You are preparing as before

To deck your slender shape;

-no more

And yet, just three years back

You had a strange escape.

Down from yon Cliff a fragment broke;
It came, you know, with fire and smoke,
And hitherward it bent its way:

This ponderous Block was caught by me,
And o'er your head, as you may see,

'Tis hanging to this day!

The Thing had better been asleep,

Whatever thing it were,

Or Breeze, or Bird, or Dog, or Sheep,

That first did plant you there.

For you and your green twigs decoy

The little witless Shepherd-boy

To come and slumber in your bower;

And, trust me, on some sultry noon,
Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon!
Will perish in one hour.

VOL. I.

From me this friendly warning take”—

The Broom began to doze,

And thus to keep herself awake

Did gently interpose:

"My thanks for your discourse are due;
That it is true, and more than true,
I know, and I have known it long;
Frail is the bond, by which we hold
Our being, be we young or old,
Wise, foolish, weak, or strong.

Disasters, do the best we can,
Will reach both great and small
And he is oft the wisest man,

Who is not wise at all.

For me, why should I wish to roam ?

This spot is my paternal home,

It is my pleasant Heritage;

My Father many a happy year

Here spread his careless blossoms, here

Attained a good old age.

Even such as his may be my lot.
What cause have I to haunt

My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favoured plant!

On me such bounty Summer pours
That I am covered o'er with flowers;
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay
That. You might look at me and say,

This Plant can never die.

The Butterfly, all green and gold,

To me hath often flown,

Here in my Blossoms to behold

Wings lovely as his own.

When grass is chill with rain or dew,
Beneath my shade the mother Ewe
Lies with her infant Lamb; I see

The love they to each other inake,

And the sweet joy, which they partake,
It is a joy to me."

Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued

Her speech, until the stars of night

Their journey had renewed.

But in the branches of the Oak

Two Ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze

That instant brought two stripling Bees.
To rest and murmur there.

One night, my Children! from the North There came a furious blast;

At break of day I ventured forth,

And near the Cliff I passed.

The storm had fallen upon the Oak

And struck him with a mighty stroke,

And whirled and whirled him far away;

And in one hospitable Cleft

The little careless Broom was left

To live for many a day.

IX.

The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY.

ART thou the Bird whom Man loves best,

The pious Bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;

The Bird that comes about our doors
When Autumn winds are sobbing?

Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The Bird, whom by some name or other
All men who know thee call their Brother,
The Darling of Children and men ?
*Could Father Adam open his eyes,
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.

If the Butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend ;

* See Paradise Lost, Book XI, where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the Eagle chasing" two Birds of gayest plume," and the gentle Hart and Hind pursued by their enemy.