Prophet of delight and mirth,

Scorned and slighted upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,

Of a joyous train ensuing,
Singing at my heart's command,
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!

TO THE SAME FLOWER.

PLEASURES newly found are sweet
When they lie about our feet:

February last, my heart

First at sight of thee was glad ;

All unheard of as thou art,

Thou must needs, I think, have had,

Celandine! and long ago,

Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)
Set the Sign-board in a blaze,
When the risen sun he painted,
Took the fancy from a glance
At thy glittering countenance.

Soon as gentle breezes bring
News of winter's vanishing,

And the children build their bowers,
Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mould
All about with full-blown flowers,
Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!
With the proudest thou art there,
Mantling in the tiny square.

Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think, I read a book
Only read, perhaps, by me;
Yet I long could overlook
Thy bright coronet and Thee,
And thy arch and wily ways,
And thy store of other praise.

Blithe of heart, from week to week Thou dost play at hide-and-seek; While the patient Primrose sits

Like a beggar in the cold,

Thou, a Flower of wiser wits,

Slipp'st into thy sheltering hold;
Bright as any of the train

When ye all are out again.

Thou art not beyond the moon,
But a thing "beneath our shoon :"
Let the bold Adventurer thrid
In his bark the polar sea;
Rear who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four
Who will love my little Flower.

"I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD."

I WANDERED lonely as a Cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden Daffodils;

Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay :

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee :--
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company;

I gazed and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought :

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.

TO A SKY-LARK.

Up with me! up with me into the clouds !
For thy song, Lark, is strong;

Up with me, up with me into the clouds !
Singing, singing,

With clouds and sky about thee ringing,
Lift me, guide me till I find

That spot which seems so to thy mind!

I have walked through wildernesses dreary,
And to-day my heart is weary;

Had I now the wings of a Faery,
Up to thee would I fly.

There's madness about thee, and joy divine
In that song of thine;

Lift me, guide me high and high

To thy banqueting-place in the sky.

Joyous as morning,

Thou art laughing and scorning;

Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest,
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth

To be such a traveller as I.

Happy, happy Liver,

With a soul as strong as a mountain River
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
Joy and jollity be with us both!

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,

As full of gladness and as free of heaven,

I, with my fate contented, will plod on,

And hope for higher raptures, when Life's day is done.

STRAY PLEASURES.

"-Pleasure is spread through the earth
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find."

By their floating Mill,

That lies dead and still,

Behold yon Prisoners three,

The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames !
The Platform is small, but gives room for them all;
And they're dancing merrily.

From the shore come the notes

To their Mill where it floats,

To their House and their Mill tethered fast;

To the small wooden Isle where, their work to beguile, They from morning to even take whatever is given ;— And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the Spires,

All alive with the fires

Of the Sun going down to his rest,

In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,

They dance, there are three, as jocund as free,
While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Man and Maidens wheel,

They themselves make the Reel,

And their Music's a prey which they seize ;
It plays not for them,—what matter? 'tis theirs ;
And if they had care, it has scattered their cares,
While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"