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My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is
cold, Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy
“ It will not, will not rest! - Poor creature, can it be 50 That 't is thy mother's heart which is working so in
thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see
“ Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and
fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come
55 The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play When they are angry roar like lions for their
“ Here thou need’st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, - our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain ? 60 Sleep, — and at break of day I will come to thee
- As homeward through the lane I went with lazy
feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was
65 Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; Nay,” said I, “ more than half to the damsel must
For she looked with such a look, and she spake
with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into
THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.
This arose out of my observation of the affecting music of these birds, hanging in this way in the London streets, during the freshness and stillness of the spring morning.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight
appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for
three years :
Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird.
5 'T is a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, 10 Down which she so often has tripped with her pail,
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,
She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: 15 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colors have all passed away from her eyes!
7. Lothbury and Cheapside are streets in the heart of the city of London.
TO A SKYLARK.
ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 5 Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still.
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 10 Of harmony, with instinct more divine ;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;
TO THE CUCKOO.
O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
5 While I am lying on the grass
Though babbling only to the vale,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring !
Even yet thou art to me 15 No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery ;
The same whom in my schoolboy days
Which made me look a thousand ways, 20 In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
25 And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace 30 Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place ;
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.
SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; 5 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ;
But all things else about her drawn
A dancing shape, an image gay, 10 To haunt, to startle, and waylay,
upon nearer view,
And steps of virgin liberty;
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 20 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with
eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death; 25 The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
And yet a spirit still, and bright 30 With something of angelic light.
THREE YEARS SHE GREW.
grew in sun and shower: