Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out Not idly. Hadst thou been of Indian birth, Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves, And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed
On the blank plains, — the coldness of the night, Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned, Would, with imperious admonition, then Have scored thine age, and punctually timed Thine infant history, on the minds of those Who might have wandered with thee. Nor less than mother's love in other breasts, Will, among us warm-clad and warmly housed, Do for thee what the finger of the heavens Doth all too often harshly execute For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds Where fancy hath small liberty to grace The affections, to exalt them or refine; And the maternal sympathy itself, Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie Of naked instinct, wound about the heart. Happier, far happier, is thy lot and ours! Even now to solemnize thy helpless state, And to enliven in the mind's regard Thy passive beauty-parallels have risen, Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect, Within the region of a father's thoughts, Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky.
And first; thy sinless progress, through a world, By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed,
Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain: But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn With brightness! leaving her to post along, And range about, disquieted in change, And still impatient of the shape she wears. Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe, That will suffice thee; and it seems that now Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine; Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon Hath this conception, grateful to behold, Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er By breathing mist; and thine appears to be
A mournful labor, while to her is given
Hope, and a renovation without end.
That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn,
To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen; Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers Thy loneliness: or shall those smiles be called Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore This untried world, and to prepare thy way Through a strait passage, intricate and dim? Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs, Which, when the appointed season hath arrived, Joy, as her holiest language shall adopt;
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own.
THERE is a Flower, the lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain; And, the first moment that the sun may shine, Bright as the sun himself, 't is out again!
When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm, In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.
But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed And recognized it, though an altered form, Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storm.
I stopped, and said with inly muttered voice, "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold: This neither is its courage nor its choice,
But its necessity in being old.
The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; It cannot help itself in its decay;
Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue." And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.
To be a Prodigal's Favorite - then, worse truth, A Miser's Pensioner behold our lot!
O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!
"Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eò perductus, ut non tantum rectè facere possim, sed nisi rectè facere non possim."
STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free ;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not :
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end!
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