Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Well up Familiar with these songs, that with the night He may associate joy! Once more farewell Sweet Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell. THE FEMALE VAGRANT. BY Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood, (The Woman thus her artless story told) One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold. High o'er the cliffs I led my fleecy store, oar. My father was a good and pious man, F For books in every neighbouring house I sought, And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought. Can I forget what charms did once adorn My garden, stored with peas, and mint, and thyme, And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn; The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time; My hen's rich nest through long-grass scarce espied; The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime; The swans, that, when I sought the waterside From far to meet ine came, spreading their snowy pride? The staff I yet remember which upbore When market morning came, the neat attire With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd; My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire When stranger passed, so often I have check'd; The red-breast known for years, which at my casement peck'd. The suns of twenty summers danc'd along,- And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook. But, when he had refused the proffered gold, Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold; All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side, We sought a home where we uninjured might abide.. *Several of the Lakes in the North of England are let out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines drawn from rock to rock. Can I forget that miserable hour, When from the last hill top, my Sire surveyed, Peering above the trees, the steeple tower, That on his marriage-day sweet music made? Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid Close by my mother in their native bowers: Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed,→→ I could not pray:-Through tears that fell in showers, Glimmer'd our dear lov'd home, alas! no longer ours! There was a youth whom I had loved so long That when I loved him not I cannot say; 'Mid the green mountains many and many a song We two had sung, like little birds in May: When we began to tire of childish play We seemed still more and more to prize each other; We talked of marriage and our marriage day;" And I in truth did love him like a brother, For never could I hope to meet with such another. His father said, that to a distant town. |