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The Green Linnet.

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread

Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet,

My last year's friends together.

One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May,

And this is thy dominion.

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,

Art sole in thy employment;
A Life, a Presence like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness withoHt care,
Too blest with any one to pair;

Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle in the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,

Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,

That cover him all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves

Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,

While fluttering in the bushes.

(1803.)

Yew Trees.

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,

Which to this day stands single, in the midst

Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:

Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands

Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched

To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea

And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,

Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.

Of vast circumference and gloom profound

This solitary Tree! a living thing

Produced too slowly ever to decay;

Of form and aspect too magnificent

To be destroyed. But worthier still of note

Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale,

Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;

Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth

Of intertwisted fibres serpentine

Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved;

Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks

That threaten the profane ;—a pillared shade.,

Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,

By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged

Perennially—beneath whose sable roof

Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked

With unrejoicing berries—ghostly Shapes

May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope,

Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton

And Time the Shadow ;—there to celebrate,
As in a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
United worship; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.

- (1803.)

To A Highland Girl.
(At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond.)

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower

Of beauty is thy earthly dower!

Twice seven consenting years have shed

Their utmost bounty on thy head:

And these grey rocks; that household lawn;

Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;

This fall of water that doth make

A murmur near the silent lake;

This little bay; a quiet road

That holds in shelter thy Abode—

In truth together do ye seem

Like something fashioned in a dream;

Such Forms as from their covert peep

When earthly cares are laid asleep!

But, O fair Creature! in the light

Of common day, so heavenly bright,

I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,

I bless thee with a human heart;

God shield thee to thy latest years!

Thee, neither know I, nor thy 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 scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, thou dost not.need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou weai^st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer:
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brooked, 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
Beside 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—anything 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 recompence.
In spots like these it is we prize .
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes ;
Then, why should I be loth to stir ?
I feel this place was made for her ;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, 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!

(1803.)

THE SOLITARY REAPER.

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass !
Reaping and singing by herself ;
Stop here, or gently pass !
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen ! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

sweetly to infonia

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt.

Among Arabian sands :
Jer suster Sorme-swer A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard

In spring-time from a Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

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