Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;

And in this bush our sparrow built her nest,
Of which I sang one song that will not die.

O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep

Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers

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And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers,

Two burning months let summer overleap,
And coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.

STANZAS.

WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE of

INDOLENCE.

1802. - 1815.

WITHIN Our happy Castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took;
Here on his hours he hung as on a book,
On his own time here would he float away,

As doth a fly upon a summer brook;

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 neighboring height:
Oft could we see him driving full in view
At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man
When he came back to us, a withered flower,
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.

Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:

And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;

And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

ΤΟ

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Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
For happier soul no living creature has
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo;
Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong:
But verse was what he had been wedded 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,

A noticeable Man, with large gray eyes,
And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
As if a blooming face it ought to be;
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,
Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;

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;

Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;

His limbs would toss about him with delight,

Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.
Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy
To banish listlessness and irksome care;

He would have taught you how you might employ
Yourself; and many did to him repair,

And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare.

Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried:

Long blades of grass plucked round him as he lay,
Made, to his ear attentively applied,

A pipe on which the wind would deftly play;
Glasses he had, that little things display,-

The beetle panoplied in gems of gold,

A mailed angel on a battle-day;

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;

No livelier love in such a place could be:
There did they dwell, from earthly labor free,
As happy spirits as were ever seen;

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.

"THE SUN HAS LONG BEEN SET."

1802. - 1807.

THE sun has long been set,

The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet

Among the bushes and trees;

There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,

And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry

Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would "go parading "
In London," and masquerading,"
On such a night of June

With that beautiful soft half-moon,

On all these innocent blisses?

On such a night as this is!

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ΙΟ

TO H. C.

SIX YEARS OLD.

1802. - 1807.

O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou faery voyager! that dost float

In such clear water, that thy boat

May rather seem

To brood on air than on an earthly stream;

Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,

Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;

O blessed vision! happy child!

Thou art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears

For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,
Lord of thy house and hospitality;

And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest

But when she sate within the touch of thee.

O too industrious folly!

O vain and causeless melancholy !

Nature will either end thee quite;

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,

Preserve for thee, by individual right,

A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks.
What hast thou to do with sorrow,

ΙΟ

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