I am right sorry Troilus will die:
And thus a day or two drove wearily;
As ye have heard; such life 'gan he to lead
As one that standeth betwixt hope and
dread.

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,
To the end that he the Grecian host might

see;

And ever thus he to himself would talk:-
Lo! yonder is my own bright Lady free;
Or yonder is it that the tents must be;
And thence does come this air which is so
sweet,

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,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain;
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?

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!
A little longer stay in sight!

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!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

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;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my horse I leapt; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the dwelling of my Love I came,
I went into the orchard quietly;
And left the glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a tree.

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.