« السابقةمتابعة »
Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor
New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth:
Transfigured through that fresh abode, 2 wpawn eye;
Had heretofore, in humble trust,
Shone meekly mid their native dust,
The Glow-worms of the earth!
Proceeding, made the heart rejoice out and wai huhbouring stream
Of Him who slept upon the open lea: boradie a mut sud dubrous dream,
Waking at morn he murmured not; Ingat, within whose shadowy bounds And, till life's journey closed, the spot *** posky na sed the earth born Star,
Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared, !nk Which glittered from afar ;
Where by that dream he had been cheered
Beneath the shady tree.
Concealed from friends who might disturb Preserves her beauty mid autumnal leaves
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.
When files of stateliest plants have ceased to bloom,
One after one submitting to their doom,
When her coevals each and all are fled,
The old mythologists, more impress’d than we
Of this late day by character in tree Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Or herb, that claimed peculiar sympathy, Amid the unviolated grove
Or by the silent lapse of fountain clear,
Or with the language of the viewless air
By bird or beast made vocal, sought a cause
Nor doubt that something of their spirit swayed
The fancy-stricken Youth or heart-sick Maid,
Thought of a wound which death is slow to cure,
Sylph was it ? or a Bird more bright
Than those of fabulous stock? Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
A second darted by ;-and lo !
Another of the flock,
To nestle in the rock.
Transient deception ! a gay freak Did press this semblance of unpitied smart
Of April's mimicries !
Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy
To frolic on the breeze.
COMPANION TO THE FOREGOING.
Maternal Flora ! show thy face,
And let thy hand be seen,
That, as they touch the green,
In honour of their Queen.
That not in vain aspired
To be confounded with live growths,
Most dainty, most admired, Were only blossoms dropped from twigs
Of their own offspring tired.
Now she works with three or four,
'Tis a pretty baby-treat ; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space, And this vale so blithe a place ; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day : Some are sleeping ; some in bands Travelled into distant lands ; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside.
That way look, my Infant, lo!
- But the Kitten, how she starts,
Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree ; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out ; Hung-head pointing towards the groundFluttered, perched, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound ; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! Prettiest Tumbler ever seen ! Light of heart and light of limb; What is won become of Him ? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill,