In low and languid *mood: for I had found
That outward Forms, the loftiest, still receive
Their finer influence from the Life within:
Fair Cyphers of vague import, where the Eye
Traces no spot, in which the Heart may read
History or Prophecy of Friend, or Child,

Or gentle Maid, our first and early love,

Or Father, or the venerable name

Of our adored Country! O thou Queen,
Thou delegated Deity of Earth,

O dear, dear England! how my longing eye
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs!

My native Land!

Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills,

Floated away, like a departing dream,

Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses

When I have gazed

From some high eminence on goodly vales,

And cots and villages embowered below,
The thought would rise that all to me was strange
Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot

Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home.

SOUTHEY'S Hymn to the Penates.

Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane,
With hasty judgment or injurious doubt,

That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel

That God is every where! the God who framed Mankind to be one mighty Family,

Himself our Father, and the World our Home.

ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM

On the 1st of February, 1796.

SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort

This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Month
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way.
Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth
Nipp'd by Consumption mid untimely charms?
Or to Bristowa's *Bard, the wonderous boy!
An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own,
Blooming mid poverty's drear wintry waste,

Till Disappointment came, and pelting wrong

* Chatterton.

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.

THE EOLIAN HARP.

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

Myrtle,

(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