At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let wingéd Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She 'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the spring Fades as does its blossoming; Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear fagot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night;
When the soundless earth is muffled, And the cakéd snow is shuffled From the plough-boy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky. Sit thee there, and send abroad With a mind self-overawed
Fancy, high-commissioned ;- send her! She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray! All the heapéd autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth; She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it ; - thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear; Rustle of the reapéd corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn; And in the same moment - hark! "T is the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold; White-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid-May; And every leaf and every flower Pearléd with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Meagre from its celléd sleep; And the snake all winter-thin Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn-tree, When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the beehive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down-pattering While the autumn breezes sing.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Everything is spoilt by use: Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however soft, One would hear so very oft? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then wingéd Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind; Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison-string, And such joys as these she 'll bring: Let the wingéd Fancy roam ! Pleasure never is at home.
FROM pleasures of IMAGINATION."
Flies o'er the meadow, hot a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only; for the attentive mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft On outward things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home To find a kindred order, to exert Within herself this elegance of love, This fair-inspired delight: her tempered powers Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
I DREAMED that as I wandered by the way Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, And gentle odors led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as Thou mightest in dream.
O BLEST of heaven, whom not the languid There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights Of envied life; though only few possess Patrician treasures or imperial state; Yet nature's care, to all her children just, With richer treasures and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, The rural honors his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marble and the sculptured gold Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the Spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets;
Faint ox-lips; tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears,
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colored May, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering
And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.
And nearer to the river's trembling edge
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt
And starry river-buds among the sedge,
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name :
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen !
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen !
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, | He went to the windows of those who slept. Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, -a right jolly old elf; And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of my
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
THE Frost looked forth, one still, clear night, And he said, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height
In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they!"
Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest,
He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he
With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.
And over each pane like a fairy crept, Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the moon were seen
I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain;
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 't is my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; It struggles and howls at fits. Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills and the crags and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead.
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