I am right sorry Troilus will die: For which it pleased him in his songs to show The occasion of his woe, as best he might; And made a fitting song, of words but few, Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light; And when he was removed from all men's sight, With a soft night voice, he of his Lady dear, That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear. O star, of which I lost have all the light, With a sore heart well ought I to bewail, That ever dark in torment, night by night, Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; For which upon the tenth night if thou fail With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, My ship and me Charybdis will devour. And that the sun did take his course not right, By longer way than he was wont to go; And said, I am in constant dread I trow, That Phaeton his son is yet alive, His too fond father's car amiss to drive. Upon the walls fast also would he walk, see; And ever thus he to himself would talk:- That in my soul I feel the joy of it. And certainly this wind, that more and more By moments thus increaseth in my face, TO A BUTTERFLY Written in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. My sister and I were parted immediately after the death of our mother, who died in 1778, both being very young. STAY near me do not take thy flight! Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart ! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! Suggested by what I have noticed in more than one French fugitive during the time of the French Revolution. If I am not mistaken, the lines were composed at Sockburn, when I was on a visit to Mrs. Wordsworth and her brother. ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned In which a Lady driven from France did dwell; The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned, In friendship she to me would often tell. This Lady, dwelling upon British ground, Where she was childless, daily would repair To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found, For sake of a young Child whose home was there. Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace This Child, I chanted to myself a lay, Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace A single glow-worm did I chance to espy; Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay, When to the dwelling of my Love I came, The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear; At night the glow-worm shone beneath the tree; I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here," Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me! 1802. -WRITTEN IN MARCH WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER. Extempore. This little poem was a favourite with Joanna Baillie. |