VI. STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 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, And find elsewhere his business or delight; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam : Full many a time, upon a stormy night, 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 Down would he sit; and without strength or power Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong. But verse was what he had been wèdded to; And his own mind did like a tempest strong Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along. With him there often walked in friendly guise, Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree, 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 He would have taught you how you might employ 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 beetle panoplied in gems and gold, 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 : 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. VII. LOUISA. AFTER ACCOMPANYING HER ON A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION. THOUGH, by a sickly taste betrayed, That she is healthful, fleet, and strong; And she hath smiles to earth unknown; Do spread, and sink, and rise; She loves her fire, her cottage-home; And, when against the wind she strains, 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, When up she winds along the brook VIII. STRANGE fits of passion have I known : And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befel. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, 1805. |