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This little bay, a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy abode;
In truth, together ye do seem
Like something fashion'd in a dream:
Such forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
Yet, dream and vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart:
God shield thee to thy latest years!
I neither know thee northy peers;
And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears.
With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away.
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here, scatter'd like a random seed,
Remote from men, thou dost not need
The embarrass'd look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness;
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a mountaineer.
A face with gladness overspread '
Sweet looks, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesics, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitin
Of thoughts, that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,
Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful!
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
j. thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways and dress,
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality:
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea:. and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder brother I would be,
Thy father, any thing to thee!
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had ; and going hence
I bear away my recompense.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our memory, feel that she hath eyes:
Then, why should I be loath to stiro
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;
And thee, the spirit of them all!
THE wall-flower—the wall-flower,
How beautiful it blooms'
It gleams above the ruin'd tower,
e sunlight over tombs;
It sheds a halo of repose
und the wrecks of Time;—
To beauty give the flaunting rose,
The wall-flower is sublime.
Flower of the solitary place!
Gray ruin's golden crown :
That lendest melancholy grace
To haunts of old renown;
Thou mantlest o'er the battlement,
By strife or storm decay’d;
And fillest up each envious rent
Time's canker-tooth hath made.
Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er,
Where, in war's stormy day, -
The Douglases stood o, of yore,
In battle's grim array:
The clangour of the field is fled,
The beacon on the hill
No more through midnight blazes red—
But thou art blooming still!
Whither hath fled the choral band
That fill'd the abbey's nave
Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand
O'er many a level grave;
In the belfry's crevices the dove
Her young brood nurseth well,
Whilst thou, lone flower, dost shed above
A sweet decaying smell.
In the season of the tulip cup,
When blossoms clothe the trees,
How sweet to throw the lattice up,
And scent thee on the breeze!
The butterfly is then abroad,
The bee is on the wing,
And on the hawthorn by the road
The linnets sit and sing.
Sweet wall-flower, sweet wall-flower!
Thou conjurest up to me
Full many a soft and sunny hour
Of ...i. thoughtless glee,
When joy from out #. daisies grew,
In woodland pastures green,
And summer skies were far more blue
Than since they e'er have been.
Now autumn's pensive voice is heard
Amid the yellow bowers,
The robin is the regal bird,
And thou the Queen of Flowers!
He sings on the laburnum trees,
Amid the twilight dim,
And Araby ne'er gave the breeze
Such scents as thou to him.
Rich is the pink, the lily gay,
The rose is summer's guest;
Bland are thy charms when these decay,
Of flowers, first, last, and best!
There may be gaudier on the bower,
And statelier on the tree,
But wall-flower, loved wall flower,
Thou art the flower for me!
THE room is like the heaven of eve,
When round th’ horizon seems to weave
A sea of clouds, whose bosoms heave
In floating beauty there.
Those fleecy phantoms—how they glide
In all the quietude of pride,
Moved by the gales of eventide
Along the sleeping flowers.'
Some crimson-edged, resplendent sail,
Some girdled with a ruby veil,
And others glowing brightly pale,
In plenitude of ease:
And so smiles now this rose-wreath'd room,
Where float along in braid and plume,
With cheeks that blush with virgin bloom, The maidens of the night.
And yonder trips a blue-eyed troop,
Seremely tender, how they droop,
As graceful as a lily group
All languid with their bloom!
And near them glides a gentle pair
That toss their grape-like clustering hair,
As if their very ringlets were artakers of their joy.
Upon each cheek the blood-stream warms,
While tinctured with their Paphian charms,
The maidens twine their ivory arms
And circle through the dance.
Like sunshine shivering on the lake,
Their feet with dizzy motion shake,
And down the dance their steps they take,
With heart-beams in their eye.
Then why amid the heaven of joy
Should dreams of dark'ning woe annoy,
Or thoughts of gloominess allo
The elysium of #o hour?
Alas! the scene will swiftly fade,
The music cease—depart the maid,
And chill-eyed day the room invade
With cold condemning cares