« السابقةمتابعة »
See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is ;
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a string of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And the evening star down calling
The dead night from underground;
At whose rising, mists unsound,
Damps and vapours, fly apace,
And hover o'er the smiling face
of these pastures, where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom :
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his lovèd flock;
And let your dogs lie loose without,
Lest the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and ere day,
Bear a lamb or kid away ;
Or the crafty thievish fox
Break upon your simple flocks.
To secure yourself from these
Be not too secure in ease;
So shall you good shepherds prove,
And deserve your master's love.
Now good night! may sweetest slumbers
And soft silence fall in numbers
On your eye-lids : so farewell :
Thus I end my evening knell.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
UNFOLDING THE FLOCKS.
SHEPHERDS, rise, and shake off sleep-
See the blushing morn doth peep
Through your windows, while the sun
To the mountain-tops has run,
Gilding all the vales below
With the rising flames, which grow
Brighter with his climbing still
Up! ye lazy swains ! and fill
Bag and bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind.
Call the maidens up, and find
Who lies longest, that she may
Be chidden for untimod delay.
Feed your faithful dogs, and pray
Heaven to keep you from decay,
So unfold, and then away,
Beaumont and Fletcher.
A COUNTRY COTTAGE. 'Mong the green lanes of Kent-green sunny lanes — Where troops of children shout, and laugh, and play, And gather daisies, stood an antique home, Within its orchard, rich with ruddy fruits ; For the full year was laughing in his prime. Wealth of all flowers grew in that garden green, And the old porch with its great oaken door Was smother'd in rose-blooms, while o'er the walls The honeysuckle clung deliciously, Before the door there lay a plot of grass, Snow'd o'er with daisies-flower by all beloved, And famousest in song-and in the midst, A carrèd fountain stood, dried up and broken, On which a peacock perch'd and sunn'd itself; Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white, Squatted upon the sward. A row of poplars darkly rose behind, Around whose tops, and the old-fashion'd vanes, White pigeons flutter'd, and o'er all was bent The mighty sky, with sailing sunny clouds.
The wind, it is a mystic thing,
Wand'ring o'er ocean wide ;
And fanning all the thousand sails
That o'er its billows glide.
It curls the blue waves into foam,
It snaps the strongest mast, Then, like a sorrowing thing, it sighs
When the wild storm is past. And yet how gently does it come
At ev'ning through the bow'rs,
As if it said a kind “good night"
To all the closing flowers !
It bears the perfume of the rose,
It fans the insect's wing; 'Tis round me, with me every where,
Yet 'tis an unseen thing.
How many sounds it bears along,
As o'er the earth it goes ;
The song of many joyous hearts,
The sounds of many woes!
It enters into palace balls,
And carries thence the sound
Of mirth and music ; but it creeps
The narrow prison round,
And bears away the captive's sigh,
Who sits in sorrow there ;
Or from the martyr's lonely cell
Conveys his evening prayer.
It fans the reaper's heated brow ;
It through the window creeps,
And lifts the fair child's golden curls,
As on her couch she sleeps. 'Tis like the light, a gift to all,
To prince, to peasant given; Awake, asleep, around us still,
There is this gift of heaven : This strange, mysterious thing we call
The breeze, the air, the wind ; We call it so, but know no more,
'Tis mystery, like our mind. Think not the things most wonderful
Are those beyond our ken,-
For wonders are around the paths,
The daily paths of men.
WHERE is thy home, soft Breeze P
Is it among the trecs,
Or in the silent dell ?
Where dost thou dwell?
Still break the golden beam
That shines upon the stream
There let thy murmurs play
The livelong summer's day,
Where dost thou dwell ?
My home is in ladies' bowers,
I sigh among the flowers
When dew'd with evening showers-
There do I dwell;
On Ocean's breast I play,
And wanton with his spray;
But chief o'er stream and dell
My murmurs love to swell,
There do I dwell.
Over the fount I take
My airy flight, and break
The crystal liquid curls,
Into a thousand pearls,-
I kiss the placid lake
And its glassy smoothness shake-
Where from their watery lairs
Bright trout the angler snares,
My breath unto him bears."
Then hail, thou heaven-sent Breeze !
Still sigh among the trees !
And in the silent dell,
The evening's knell!
Thy odorous breathings, now
Salute my burning brow,
And with my glowing palm
I clutch thy cooling balm-
Here dost thou dwell.
ON AN ANCIENT STONE-QUARRY.
Know, visitor, that from this spot obscure,
So bid from human gaze,
Whither scarce once a year, across the moor,
A lonely shepherd strays,-
In olden time, far off beyond the seas,
A vast cathedral rose,
Whose fame extends to earth's extremities,
And still with ages grows.
The stones, that here in darkness would have lain,
There piled in glorious state,
Up to the skies, the fretted roof sustain,
Or carved in many a mystical device,
And forms of Saints on high,
In glory erer new, bring Paradise
Before th' astonislı'd eye.
Such power hath God for His eternal ends
To human genius given ;-
Genius sublime! by which the mind ascends
In Him from earth to heaven !
So, at His will and bountiful decree,
From low obscurest things,
In everlasting truth and harmony,
Celestial beauty springs.
E'en as at first, from the rude formless mass
Of earth's chaotic frame,
This fair creation, at His word of grace,
In perfect order came.