deepening mighty lays,
Told how the dying bade thy light farewell ;
And darkness lay before them. Happier far
IMAGES OF PATRIARCHAL LIFE.
Your unworn pastoral images retain
Drank their pure freshness deep! The camel's train!