And I (as all men may find cause,
When life is at a weary pause,

And they have panted up the hill
Of duty with reluctant will)

Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of constraint ;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
That choice lacked courage to bestow !

The scene that opens now?

Though habitation none appear,

The greenness tells, man must be there;
The shelter that the pérspective

Is of the clime in which we live ;

Where Toil pursues his daily round;

Where Pity sheds sweet tears

and Love,

In woodbine bower or birchen grove,
Inflicts his tender wound.

Who comes not hither ne'er shall know

How beautiful the world below;

Nor can he guess how lightly leaps
The brook adown the rocky steeps.
Farewell, thou desolate Domain !
Hope, pointing to the cultured plain,
Carols like a shepherd-boy;

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And who is she?— Can that be Joy!

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Who, with a sunbeam for her guide,
Smoothly skims the meadows wide;

While Faith, from yonder opening cloud,
To hill and vale proclaims aloud,

"Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare,
Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!"

SEQUEL TO "THE BEGGARS."

COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER.

1817. - 1827.

WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys?
For whose free range the dædal earth

Was filled with animated toys,

And implements of frolic mirth;

With tools for ready wit to guide;

And ornaments of seemlier pride,

More fresh, more bright, than princes wear;
For what one moment flung aside,
Another could repair:

What good or evil have they seen
Since I their pastime witnessed here,

Their daring wiles, their sportive cheer?
I ask but all is dark between !

They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed

ΙΟ

As with the breath of one sweet flower
A time to overrule the power

Of discontent, and check the birth

Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife,
The most familiar bane of life

Since parting Innocence bequeathed
Mortality to Earth!

Soft clouds, the whitest of the year,

Sailed through the sky- the brooks ran clear;
The lambs from rock to rock were bounding;
With songs the budded groves resounding;
And to my heart are still endeared

The thoughts with which it then was cheered;
The faith which saw that gladsome pair
Walk through the fire with unsinged hair.
Or, if such faith must needs deceive
Then, Spirits of beauty and of grace,
Associates in that eager chase;
Ye, who within the blameless mind
Your favorite seat of empire find
Kind Spirits! may we not believe
That they, so happy and so fair

Through your sweet influence, and the care
Of pitying Heaven, at least were free
From touch of deadly injury?

Destined, whate'er their earthly doom,
For mercy and immortal bloom!

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40

COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EXTRAORDINARY SPLENDOR AND BEAUTY.

1818. 1820.

I.

HAD this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;

But 't is endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see
What is? — ah no, but what can be !
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,

While choirs of fervent Angels sang

Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,

Strains suitable to both. Such holy rite,

Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,

Than doth this silent spectacle,

the gleam

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The shadow, and the peace supreme !

II.

No sound is uttered, but a deep

-

And solemn harmony pervades

The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.
Far-distant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency

Of beamy radiance, that imbues

Whate'er it strikes, with gem-like hues !
In vision exquisitely clear,

Herds range along the mountain-side;
And glistening antlers are descried;
And gilded flocks appear.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
- From worlds not quickened by the sun

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To stop

no record hath told where !

And tempting Fancy to ascend,

And with immortal Spirits blend !

Wings at my shoulders seem to play ;

But, rooted here, I stand and gaze

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On those bright steps that heavenward raise