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How fweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to faunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks; And wild rofe tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks,
Like to a bonny lafs, who plays her pranks
At wakes and fairs with wandering mountebanks,-
When she stands crefting the clown's head, and mocks
The crowd beneath her. Verily, I think,
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream,
Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link,
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.
Mark the concentrated hazels that enclose
Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray
Of noontide funs :—and even the beams that play
And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,
Are feldom free to touch the mofs that grows
Upon that roof-amid embowering gloom
The very image framing of a tomb,
In which fome ancient chieftain finds repofe
Among the lonely mountains.-Live, ye trees!
And thou, grey Stone, the penfive likeness keep
Of a dark chamber where the mighty fleep:
For more than fancy to the influence bends,
When folitary Nature condefcends
To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.
IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING.
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathlefs with adoration; the broad fun
Is finking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of Heaven is on the fea:
Liften! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A found like thunder everlastingly.
Dear child! dear girl! that walkeft with me here,
If thou appear'ft untouch'd by folemn thought,
Thy nature therefore is not lefs divine:
Thou lieft "in Abraham's bofom" all the year;
And worshipp'ft at the temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
CALM IS ALL NATURE AS A RESTING WHEEL.
Calm is all nature as a refting wheel.
The kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, feen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal :
Dark is the ground, a flumber seems to steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky,
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hufh'd, am I at reft. My friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain ;
Oh, leave me to myself! nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.
HE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice: it faid, "Drink, pretty creature,
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A fnow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its fide.
No other sheep was near, the lamb was all alone,
And by a flender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grafs did the little maiden
While to that mountain lamb fhe gave its evening
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his fupper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure fhook.
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," fhe faid, in fuch a tone That I almoft received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair.
Now, with her empty can the maiden turned away;
But, ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay.
Towards the lamb fhe looked; and from that shady place
I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might fing :-
“What ails thee, young one? What? Why pull fo at thy
Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Reft, little young one, reft; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou would'ft feek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs, are they not ftrong? And beautiful thou art : This grafs is tender grafs; thefe flowers they have no peers; And that green corn, all day, is ruftling in thy ears!
"If the fun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ;
For rain and mountain ftorms! the like thou need'ft not fear-
The rain and storm are things which fcarcely can come here.