busy Square;

And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are

blue and fair;

before:

One after One they take their turn, nor have I one espied

XVII.

LIRE though such power do in thy magic live
As might from India's farthest plain
Real the not unwilling Maid,

Assist me to detain

The lovely Fugitive:

Check with thy notes the impulse which, betrayed

By her sweet farewell looks, I longed to aid.

Here let me gaze enrapt upon that eye,

The impregnable and awe-inspiring fort
of contemplation, the calm port

By reason fenced from winds that sigh
Among the restless sails of vanity.

But if no wish be hers that we should part,
A bumbler bliss would satisfy my heart.

Where all things are so fair,
Enough by her dear side to breathe the air
Of this Elysian weather;

And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy
Shade upon the sunshine lying

Faint and somewhat pensively;
And downward Image gaily vying

With its upright living tree
Mal elver clouds, and openings of blue sky
A soft almost and deep as her cerulean eye.

Vores the joy with many a glance

Cast up the Stream or down at her beseeching, 7 mark its eddying foam-balls prettily distrest By ever-changing shape and want of rest;

Or watch, with mutual teaching,
The current as it plays

In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps
Adown a rocky maze;

Denote (translucent summer's happiest chance !)
Is the slope-channel floored with pebbles bright,
wines of all hues, gem emulous of gem,
So vivid that they take from keenest sight
The quid veil that seeks not to hide them.

Her skin was of Egyptian brown:
Haughty, as if her eye had seen
Its own light to a distance thrown,
She towered, fit person for a Queen

To lead those ancient Amazonian files;

Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles.

Advancing, forth she stretched her hand

And begged an alms with doleful plea
That ceased not; on our English land✔
Such woes, I knew, could never be;

And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature

Was beautiful to see--a weed of glorious feature.

I left her, and pursued my way;
And soon before me did espy

A pair of little Boys at play,
Chasing a crimson butterfly;

The taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land.

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 !

1802.

XX.

XIX.

SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING,

COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER.

WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys?
For whose free range the dædal earth
Was filled with animated toys,
And implements of frolic mirth;
With tools for ready wit to guide;
And ornaments of seemlier pride,
More fresh, more bright, than princes wear;
For what one moment flung aside,
Another could repair;

What good or evil have they seen
Since I their pastime witnessed here,
Their daring wiles, their sportive cheer?
I ask-but all is dark between!

They met me in a genial hour,
When universal nature breathed

As with the breath of one sweet flower,-
A time to overrule the power

Of discontent, and check the birth

Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife,
The most familiar bane of life
Since parting Innocence bequeathed
Mortality to Earth!

Soft clouds, the whitest of the year,

Sailed through the sky-the brooks ran clear;
The lambs from rock to rock were bounding;
With songs the budded groves resounding;
And to my heart are still endeared

The thoughts with which it then was cheered;
The faith which saw that gladsome pair
Walk through the fire with unsinged hair.
Or, if such faith must needs deceive-
Then, Spirits of beauty and of grace,
Associates in that eager chase;
Ye, who within the blameless mind
Your favourite seat of empire find—
Kind Spirits! may we not believe
That they, so happy and so fair

Through your sweet influence, and the care
Of pitying Heaven, at least were free
From touch of deadly injury?
Destined, whate'er their earthly doom,
For mercy and immortal bloom!

1817.

GIPSIES.

YET are they here the same unbroken knot
Of human Beings, in the self-same spot!
Men, women, children, yea the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the colouring of night;
That on their Gipsy-faces falls,
Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.
-Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone,
while I

Have been a traveller under open sky,

Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left I find them here!
The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;-
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,
Outshining like a visible God

The glorious path in which he trod.
And now, ascending, after one dark hour
And one night's diminution of her power,
Behold the mighty Moon! this way
She looks as if at them-but they
Regard not her:-oh better wrong and strife
(By nature transient) than this torpid life;
Life which the very stars reprove
As on their silent tasks they move!
Yet, witness all that stirs in heaven or earth!
In scorn I speak not;-they are what their birth
And breeding suffer them to be;
Wild outcasts of society!

XXI.

RUTH.

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

1807

Among the Indians he had fought,
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Sach tales as told to any maid

By sach a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls-a happy rout!

Who qut their fold with dance and shout,

Their pleasant Indian town,

To guher strawberries all day long;

Bearing with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

He pake of plants that hourly change

Thar blossoms, through a boundless range

Of intermingling hues;

With budding, fading, faded flowers
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews.

He told of the magnolia, spread

High as a cloud, high over head!
The cypress and her spire;

-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem

To set the hills on fire.

The Youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds

Of islands, that together lie
As quietly as spots of sky
Among the evening clouds.

"How pleasant," then he said, "it were

A fisher or a hunter there,

In sunshine or in shade

To wander with an easy mind;

And build a household fire, and find

A home in every glade!

What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee

So passed in quiet bliss,

And all the while," said he, "to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!"

And then he sometimes interwove Fond thoughts about a father's love: "For there," said he, "are spun Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun.

Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me My helpmate in the woods to be,

Our shed at night to rear;

Or run, my own adopted bride,
A sylvan huntress at my side,
And drive the flying deer!

Beloved Ruth !"-No more he said. The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed A solitary tear:

She thought again—and did agree With him to sail across the sea, And drive the flying deer.

"And now, as fitting is and right, We in the church our faith will plight,

A husband and a wife."

Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day

Was more than human life.