I see them yonder, what a load For such a Thing as you! IV. "You are preparing, as before, To deck your slender shape; And yet, just three years back—no moreYou had a strange escape: ; Down from yon cliff a fragment broke V. "If breeze or bird to this rough steep Your kind's first seed did bear, The breeze had better been asleep, The bird caught in a snare: For you and your green twigs decoy To come and slumber in your bower; And, trust me, on some sultry noon, Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour. VI. "From me this friendly warning take -- ' The Broom began to doze, And thus, to keep herself awake, 'My thanks for your discourse are due ; VII. "Disasters, do the best we can, Will reach both great and small; And he is oft the wisest man, Who is not wise at all. For me, why should I wish to roam? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant heritage; My father many a happy year Spread here his careless blossoms, here Attained a good old age. VIII. "Even such as his may be my lot. On me such bounty Summer pours, That you might look at me and say, IX. "The Butterfly, all green and gold, Here in my blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew, X. "Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night Their journey had renewed; But in the branches of the Oak Two ravens now began to croak XI. "One night, my Children! from the north There came a furious blast; At break of day I ventured forth, The storm had fallen upon the Oak, The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day." VI. 1800. TO A SEXTON. LET thy wheelbarrow alone! 'T is already like a hill In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid; These died in peace each with the other,Father, sister, friend, and brother. Mark the spot to which I point ! Take not even a finger-joint: Andrew's whole fireside is there. Here, alone, before thine eyes, Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness now and pain defended, Look but at the gardener's pride, - By the heart of Man, his tears, Thus then, each to other dear, Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there, and Susan here, Neighbors in mortality. And should I live through sun and rain, |