The other wore a rimless crown
With leaves of laurel stuck about;
And, while both followed up and down,
Each whooping with a merry shout,

In their fraternal features I could trace
Unquestionable lines of that wild Suppliant's face.

Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit
For finest tasks of earth or air:

Wings let them have, and they might flit
Precursors to Aurora's car,

Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween,
To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level green.

They dart across my path—but lo,
Each ready with a plaintive whine!
Said I, "Not half an hour ago

Your Mother has had alms of mine."

"That cannot be," one answered-"she is dead:"

I looked reproof-they saw-but neither hung his head.

"She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”— "Hush, boys! you're telling me a lie ;

It was your Mother, as I say!"

And, in the twinkling of an eye,

"Come! come!” cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew !

TO A BUTTERFLY.

Composed March 15, 1802.

Published 1807.

STAY near me-do not take thy flight!

A little longer stay in sight!

Much converse do I find in thee,

Historian of my infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart !

Dead times revive in thee:

Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,

My father's family!

G

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush

Upon the prey-with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush ;
But she, God love her! feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

TO THE CUCKOO.

Composed March 22, 1801-1802.

Published 1807

O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,

I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass

Thy twofold shout I hear,

From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale,

Of sunshine and of flowers,

Thou bringest unto me a tale

Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry

Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for Thee!

AMONG all lovely things my Love had been ;
Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

While riding near her home one stormy night
A single glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my horse I lept; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay,

To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the dwelling of my Love I came,

I went into the orchard quietly;

And left the glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a tree.

The whole next day I hoped, and hoped with fear;
At night the glow-worm shone beneath the tree;
I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here,"
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

WRITTEN IN MARCH,

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S

Composed April 16, 1802.

WATER.

Published 1807.

THE Cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter,

The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest

Are at work with the strongest ;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one !

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The plough-boy is whooping-anon-anon :
There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing ;

The rain is over and gone!

THE REDBREAST CHASING THE BUTTERFLY.
Composed April 18, 1802.
Published 1807.

ART thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English Robin ;

The bird that comes about our doors
When Autumn-winds are sobbing?
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The bird, that by some name or other
All men who know thee call their brother,
The darling of children and men?
Could father Adam open his eyes,

And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.

If the butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend;
And find his way to me

Under the branches of the tree :

In and out, he darts about ;

Can this be the bird, to man so good,

That, after their bewildering,

Covered with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou couldst pursue

A beautiful creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky

From flower to flower let him fly;

'Tis all that he wishes to do.

The cheerer Thou of our indoor sadness,

He is the friend of our summer gladness:
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together!