Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep 60 STANZAS. WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 1802. — 1815. WITHIN Our happy Castle there dwelt One But go to-morrow, or belike to-day, Seek for him, he is fled; and whither none can say Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, Out of our Valley's limits did he roam : His voice came to us from the neighboring height: Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man Down would he sit; and without strength or power Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower, Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was IO 20 30 wrong: Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along. With him there often walked in friendly guise, A noticeable Man, with large gray eyes, Profound his forehead was, though not severe; Yet some did think that he had little business here: Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; His limbs would toss about him with delight, Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. He would have taught you how you might employ Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: A pipe on which the wind would deftly play; A mailed angel on a battle-day; The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold. He would entice that other Man to hear His music, and to view his imagery: And sooth, these two were each to the other dear; 40 50 60 No livelier love in such a place could be: Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden-queen. "THE SUN HAS LONG BEEN SET." 1802. - 1807. THE Sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, Among the bushes and trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, Fills all the hollow of the sky. Who would "go parading In London," and masquerading," With that beautiful soft half-moon, On all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is! 70 IO TO H. C. SIX YEARS OLD. 1802. - 1807. O THOU ! whose fancies from afar are brought; The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; In such clear water, that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery ; O blessed vision! happy child ! Thou art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy ! Nature will either end thee quite ; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. 1Ο 20 |