Did place upon his Brother's head the Crown, Relinquished by his own; Then to his people cried, «) Receive your Lord, Earth's noblest penitent; from bondage freed Or shake his high desert. Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear And, from this triumph of affection pure, TO A BUTTERFLY. I've watched you now a full half-hour, What joy awaits you, when the breeze This plot of Orchard-ground is ours; Come often to us, fear no wrong; We'll talk of sunshine and of song; And summer days when we were young; Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, His voice came to us from the neighbouring height: A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew. Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away. Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along. With him there often walked in friendly guise, Yet some did think that he had little business here: Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay, A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play; The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold. He would entice that other Man to kear His music, and to view his imagery: And, sooth, these two did love each other dear, As far as love in such a place could be; There did they dwell-from earthly labour free, If but a bird, to keep them company, Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden Queen. LOUISA. I MET Louisa in the shade; And having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong; And down the rocks can leap along, Like rivulets in May? And she hath smiles to earth unknown; She loves her fire, her Cottage-home; And, when against the wind she strains, Oh might I kiss the mountain rains Take all that's mine «beneath the moon,» If I with her but half a noon May sit beneath the walls Of some old cave, or mossy nook, STRANGE fits of passion I have known: But in the Lover's ear alone, When she I loved was strong and gay, I to her cottage bent my way, Upon the Moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea; My Horse trudged on-and we drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard plot; In one of those sweet dreams I slept, My Horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped: What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a Lover's head! «O mercy!» to myself I cried, « If Lucy should be dead!» SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A Maid whom there were none to praise, A Violet by a mossy stone -Fair as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know But she is in her Grave, and, oli, I TRAVELLED among unknown Men, Tis past, that melancholy dream! Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And She I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings shewed, thy nights concealed Ear with cold beads of midnight dew Had mingled tears of thine, I grieved, fond Youth! that thou shouldst sue To haughty Geraldine. Immoveable by generous sighs, She glories in a train Who drag, beneath our native skies, An Oriental Chain. Pine not like them with arms across, How the fast-rooted trees can toss The humblest Rivulet will take Its own wild liberties; And, every day, the imprisoned Lake Is flowing in the breeze. Then, crouch no more on suppliant knee, A Briton, even in love, should be TO ****** Look at the fate of summer Flowers, If human Life do pass away, Perishing yet more swiftly than the Flower What The deepest grove whose foliage hid Then shall Love teach some virtuous Youth "T is said, that some have died for love: His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn's side: He loved the pretty Barbara died, And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid When thus his moan he made; Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie, That in some other way yon smoke May mount into the sky! The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart : But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. «O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, When will that dying murmur be supprest! Your sound my heart of peace bereaves, It robs my heart of rest. Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit, Upon that alder sit; Or sing another song, or choose another tree. «Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustained; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Oh let it then be dumb! Be any thing, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now. «Thou Eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers, (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale) Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers, And stir not in the gale. For thus to see thee nodding in the air,- Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.>> The Man who makes this feverish complaint ΤΟ LET other Bards of Angels sing, Such if thou wert in all men's view, What would my Fancy have to do, My Feelings to bestow? The world denies that Thou art fair; If nought in loveliness compare True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Till heart with heart in concord beats, How rich that forehead's calm expanse! And intercourse with mortal hours So looked Cecilia when she drew An Angel from his station; So looked-not ceasing to pursue But hand and voice alike are still; Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies, LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR. « Smile of the Moon!-for so I name From Her whom drooping Captives love; «Bright boon of pitying Heaven-alas! «Farewell desire of human aid, « Hark! the death-note of the year THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. [When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue hist journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the Desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other Tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, HEANNE'S Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern Latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following Poem.] BEFORE I see another day, In sleep I heard the northern gleams; Before I see another day, My fire is dead: it knew no pain; For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; But they to me no joy can give, Alas! ye might have dragged me on Too soon I yielded to despair; Why did ye listen to my prayer? When ye were gone my limbs were stronger; |