O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

ONE morning (raw it was and wet,
A foggy day in winter time)

A woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime :
Majestic in her person, tall and straight;

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair :

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from those lofty thoughts I woke,
"What treasure," said I, "do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your cloak,
Protected from the cold damp air?"

She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir,—a little singing-bird.

"I had a son,-the waves might roar, He feared them not, a sailor gay!

But he will cross the deep no more:

In Denmark he was cast away:

And I have travelled weary miles to see

If aught which he had owned might still remain for me.

"The bird and cage they both were his :

'T was my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages

This singing-bird had gone with him;

When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;

From bodings as might be that hung upon his mind.

"He to a fellow-lodger's care

Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;-there
I found it when my son was dead;

And now, God help me for my little wit!

I bear it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."

That seems to fill the whole air's space, As loud far off as near.

Though babbling only, to the vale,

Of sunshine and of flowers,

Thou bringest unto me a tale

Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No bird but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery.

The same whom in my school-boy days

I listened to; that cry

Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove

Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain.
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, fairy place,

That is fit home for thee!