Puslapio vaizdai

Beat it to Earth? or with indignant grief
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope,
Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour
From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame and harmonize

Th' attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.


Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire.

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is

To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown

With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd


(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)

And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,

Slow sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be)

Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents

Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd! The stilly murmur of the distant Sea

Tells us of Silence.

And that simplest Lute,

Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!

How by the desultory breeze caress'd,

Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,

It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs

Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings

Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes

Over delicious surges `sink and rise,

Such a soft floating witchery of sound

As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve

Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,

Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing!
Methinks, it should have been impossible

Not to love all things in a world like this,
Where even the breezes, and the common air,
Contain the power and spirit of Harmony.

And thus, my love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst thro' my half-closed eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,

And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;

Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,

And many idle flitting phantasies,

Traverse my indolent and passive brain,

As wild and various as the random gales
That swell and flutter on this subject lute!

And what if all of animated nature

Be but organic harps diversly fram'd,

That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,

At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts
Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek daughter in the family of Christ!
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregenerate mind,
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of him,
Th' Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healed me,

A sinful and most miserable Man,

Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess

Peace, and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honor'd Maid!

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On having left a Place of Retirement.

Sermoni propriora.-HOR.

Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest Rose
Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear
At silent noon, and eve, and early morn,
The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air
Our Myrtles blossom'd; and across the Porch
Thick Jasmins twined: the little landscape round
Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.
It was a spot which you might aptly call
(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness)
A wealthy son of commerce saunter by,
Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd
His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse
With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and look'd
With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around,

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