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TO A SKY-LARK.

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 ? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still !

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine ;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine ;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

1825.

THE PET-LAMB.

A PASTORAL.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, “ Drink, pretty creature,

drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its

side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all

alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden

kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

meal.

took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail

with pleasure shook. “Drink, pretty creature, drink,” she said in such a

tone That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty

rare ! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away: But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she

stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a

shady place I unobserved could see the workings of her face: If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers

bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might

sing:

“What ails thee, young One ? what? Why pull

so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and

board ? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young One, rest; what is 't that aileth

thee?

Whnt is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting

to thy heart ? Thy limbs are they not strong ? And beautiful This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have

thou art;

no peers ; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears !

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy wool

len chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst

gain; For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st

not fear, The rain and storm are things that scarcely can

come here.

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned

by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was

gone.

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He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee

home : A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou

roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast ; the dam that did thee

yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

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Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee

in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with

dew, I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and

nei.

Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are

now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the

plough ; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is

cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy

fold.

It will not, will not rest !—Poor creature, can it be 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

nor hear.

Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come

there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

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 ? Sleep—and at break of day I will come to thee

again!"

-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 her's, and one half of it was

mine.

more

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; Nay,” said I, than half to the damsel must

belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake

with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own.”

1800,

SONNET. WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,

Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. A goodly Vessel did I then espy Come like a giant from a haven broad; And lustily along the bay she strode, Her tackling rich, and of apparel high. This Ship was naught to me, nor I to her, Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look ; This Ship to all the rest did I prefer : When will she turn, and whither? She will brook No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir : On went She, and due north her journey took.

ODE TO DUTY. “Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eò perductus, ut non tantam recte facere possim, sed nisi rectè facere non possim." STERN TERN Daughter of the voice of God!

O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;

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