Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

"Twas all in vain, a useless matter, -
And blankets were about him pinned;
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say, 'tis plain,
That, live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,
A-bed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
A-bed or up, by night or day;
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

XV.

I WANDERED lonely as a Cloud

That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden Daffodils;

Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed- but little thought

-
-

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.

XVI.

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

At the corner of Wood-street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small Cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only Dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her Heart is in heaven: but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade:
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.

XVII.

POWER OF MUSIC.

AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! —yes, Faith may grow bold,

And take to herself all the wonders of old;

Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its

name.

His station is there; and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim
Was aught ever heard like his Fiddle and him?

What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ; The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest ; And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »