With one sensation, and those wakeful Birds As if one quick and sudden Gale had swept On blosmy twig still swinging from the breeze, Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve, To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well In most distressful mood (some inward pain Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream) And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up He may associate Joy! Once more farewell, Sweet Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell. THE FEMALE VAGRANT. By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood, (The Woman thus her artless story told) One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold. Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd: With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore My father's nets, or watched, when from the fold High o'er the cliffs I led my fleecy store, A dizzy depth below! his boat and twinkling oar. My father was a good and pious man, To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed, Can I forget what charms did once adorn My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme, And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn? The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time; The swans, that, when I sought the water-side, From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride. |