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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;
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
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
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
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
“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
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
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
Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
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.
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
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
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
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
-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
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.”
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