WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS
MYRTLE leaf, that ill besped
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirr'd along the yellow vale,*
Sad, I saw thee, heedless leaf !
Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs,
While the flatterer on his wing
Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high;
Soon on this unshelter'd walk
Flung to fade, to rot and die !
* When the rustic o'er his sheaf
Caroll'd in the yellow vale-1797.
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE
A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, But a green Mountain variously up-piled,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep
Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild;
And mid the summer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds be-
guiled,
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love
Made meek inquiry for her wandering lamb :
Such a green Mountain 'twere most sweet to climb
E'en while the bosom ached with loneliness-
How heavenly sweet, if some dear Friend should
bless
Th' adventurous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow; the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,-
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now to unlock
The treasured heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his Muse's witching charm
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly for haply there uprears
That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain the enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
Tinged yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah! dearest Lloyd! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd:
Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the
To some lone mansion, in some woody dale, Where smiling with blue eye, Domestic Bliss Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss!
Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore,
The Hill of Knowledge I essay'd to trace ;
That verdurous hill with many a resting-place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod
Where Inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage !*
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world up-lifted high,
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply)
There, while the prospect through the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll smilet at wealth, and learn to smile† at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same,
As neighbouring fountains image each the whole:
Then when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
They whom I love shall love thee, honour'd youth!
Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!
* And mad Oppression's thunder-clasping rage.—1797. † Laugh.-Ib.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE
FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
WEET flower! that peeping from thy russet
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye), alas, poor Flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
Even 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 wondrous boy!
An amaranth, which earth scarce seem'd to own,
[Blooming mid poverty's drear wintry waste,]
Till disappointment came, and pelting wrong
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
*These lines first appeared in the Author's paper, The Watchman, April 11th, 1796.
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