A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some apprehenfion;

Some steady love; fome brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight;
Some chime of fancy, wrong or right;
Or ftray invention.

If stately paffions in me burn,

And one chance look to thee should turn,

I drink out of an humbler urn

A lowlier pleasure ;

The homely fympathy that heeds

The common life our nature breeds ;

A wisdom fitted to the needs

Of hearts at leisure.

When fmitten by the morning ray,
I fee thee rife, alert and gay,
Then, cheerful flower! my fpirits play
With kindred gladness :

And when, at dusk, by dews oppreft
Thou fink'ft, the image of thy rest
Hath often eafed my penfive breast
Of careful fadness.

And all day long I number yet,
All feasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,
To thee am owing;

An inftinct call it, a blind fense;
A happy, genial influence,

Coming one knows not how, nor whence,
Nor whither going.

Child of the year! that round dost run
Thy course, bold lover of the fun,
And cheerful when the day's begun
As morning leveret,

Thy long-loft praise thou shalt regain :
Dear thou shalt be to future men

As in old time ;-thou not in vain
Art Nature's favourite.

TO THE SAME FLOWER.

Bright flower! whofe home is everywhere,
A pilgrim bold in Nature's care,

And all the long year through, the heir
Of joy or forrow,

Methinks that there abides in thee

Some concord with humanity,

Given to no other flower I fee
The foreft thorough!

Is it that man is foon depreffed ?

A thoughtless thing! who, once unbleffed, Does little on his memory rest,

Or on his reason;

And thou would'ft teach him how to find

A fhelter under every wind,

A hope for times that are unkind
And every season ?

Thou wandereft the wide world about,
Unchecked by bride or fcrupulous doubt,
With friends to greet thee, or without,
Yet pleased and willing ;

Meek, yielding to the occafion's call,
And all things fuffering from all,

Thy function apoftolical

In peace fulfilling.

Y

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE;

OR, COMMON PILEWORT.

Panfies, lilies, kingcups, daifies,
Let them live upon their praises ;
Long as there's a fun that fets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,

They will have a place in story :
There's a flower that shall be mine,

'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of fome men travel far

For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little flower!-I'll make a'ftir,
Like a great aftronomer.

Modeft, yet withal an elf

Bold, and lavish of thyself:

Since we needs must first have met,
I have seen thee, high and low,

Thirty years or more, and yet
'Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about its neft,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy gloffy breaft
Like a careless prodigal ;

Telling tales about the fun,

When we've little warmth or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood!

Travel with the multitude;

Never heed them; I aver

That they all are wanton wooers;

But the thrifty cottager,

Who ftirs little out of doors,
Joys to fpy thee near her home;
Spring is coming, thou art come !