I could have thought the Sun beheld with smiles Those towns and palaces and populous isles. 6. From fair Arona, even on such a day, When gladness was descending like a shower, Great painter, did thy gifted eye survey The splendid scene; and, conscious of its power, Well hath thine hand inimitable given The glories of the lake and land and heaven. KESWICK, 1828. XVII. ON A PICTURE BY J. M. WRIGHT, ESQ. [Engraved for the "Keepsake" of 1829.] 1. THE skylark hath perceived his prison-door 2. Lucy's own Puss, and Lucy's own dear Bird, 3. For if the skylark's pipe were shrill and strong, And its rich tones the thrilling ear might please, Yet Pussybel could breathe a fireside song As winning, when she lay on Lucy's knees. 4. Both knew her voice, and each alike would seek Her eye, her smile, her fondling touch to gain : How faintly, then, may words her sorrow speak, When by the one she sees the other slain! 5. The flowers fall scattered from her lifted hands; And, self-condemned for negligence, she stands 6. Come, Lucy, let me dry those tearful eyes; 7. I will not warn thee not to set thy heart 8. It is our nature's strong necessity, And this the soul's unerring instincts tell: Therefore I say, let us love worthily, Dear child, and then we cannot love too well. g. Better it is all losses to deplore, Which dutiful affection can sustain, Than that the heart should, in its inmost core, 10. This love which thou hast lavished, and the woe Which makes thy lip now quiver with distress, Are but a vent, an innocent overflow, From the deep springs of female tenderness. 11. And something I would teach thee from the grief That thus hath filled those gentle eyes with tears, The which may be thy sober, sure relief, When sorrow visits thee in after-years. 12. I ask not whither is the spirit flown That lit the eye which there in death is sealed Our Father hath not made that mystery known; Needless the knowledge, therefore not revealed. 1 13. But didst thou know, in sure and sacred truth, 14. Lucy, if then the power to thee were given 15. Only that thou mightst cherish it again, 16. Oh, no, thou say'st; oh, surely not, not so! For pure and true affection, well I know, Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness. 17. Such love of all our virtues is the gem; 18. What we love perfectly, for its own sake 19. O Lucy! treasure up that pious thought: It hath a balm for sorrow's deadliest darts; And with true comfort thou wilt find it fraught, If grief should reach thee in thy heart of hearts. BUCKLAND, 1828. XVIII. 1. My days among the Dead are passed; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, 2. With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe; And, while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, |