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The TRAVELLER'S RETURN.
Sweet to the morning traveller
The sky-lark's earliest song, Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits
The dewy light among.
And cheering to the traveller
The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags
Along his noon-tide way.
And when beneath the unclouded sun
Full wearily toils he,
Most pleasant melody.
And when the evening light decays
And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear
In the distant sheep-bells sound.
And sweet the neighbouring church's bell
That marks his journey's bourne; But sweetest is the voice of Love
That welcomes his return.
To a SPIDER.
Spider ! thou need'st not run in fear about
Lest thou should'st eat the flies,
One day roast me.
Thou art welcome to a Rhymer sore-perplext,
The subject of his verse :
Perhaps might comment worse.
As I will mine.
Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways
Of Satan, Sire of lies
His toils as thou for flies.
The earth shall clean ?
Spider ! of old thy flimsy webs were thought,
And 'twas a likeness true,
But which the strong break through.
His life-blood dry. .
And is not thy weak work like human schemes
And care on earth employ'd ? Such are young hopes and Love's delightful dreams
So easily destroyed! So does the Statesman, whilst the Avengers sleep, Self-deem'd secure, his wiles in secret lay, Soon shall Destruction sweep
His work away.