Х "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION." I CANNOT forget with what fervid devotion To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. And deep were my musings in life's early blos som, Mid the twilight of mountain groves wander ing long; How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my full bosom, When o'er me descended the spirit of song. 'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened, All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene; Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries steal ing, From the gloom of the thickets that over me hung, And the thoughts that awoke in that rapture of feeling, Were formed into verse as they rose to my tongue. Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded ; No longer your pure rural worshipper now; In the haunts your continual presence pervaded, Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow. In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain, In deep lonely glens where the waters com plain, By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the fountain, I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain. Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken, Your pupil and victim to life and its tears! But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken The glories ye showed to his earlier years. TO A MUSQUITO. FAIR insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint: Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could. I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green, The offspring of the gods, though born on earth; For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along; |