POEMS.

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EFFUSION.

____

AH, little did I think in time that’s past,

By summer burnt, or numb’d by winter’s blast,

Delving the ditch a livelihood to earn,

Or lumping corn out in a dusty barn;

With aching bones returning home at night,

And sitting down with weary hand to write;

Ah, little did I think, as then unknown,

Those artless rhymes I even blush’d to own

Would be one day applauded and approv’d,

By learning notic’d, and by genius lov’d. 10

God knows, my hopes were many, but my pain

Damp’d all the prospects which I hop’d to gain;

I hardly dar’d to hope.—Thou corner-chair,

In which I’ve oft slung back in deep despair,

₆₆^{………………………………………………………………………………..…….}

Hadst thou expression, thou couldst easy tell

The pains and all that I have known too well:

’Twould be but sorrow’s tale, yet still ’twould be

A tale of truth, and passing sweet to me.

How oft upon my hand I’ve laid my head,

And thought how poverty deform’d our shed; 20

Look’d on each parent’s face I fain had cheer’d,

Where sorrow triumph’d, and pale want appear’d;

And sigh’d, and hop’d, and wish’d some day would come,

When I might bring a blessing to their home,—

That toil and merit comforts had in store,

To bid the tear defile their cheeks no more.

Who that has feelings would not wish to be

A friend to parents, such as mine to me,

Who in distress broke their last crust in twain,

And though want pinch’d, the remnant broke again, 30

And still, if craving of their scanty bread,

Gave their last mouthful that I might be fed?

Nor for their own wants tear-drops follow’d free,

₆₆ Worse anguish stung—they had no more for me.

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And now hope’s sun is looking brighter out,

And spreading thin the clouds of fear and doubt,

That long in gloomy sad suspense to me

Hid the long-waited smiles I wish’d to see.

And now, my parents, helping you is sweet,—

The rudest havoc fortune could complete; 40

A piteous couple, little blest with friends,

Where pain and poverty have had their ends.

I’ll be thy crutch, my father, lean on me;

Weakness knits stubborn while it’s bearing thee:

And hard shall fall the shock of fortune’s frown,

To eke thy sorrows, ere it breaks me down.

My mother, too, thy kindness shall be met,

And ere I’m able will I pay the debt;

For what thou’st done, and what gone through for me,

My last-earn’d sixpence will I break with thee: 50

And when my dwindled sum won’t more divide,

Then take it all—to fate I’ll leave the rest;

In helping thee I’ll always feel a pride,

Nor think I’m happy till ye both are blest.

₆₇

₆₈^{………………………………………………………………….………………….}

ADDRESS TO MY FATHER,

ON HIS RECEIVING AN EASY CHAIR FROM THE RIGHT HON.

LADY ——.

____

CALM resignation meets a happy end;

And Providence, long-trusted, brings a friend.

God’s will be done, be patient and be good;

Elisha was, and ravens brought him food:

And so wast thou, my father,—fate’s decree

Doom’d many evils should encompass thee;

And, like Elisha, though it met thee late,

Patience unwearied did not vainly wait.

Thou hast, my father, long been us’d to pine,

And patient borne thy pain; great pain was thine. 10

Thou hast submitted, ah, and thou hast known

The roughest storms that life has ever blown,

Yet met them like a lamb: thou wert resign’d,

₆₈ And though thou pray’dst a better place to find,

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’Twas nought presumptuous—meekly wouldst thou crave,

When pains rack’d sore, some easement in the grave;

To lay thy aching body down in peace,

Where want and pain, poor man’s tormentors, cease.

’Twas all thy wish—and not till lately wish’d,

When age came on, and pain thy strength had crush’d. 20

There stood thy children, “ah,” thou oft wouldst sigh,

“Let’s see my babes brought up, and let me die.

“Though what I do brings them but little food,

“It better keeps them than a workhouse would.

“I’ve small enticement in this world to find,

“But could not rest if they were left behind.”—

Bless thee, my father! thou’st been kind to me,

And God, who saw it, will be kind to thee.

Now pain has mark’d thee long with age’s scars,

And age with double-blow thy end prepares,— 30

A crooked wreck, the trace of what has been,

₆₉ Toil, want, and pain, now but too plainly seen,—

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Thou’st met with friends who joy to damp despair,

And when most needed brought thy easy chair;

An easy seat thy wasted form to bless,

And make thy useless limbs to pain thee less:

O mayst thou long enjoy the comfort given,

Live long to bless them who the deed have done;

Then change thy earthly pains for joys in heaven!—

So beats the bosom of thy only son, 40

Whose bliss is at its height, whose long hope’s crown’d,

To prove, when wanted most, thy friends are found.

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HOLYWELL.

____

NATURE, thou accept the song,

To thee the simple lines belong,

Inspir’d as brushing hill and dell

₇₀ I stroll’d the way to Holywell.

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Though ’neath young April’s watery sky,

The sun gleam’d warm, and roads were dry;

And though the valleys, bush, and tree

Still naked stood, yet on the lea

A flush of green, and fresh’ning glow,

In melting patches ’gan to show 10

That swelling buds would soon again

In summer’s livery bless the plain.

The thrushes too ’gan clear their throats,

And got by heart some two ’r three notes

Of their intended summer-song,

To cheer me as I stroll’d along.

The wild heath triumph’d in its scenes

Of goss and ling’s perpetual greens;

And just to say that spring was come,

The violet left its woodland home, 20

And, hermit-like, from storms and wind

Sought the best shelter it could find,

’Neath long grass banks, with feeble powers

₇₁ Peeping faintly purple flowers:

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While oft unhous’d from beds of ling

The fluskering pheasant took to wing;

And bobbing rabbits, wild and shy,

Their white tails glancing on the eye,

Just prick’d their long ears list’ning round,

And sought their coverts under-ground. 30

The heath was left, and then at will

A road swept gently round the hill,

From whose high crown, as soodling by,

A distant prospect cheer’d my eye,

Of closes green and fallows brown;

And distant glimpse of cot and town;

And steeple beck’ning on the sight,

By morning sun-beams painted white;

And darksome woods with shadings sweet,

To make the landscape round complete; 40

And distant waters glist’ning by,

As if the ground were patch’d with sky:

While on the blue horizon’s line

₇₂ The far-off things did dimly shine,

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Which wild conjecture only sees,

And fancy moulds to clouds and trees,

Thinking, if thither she could fly,

She’d find the close of earth and sky;

But as we turn to look again

On nearer objects, wood and plain, 50

(So truths than fiction lovelier seem,)

One warms as wak’ning from a dream.

From covert hedge, on either side,

The blackbirds flutter’d terrified,

Mistaking me for pilfering boy

That doth too oft their nests destroy;

And “prink, prink, prink,” they took to wing,

In snugger shades to build and sing.

From tufted grass or bush, the hare

Oft sprung from her endanger’d lair; 60

Surprise was startled on her rout,

So near one’s feet she bolted out.

The sun each tree-top mounted o’er,

₇₃ And got church-steeple height or more:

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And as I soodled on and on,

The ground was warm to look upon,

It e’en invited one to rest,

And have a nap upon its breast;

But thought upon my journey’s end,

Where doubtful fancies did depend, 70

Urg’d on my lazy feet to roam,

Like truant school-boy kept from home.

I ope’d each gate with idle swing,

And stood to listen ploughmen sing;

While cracking whip and jingling gears

Recall’d the toils of boyish years,

When, like to them, I took my rounds

O’er elting moulds of fallow grounds,—

With feet nigh shoeless, paddling through

The bitterest blasts that ever blew; 80

And napless beaver, weather’d brown,

That want oft wore without its crown;

A poor, unfriended, ragged boy,

₇₄ Prest ere a child with man’s employ.

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’Tis past—’tis gone!—in musings lost

So thought I, leaning o’er the post;

And even jump’d with joy to see

Kind fate so highly favour me,—

To clear the storms of boyish hours,

And manhood’s opening strew with flowers; 90

To bid such hopes man’s summer blow,

As boy’s weak spring dare never sow;

And every day desires, at will,

To make each hope bloom brighter still.

With joys as sweet as heart could melt,

With feelings dear as e’er were felt,

I met at last, as like a spell,

The ’witching views of Holywell;

Where hills tower’d high their crowns with pride,

And vales dropp’d headlong by their side, 100

Bestriped with shades of green and gray,

The fir-tree and the naked spray;

While, underneath their mingling grains,

₇₅ The river silver’d down the plains,

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And bolted on the stranger’s sight,

As stars blink out from clouds at night.

Beside the stream a cotter’s shed

Low in the hollow heav’d its head:

Its tenants seem’d as snug to dwell

As lives a bee within its cell; 110

Its chimney-top high ash embowers;

Beside its wall the river pours

Its guggling sounds in whirling sweep,

That e’en might lull a child to sleep.

Before the door, with paths untraced,

The green-sward many a beauty graced;

And daisy there, and cowslip too,

And buttercups of golden hue,

The children meet as soon as sought,

And gain their wish as soon as thought; 120

Who oft I ween, the children’s way,

Will leap the threshold’s bounds to play,

And spite of parent’s chiding calls

₇₆ Will straggle where the water falls,

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And ’neath the hanging bushes creep

For violet-bud and primrose-peep,

And sigh with anxious, eager dream,

For water-blobs amid the stream;

And up the hill-side turn anon,

To pick the daisies one by one: 130

Then anxious to their cottage bound,

To show the prize their searches found,

Whose medley flowers, red, white, and blue,

As well can please their parents too;

And as their care and skill contrive,

In flower-pots many a day survive.

Ah, thus conjecturing, musing still,

I cast a look from off the hill,

And loll’d me ’gainst a propping tree,

And thought for them as ’twas with me: 140

I did the same in April time,

₇₇ And spoilt the daisy’s earliest prime;

₇₈^{…………………………………………………………………………..}

Robb’d every primrose root I met,

And oft-times got the root to set;

And joyful home each nosegay bore;

And felt—as I shall feel no more.

________

DESCRIPTION OF A THUNDER-STORM.

____

SLOW boiling up, on the horizon’s brim,

Huge clouds arise, mountainous, dark and grim,

Sluggish and slow upon the air they ride,

As pitch-black ships o’er the blue ocean glide;

Curling and hovering o’er the gloomy south,

As curls the sulphur from the cannon’s mouth.

More grizly in the sun the tempest comes,

₇₈ And through the wood with threatened vengeance hums,

₇₉^{…………………………………………………………………………………….}

Hissing more loud and loud among the trees:—

The frighted wild-wind trembles to a breeze, 10

Just turns the leaf in terrifying sighs,

Bows to the spirit of the storm, and dies.

In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear,

At the low rumbling thunder creeping near.

The poplar leaf now resteth on its tree;

And the mill-sail, once twirling rapidly,

Lagging and lagging till each breeze had dropt,

Abruptly now in hesitation stopt.

The very cattle gaze upon the gloom,

And seemly dread the threat’ned fate to come. 20

The little birds sit mute within the bush,

And nature’s very breath is stopt and hush.

The shepherd leaves his unprotected flock,

And flies for shelter in some scooping rock;

There hides in fear from the dread boding wrath,

Lest rocks should tremble when it sallies forth,

And that almighty Power, that bids it roar,

₇₉ Hath seal’d the doom when time shall be no more.

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The cotter’s family cringe round the hearth,

Where all is sadden’d but the cricket’s mirth: 30

The boys through fear in soot-black corner push,

And ’tween their father’s knees for safety crush;

Each leaves his plaything on the brick-barr’d floor,

The idle top and ball can please no more,

And oft above the wheel’s unceasing thrum

The murmur’s heard to whisper,—“Is it come?”

The clouds more dismal darken on the eye,

More huge, more fearful, and of deeper dye;

And, as unable to light up the gloom,

The sun drops sinking in its bulging tomb. 40

Now as one glances sky-ward with affright,

Short vivid lightnings catch upon the sight;

While like to rumbling armies, as it were,

Th’ approaching thunder mutters on the ear,

And still keeps creeping on more loud and loud,

And stronger lightnings splinter through the cloud.

An awe-struck monument of hope and fear,

₈₀ Mute expectation waits the terror near,

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That dreadful clap, that terminates suspense,

When ruin meets us or is banish’d hence. 50

The signal’s given in that explosive flash,—

One moment’s pause—and then the horrid crash:—

—Almighty, what a shock!—the jostled wrack

Of nature seems in mingled ruins done;

Astounded echo rives the terrors back,

And tingles on the ear a dying swoon.

Flash, peal, and flash still rend the melting cloud;

All nature seems to sigh her race is o’er,

And as she shrinks ’neath chaos’ dismal shroud,

Gives meek consent that suns shall shine no more. 60

Where is the sinner now, with careless eye,

Will look, and say that all is chance’s whim;

When hell e’en trembles at God’s majesty,

And sullen owns that nought can equal him?

But clouds now melt like mercy into tears,

And nature’s Lord his wrath in kindness stops:

Each trembling cotter now delighted hears

₈₁ The rain fall down in heavy-pattering drops.

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The sun ’gins tremble through the cloud again,

And a slow murmur wakes the delug’d plain; 70

A murmur of thanksgiving, mix’d with fear,

For God’s great power and our deliverance here.

________

TO AN EARLY COWSLIP.

____

COWSLIP bud, so early peeping,

Warm’d by April’s hazard hours;

O’er thy head though sunshine’s creeping,

Close the threatening tempest lowers:

Trembling blossom, let me bear thee

To a better, safer home;

Though a fairer blossom wear thee,

₈₂ Never tempest there shall come:

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Mary’s bonny breast to charm thee,

Bosom soft as down can be, 10

Eyes like any suns to warm thee,

And scores of sweets unknown to me;—

Ah! for joys thou’lt there be meeting,

In a station so divine,

I could wish, what’s vain repeating,

Cowslip bud, thy life were mine.

_________

AFTER READING IN A LETTER

PROPOSALS FOR BUILDING A COTTAGE.

____

BESIDE a runnel build my shed,

With stubbles cover’d o’er;

Let broad oaks o’er its chimney spread,

₈₃ And grass-plats grace the door.

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The door may open with a string,

So that it closes tight;

And locks would be a wanted thing,

To keep out thieves at night.

A little garden, not too fine,

Inclose with painted pales; 10

And woodbines, round the cot to twine,

Pin to the wall with nails.

Let hazels grow, and spindling sedge,

Bent bowering over-head;

Dig old man’s beard from woodland hedge,

To twine a summer shade.

Beside the threshold sods provide,

And build a summer seat;

Plant sweet-briar bushes by its side,

₈₄ And flowers that blossom sweet. 20

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I love the sparrow’s ways to watch

Upon the cotter’s sheds,

So here and there pull out the thatch,

That they may hide their heads.

And as the sweeping swallows stop

Their flights along the green,

Leave holes within the chimney-top

To paste their nest between.

Stick shelves and cupboards round the hut,

In all the holes and nooks; 30

Nor in the corner fail to put

A cupboard for the books.

Along the floor some sand I’ll sift,

To make it fit to live in;

And then I’ll thank ye for the gift,

As something worth the giving.

₈₅

₈₆^{………………………..…………………………………………………..}

AUTUMN.

____

THE summer-flower has run to seed,

And yellow is the woodland bough;

And every leaf of bush and weed

Is tipt with autumn’s pencil now.

And I do love the varied hue,

And I do love the browning plain;

And I do love each scene to view,

That’s mark’d with beauties of her reign.

The woodbine-trees red berries bear,

That clustering hang upon the bower; 10

While, fondly lingering here and there,

₈₆ Peeps out a dwindling sickly flower.

₈₇^{………………………..…………………………………………………}

The trees’ gay leaves are turned brown,

By every little wind undress’d;

And as they flap and whistle down,

We see the birds’ deserted nest.

No thrush or blackbird meets the eye,

Or fills the ear with summer’s strain;

They but dart out for worm and fly,

Then silent seek their rest again. 20

Beside the brook, in misty blue,

Bilberries glow on tendrils weak,

Where many a bare-foot splashes through,

The pulpy, juicy prize to seek:

For ’tis the rustic boy’s delight,

Now autumn’s sun so warmly gleams,

And these ripe berries tempt his sight,

₈₇ To dabble in the shallow streams.

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And oft his rambles we may trace,

Delv’d in the mud his printing feet, 30

And oft we meet a chubby face

All stained with the berries sweet.

The cowboy oft slives down the brook,

And tracks for hours each winding round,

While pinders, that such chances look,

Drive his rambling cows to pound.

The woodland bowers, that us’d to be

Lost in their silence and their shade,

Are now a scene of rural glee,

With many a nutting swain and maid. 40

The scrambling shepherd with his hook,

’Mong hazel boughs of rusty brown

That overhang some gulphing brook,

₈₈ Drags the ripen’d clusters down.

₈₉^{………………………..…………………………………………………..}

While, on a bank of faded grass,

Some artless maid the prize receives;

And kisses to the sun-tann’d lass,

As well as nuts, the shepherd gives.

I love the year’s decline, and love

Through rustling yellow shades to range, 50

O’er stubble land, ’neath willow grove,

To pause upon each varied change:

And oft have thought ’twas sweet, to list

The stubbles crackling with the heat,

Just as the sun broke through the mist

And warm’d the herdsman’s rushy seat;

And grunting noise of rambling hogs,

Where pattering acorns oddly drop;

And noisy bark of shepherds’ dogs,

₈₉ The restless routs of sheep to stop; 60

₉₀^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

While distant thresher’s swingle drops

With sharp and hollow-twanking raps;

And, nigh at hand, the echoing chops

Of hardy hedger stopping gaps;

And sportsmen’s trembling whistle-calls

That stay the swift retreating pack;

And cowboy’s whoops, and squawking brawls,

To urge the straggling heifer back.

Autumn-time, thy scenes and shades

Are pleasing to the tasteful eye; 70

Though winter, when the thought pervades,

Creates an ague-shivering sigh.

Grey-bearded rime hangs on the morn,

And what’s to come too true declares;

The ice-drop hardens on the thorn,

₉₀ And winter’s starving bed prepares.

₉₁^{………………………..…………………………………………………}

No music’s heard the fields among;

Save where the hedge-chats chittering play,

And ploughman drawls his lonely song,

As cutting short the dreary day. 80

Now shatter’d shades let me attend,

Reflecting look on their decline,

Where pattering leaves confess their end,

In sighing flutterings hinting mine.

For every leaf, that twirls the breeze,

May useful hints and lessons give;

The falling leaves and fading trees

Will teach and caution us to live.

“Wandering clown,” they seem to say,

“In us your coming end review: 90

Like you we liv’d, but now decay;

₉₁ The same sad fate approaches you.”

₉₂^{………………………..………………………………………………}

Beneath a yellow fading tree,

As red suns light thee, Autumn-morn,

In wildest raptures let me see

The sweets that most thy charms adorn.

O while my eye the landscape views,

What countless beauties are display’d;

What varied tints of nameless hues,—

Shades endless melting into shade. 100

A russet red the hazels gain,

As suited to their drear decline;

While maples brightest dress retain,

And in the gayest yellows shine.

The poplar tree hath lost its pride;

Its leaves in wan consumption pine;

They hoary turn on either side,

₉₂ And life to every gale resign.

₉₃^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

The stubborn oak, with haughty pride

Still in its lingering green, we view; 110

But vain the strength he shows is tried,

He tinges slow with sickly hue.

The proudest triumph art conceives,

Or beauties nature’s power can crown,

Grey-bearded time in shatters leaves;

Destruction’s trample treads them down.

’Tis lovely now to turn one’s eye,

The changing face of heaven to mind;

How thin-spun clouds glide swiftly by,

While lurking storms slow move behind. 120

Now suns are clear, now clouds pervade,

Each moment chang’d, and chang’d again;

And first a light, and then a shade,

₉₃ Swift glooms and brightens o’er the plain.

₉₄^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

Poor pussy through the stubble flies,

In vain, o’erpowering foes to shun;

The lurking spaniel points the prize,

And pussy’s harmless race is run.

The crowing pheasant, in the brakes,

Betrays his lair with awkward squalls; 130

A certain aim the gunner takes,

He clumsy fluskers up, and falls.

But hide thee, muse, the woods among,

Nor stain thy artless, rural rhymes;

Go leave the murderer’s wiles unsung,

Nor mark the harden’d gunner’s crimes.

The fields all clear’d, the labouring mice

To sheltering hedge and wood patrole,

Where hips and haws for food suffice,

₉₄ That chumbled lie about their hole. 140

₉₅^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

The squirrel, bobbing from the eye,

Is busy now about his hoard,

And in old nest of crow or pye

His winter-store is oft explor’d.

The leaves forsake the willow grey,

And down the brook they whirl and wind;

So hopes and pleasures whirl away,

And leave old age and pain behind.

The thorns and briars, vermilion-hue,

Now full of hips and haws are seen; 150

If village-prophecies be true,

They prove that winter will be keen.

Hark! started are some lonely strains:

The robin-bird is urg’d to sing;

Of chilly evening he complains,

₉₅ And dithering droops his ruffled wing.

₉₆^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

Slow o’er the wood the puddock sails;

And mournful, as the storms arise,

His feeble note of sorrow wails

To the unpitying, frowning skies. 160

More coldly blows the autumn-breeze;

Old winter grins a blast between;

The north-winds rise and strip the trees,

And desolation shuts the scene.

_________

BALLAD.

____

A WEEDLING wild, on lonely lea,

My evening rambles chanc’d to see;

And much the weedling tempted me

₉₆ To crop its tender flower:

₉₇^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

Expos’d to wind and heavy rain,

Its head bow’d lowly on the plain;

And silently it seem’d in pain

Of life’s endanger’d hour.

“And wilt thou bid my bloom decay,

And crop my flower, and me betray? 10

And cast my injur’d sweets away,”—

Its silence seemly sigh’d—

“A moment’s idol of thy mind?

And is a stranger so unkind,

To leave a shameful root behind,

Bereft of all its pride?”

And so it seemly did complain;

And beating fell the heavy rain;

And low it droop’d upon the plain,

₉₇ To fate resign’d to fall: 20

₉₈^{………………………..………………………………………………………}

My heart did melt at its decline,

And “Come,” said I, “thou gem divine,

My fate shall stand the storm with thine;”

So took the root and all.

________

ON THE SIGHT OF SPRING.

____

HOW sweet it us’d to be, when April first

Unclos’d the arum-leaves, and into view

Its ear-like spindling flowers their cases burst,

Beting’d with yellowish white or lushy hue:

Though manhood now with such has small to do,

Yet I remember what delight was mine

When on my Sunday walks I us’d to go,

₉₈ Flower-gathering tribes in childish bliss to join;

₉₉^{………………………………..………………………………………………………}

Peeping and searching hedge-row side or woods,

When thorns stain green with slow unclosing buds. 10

Ah, how delighted, humming on the time

Some nameless song or tale, I sought the flowers;

Some rushy dyke to jump, or bank to climb,

Ere I obtain’d them; while from hasty showers

Oft under trees we nestled in a ring,

Culling our “lords and ladies.”—O ye hours!

I never see the broad-leav’d arum spring

Stained with spots of jet; I never see

Those dear delights which April still does bring,

But memory’s tongue repeats it all to me. 20

I view her pictures with an anxious eye,

I hear her stories with a pleasing pain:

Youth’s wither’d flowers, alas! ye make me sigh,

To think in me ye’ll never bloom again.

₉₉

₁₀₀^{………………………..…………………………………………………………}

A PASTORAL.

____

SURELY Lucy love returns,

Though her meaning’s not reveal’d;

Surely love her bosom burns,

Which her coyness keeps conceal’d:

Else what means that flushing cheek,

When with her I chance to be?

And those looks, that almost speak

A secret warmth of love for me?

Would she, where she valued not,

Give such proofs of sweet esteem? 10

Think what flowers for me she’s got—

₁₀₀ What can this but fondness seem?

₁₀₁^{………………………..………………………………………………}

When, to try their pleasing powers,

Swains for her cull every grove,—

When she takes my meaner flowers,

What can guide the choice but love?

Was not love seen yesternight,

When two sheep had rambled out?

Who but Lucy set them right?

The token told, without a doubt. 20

When others stare, she turns and frowns;

When I but glance, a smile I see;

When others talk, she calls them clowns;

But never says such words to me.

And when, with swains to love inclin’d,

To bear her milk I often go;

Though they beg first, she turns behind,

₁₀₁ And lingers till I ask her too:

₁₀₂^{………………………..………………………………………………}

O’er stepping-stones that cross the brooks,

Who mind such trifles plainly see, 30

In vain the shepherds prop their hooks,

She always gives her hand to me.

To-day, while all were standing by,

She wish’d for roses from the bower;

The man too wish’d was in her eye,

Though others flew to get the flower:

And striving all they could to please,

When prick’d with thorns they left the tree,

She never seem’d concern’d at these,

But only turn’d to caution me. 40

To-day she careless view’d the bark

Where many a swain had cut her name,

’Till whisper’d which was Colin’s mark,

₁₀₂ Her cheek was instant in a flame:

₁₀₃^{………………………..………………………………………………}

In blushing beckons love did call,

And courage seiz’d the chance the while;

And though I kiss’d her ’fore them all,

Her worst rebukings wore a smile.

________

BALLAD.

____

WHERE the dark ivy the thorn-tree is mounting,

Sweet shielding in summer the nest of the dove,

There lies the sweet spot, by the side of the fountain,

That’s dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love:

For there setting sunbeams, ere even’s clouds close ’em,

Once stretch’d a long shadow of one I adore;

And there did I meet the sweet sighs of the bosom

₁₀₃ Of one ever dear, though I meet her no more.

₁₀₄^{………………………..………………………………………….………………………}

And who with a soul, and a share of warm feeling,

And who with a heart that owns love for the fair, 10

Can pass by the spot where his first look was stealing,

Or first fondness ventur’d love-tales to declare?

Ah, who can pass by it, and notice it never?

Can long days forget on first fondness to call?

Sure time kindles love to burn brighter than ever,

And nature’s first choice must be sweetest of all.

I prove it, sweet Mary, I prove it too truly;

That fountain, once sweeten’d with presence of thee,

As oft as I pass it at eve, and as duly

As May brings the time round, I think upon thee: 20

I go and I sit on the soft bed of rushes,

As nigh as remembrance the spot can decide;

There lonely I whisper, in sorrow’s warm gushes,

₁₀₄ That bliss when my Mary was plac’d by my side.

₁₀₅^{………………………..……………………………………………….……………………}

It grieves me to see the first open May-blossom;

For, Mary, if still ’tis remember’d by thee,

’Twas just then thou wish’d one to place in thy bosom,

When scarce a peep show’d itself open to me.

Each May with a tear are that flower and I parted,

As near that lov’d spot it first peeps on the bower; 30

“I’ve no cause to pluck thee,” I sigh broken-hearted,

“There’s no Mary nigh to be pleas’d with the flower.”

_______

SONG.

____

SWAMPS of wild rush-beds, and sloughs’ squashy traces,

Grounds of rough fallows with thistle and weed,

Flats and low vallies of kingcups and daisies,

₁₀₅ Sweetest of subjects are ye for my reed:

₁₀₆^{………………………..………………………………………….………………………}

Ye commons left free in the rude rags of nature,

Ye brown heaths be-clothed in furze as ye be,

My wild eye in rapture adores every feature,

Ye are dear as this heart in my bosom to me.

O native endearments! I would not forsake ye,

I would not forsake ye for sweetest of scenes; 10

For sweetest of gardens that nature could make me,

I would not forsake ye, dear vallies and greens:

Tho’ nature ne’er dropt ye a cloud-resting mountain,

Nor waterfalls tumble their music so free;

Had nature deny’d ye a bush, tree, or fountain,

Ye still had been lov’d as an Eden by me.

And long, my dear vallies, long, long may ye flourish,

Though rush-beds and thistles make most of your pride;

May showers never fail the green’s daisies to nourish,

₁₀₆ Nor suns dry the fountain that rills by its side. 20

₁₀₇^{………………………..………………………………………….………………………}

Your skies may be gloomy, and misty your mornings,

Your flat swampy vallies unwholesome may be;

Still, refuse of nature, without her adornings

Ye are dear as this heart in my bosom to me.

___________

SONG.

____

THE sultry day it wears away,

And o’er the distant leas

The mist again, in purple stain,

Falls moist on flower and trees:

His home to find, the weary hind

Glad leaves his carts and ploughs;

While maidens fair, with bosoms bare,

₁₀₇ Go coolly to their cows

₁₀₈^{………………………..………………………………………….………}

The red round sun his work has done,

And dropp’d into his bed; 10

And sweetly shin’d, the oaks behind,

His curtains fring’d with red:

And step by step the night has crept,

And day, as loth, retires;

But clouds, more dark, night’s entrance mark,

Till day’s last spark expires.

Pride of the vales, the nightingales

Now charm the oaken grove;

And loud and long, with amorous tongue,

They try to please their love: 20

And where the rose reviving blows

Upon the swelter’d bower,

I’ll take my seat, my love to meet,

₁₀₈ And wait th’ appointed hour.

₁₀₉^{………………………..………………………………………….………}

And like the bird, whose joy is heard

Now he his love can join,

Who hails so loud the even’s shroud,

I’ll wait as glad for mine:

As weary bees o’er parched leas

Now meet reviving flowers; 30

So on her breast I’ll sink to rest,

And bless the evening hours.

________

COWPER GREEN.

____

NOW eve’s hours hot noon succeed;

And day’s herald, wing’d with speed,

Flush’d with summer’s ruddy face,

Hies to light some cooler place.

Now industry her hand has dropt,

₁₀₉ And the din of labour’s stopt:

₁₁₀^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

All is silent, free from care,

The welcome boon of night to share.

Pleas’d I wander from the town,

Pester’d by the selfish clown, 10

Whose talk, though spun the night about,

Hogs, cows, and horses spin it out.

Far from these, so low, so vain,

Glad I wind me down the lane,

Where a deeper gloom pervades

’Tween the hedges’ narrow shades;

Where a mimic night-hour spreads,

’Neath the ash-grove’s meeting heads.

Onward then I glad proceed,

Where the insect and the weed 20

Court my eye, as I pursue

Something curious, worthy view:

Chiefly, though, my wanderings bend

₁₁₀ Where the groves of ashes end,

₁₁₁^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

And their ceasing lights the scene

Of thy lov’d prospect, Cowper Green!

Though no rills with sandy sweep

Down thy shaggy borders creep,

Save as when thy rut-gull’d lanes

Run little brooks with hasty rains; 30

Though no yellow plains allow

Food on thee for sheep or cow;

Where on list’ning ears so sweet

Fall the mellow low and bleat,

Greeting, on eve’s dewy gale,

Resting-fold and milking-pail;

Though not these adorn thy scene,

Still I love thee, Cowper Green!

Some may praise the grass-plat whims,

Which the gard’ner weekly trims; 40

And cut-hedge and lawn adore,

₁₁₁ Which his shears have smoothen’d o’er:

₁₁₂^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

But give me to ponder still

Nature, when she blooms at will,

In her kindred taste and joy,

Wildness and variety;

Where the furze has leave to wreathe

Its dark prickles o’er the heath;

Where the grey-grown hawthorns spread

Foliag’d houses o’er one’s head; 50

By the spoiling ax untouch’d,

Where the oak tree, gnarl’d and notch’d,

Lifts its deep-moss’d furrow’d side,

In nature’s grandeur, nature’s pride.

Such is still my favour’d scene,

When I seek thee, Cowper Green!

And full pleas’d would nature’s child

Wander o’er thy narrow wild;

Marking well thy shaggy head,

Where uncheck’d the brambles spread; 60

Where the thistle meets the sight,

₁₁₂ With its down-head, cotton-white;

₁₁₃^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

And the nettle, keen to view,

And hemlock with its gloomy hue;

Where the henbane too finds room

For its sickly-stinking bloom;

And full many a nameless weed,

Neglected, left to run to seed,

Seen but with disgust by those

Who judge a blossom by the nose. 70

Wildness is my suiting scene,

So I seek thee, Cowper Green!

Still thou ought’st to have thy meed,

To show thy flower as well as weed.

Though no fays, from May-day’s lap,

Cowslips on thee care to drop;

Still does nature yearly bring

Fairest heralds of the spring:

On thy wood’s warm sunny side

₁₁₃ Primrose blooms in all its pride; 80

₁₁₄^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Violets carpet all thy bowers;

And anemone’s weeping flowers,

Dyed in winter’s snow and rime,

Constant to their early time,

White the leaf-strewn ground again,

And make each wood a garden then.

Thine’s full many a pleasing bloom

Of blossoms lost to all perfume:

Thine the dandelion flowers,

Gilt with dew, like suns with showers; 90

Hare-bells thine, and bugles blue,

And cuckoo-flowers all sweet to view;

Thy wild-woad on each road we see;

And medicinal betony,

By thy woodside-railing, reeves

With antique mullein’s flannel-leaves.

These, though mean, the flowers of waste,

Planted here in nature’s haste,

Display to the discerning eye

₁₁₄ Her loved, wild variety: 100

₁₁₅^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Each has charms in nature’s book

I cannot pass without a look.

And thou hast fragrant herbs and seed,

Which only garden’s culture need:

Thy horehound tufts I love them well,

And ploughman’s spikenard’s spicy smell;

Thy thyme, strong-scented ’neath one’s feet,

Thy marjoram-beds, so doubly sweet;

And pennyroyals creeping twine:

These, each succeeding each, are thine, 110

Spreading o’er thee wild and gay,

Blessing spring, or summer’s day.

As herb, flower, weed adorn thy scene,

Pleas’d I seek thee, Cowper Green.

And I oft zigzag me round

Thy uneven, heathy ground;

Here a knoll and there a scoop

₁₁₅ Jostling down and clambering up,

₁₁₆^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Which the sandman’s delving spade

And the pitman’s pix have made; 120

Though many a year has o’er thee roll’d,

Since the grass first hid the mold;

And many a hole has delv’d thee still,

Since peace cloth’d each mimic hill:

Where the pitmen often find

Antique coins of various kind;

And, ’neath many a loosen’d block,

Unlid coffins in the rock,

Casting up the skull and bone

Heedless, as one hurls a stone: 130

Not a thought of battles by,

Bloody times of chivalry,

When each country’s kingly lord

’Gainst his neighbour drew his sword;

And on many a hidden scene,

Now a hamlet, field, or green,

Waged his little bloody fight

₁₁₆ To keep his freedom and his right:

₁₁₇^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

And doubtless such was once the scene

Of thee, time-shrouded Cowper Green! 140

O how I love a glimpse to see

Of hoary, bald antiquity;

And often in my musings sigh,

Whene’er such relics meet my eye,

To think that history’s early page

Should yield to black oblivion’s rage;

And e’en without a mention made,

Resign them to his deadly shade;

Leaving conjecture but to pause,

That such and such might be the cause. 150

’Tis sweet the fragments to explore,

Time’s so kind to keep in store;

Wrecks the cow-boy often meets

On the mole-hills’ thymy seats,

When, by careless pulling weeds,

₁₁₇ Chance unbares the shining beads,

₁₁₈^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

That to tasteful minds display

Relics of the Druid day;

Opening on conjecturing eyes

Some lone hermit’s paradise. 160

Doubtless oft, as here it might,

Where such relics meet the sight,

On that self-same spot of ground

Where the cowboy’s beads are found,

Hermits, fled from worldly care,

May have moss’d a cottage there;

Liv’d on herbs that there abound,

Food and physic doubly found;

Herbs, that have existence still

In every vale, on every hill,— 170

Whose virtues only in them died,

As rural life gave way to pride.

Doubtless too oblivion’s blot

Blacks some sacred lonely spot,

As “Cowper Green!” in thee it may,

₁₁₈ That once was thine in later day:

₁₁₉^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Thou mightst hide thy pilgrim then

From the plague of worldly men;

Thou mightst here possess thy cells,

Wholesome herbs, and pilgrim-wells; 180

And doubtlessly this very seat,

This thyme-capt hill beneath one’s feet,

Might be, or nearly so, the spot

On which arose his lonely cot;

And on that existing bank,

Clothed in its sedges rank,

Grass might grow, and mosses spread,

That thatch’d his roof, and made his bed:

Yes, such might be; and such I love

To think and fancy, as I rove 190

O’er thy wood-encircled hill,

Like a world-shunning pilgrim still.

Now the dew-mists faster fall,

₁₁₉ And the night her gloomy pall

₁₂₀^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Black’ning flings ’tween earth and sky,

Hiding all things from the eye;

Nor broken seam, nor thin-spun screen,

The moon can find to peep between:

Now thy unmolested grass,

Untouch’d even by the ass, 200

Spindled up its destin’d height,

Far too sour for sheep to bite,

Drooping hangs each feeble joint

With a glass nob on its point:—

Fancy now shall leave the scene,

And bid good-night to Cowper Green.

________

SONG.

____

ONE gloomy eve I roam’d about

’Neath Oxey’s hazel bowers,

While timid hares were darting out,

₁₂₀ To crop the dewy flowers;

₁₂₁^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

And soothing was the scene to me,

Right pleased was my soul,

My breast was calm as summer’s sea

When waves forget to roll.

But short was even’s placid smile,

My startled soul to charm, 10

When Nelly lightly skipt the stile,

With milk-pail on her arm:

One careless look on me she flung,

As bright as parting day;

And like a hawk from covert sprung,

It pounc’d my peace away.

₁₂₁

₁₂₂^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

THE GIPSY’S CAMP.

____

HOW oft on Sundays, when I’d time to tramp,

My rambles led me to a gipsy’s camp,

Where the real effigy of midnight hags,

With tawny smoked flesh and tatter’d rags,

Uncouth-brimm’d hat, and weather-beaten cloak,

’Neath the wild shelter of a knotty oak,

Along the greensward uniformly pricks

Her pliant bending hazel’s arching sticks;

While round-topt bush, or briar-entangled hedge,

Where flag-leaves spring beneath, or ramping sedge, 10

Keep off the bothering bustle of the wind,

And give the best retreat she hopes to find.

How oft I’ve bent me o’er her fire and smoke,

To hear her gibberish tale so quaintly spoke,

While the old Sybil forg’d her boding clack,

₁₂₂ Twin imps the meanwhile bawling at her back;

₁₂₃^{………………………..…………………………………………………………….…}

Oft on my hand her magic coin’s been struck,

And hoping chink, she talk’d of morts of luck:

And still, as boyish hopes did first agree,

Mingled with fears to drop the fortune’s fee, 20

I never fail’d to gain the honours sought,

And Squire and Lord were purchas’d with a groat.

But as man’s unbelieving taste came round,

She furious stampt her shoeless foot aground,

Wip’d bye her soot-black hair with clenching fist,

While through her yellow teeth the spittle hist,

Swearing by all her lucky powers of fate,

Which like as footboys on her actions wait,

That fortune’s scale should to my sorrow turn,

And I one day the rash neglect should mourn; 30

That good to bad should change, and I should be

Lost to this world and all eternity;

That poor as Job I should remain unblest;—

(Alas, for fourpence how my die is cast!)

Of not a hoarded farthing be possest,

And when all’s done, be shov’d to hell at last!

₁₂₃

₁₂₄^{………………………..…………………………………………………………….…}

RECOLLECTIONS AFTER A RAMBLE.

____

THE rosy day was sweet and young,

The clod-brown lark that hail’d the morn

Had just her summer anthem sung,

And trembling dropped in the corn;

The dew-rais’d flower was perk and proud,

The butterfly around it play’d;

The sky’s blue clear, save woolly cloud

That pass’d the sun without a shade.

On the pismire’s castle hill,

While the burnet-buttons quak’d, 10

While beside the stone-pav’d rill

₁₂₄ Cowslip bunches nodding shak’d,

₁₂₅^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Bees in every peep did try,

Great had been the honey shower,

Soon their load was on their thigh,

Yellow dust as fine as flour.

Brazen magpies, fond of clack,

Full of insolence and pride,

Chattering on the donkey’s back

Perch’d, and pull’d his shaggy hide; 20

Odd crows settled on the path,

Dames from milking trotting home

Said the sign foreboded wrath,

And shook their heads at ills to come.

While cows restless from the ground

Plung’d into the stream and drank,

And the rings went whirling round,

₁₂₅ Till they touch’d the flaggy bank,

₁₂₆^{………………………..……………………………………………}

On the arch’s wall I knelt,

Curious, as I often did, 30

To see the words the sculpture spelt,

But the moss its letters hid.

Labour sought the water cool,

And stretching took a hearty sup,

The fish were playing in the pool,

And turn’d their milk-white bellies up;

Clothes laid down behind a bush

Boys were wading near the path,

Deeply did the maiden blush

As she pass’d the merry bath. 40

Some with lines the fish to catch,

Quirking boys let loose from school,

Others side the hedge-row watch,

₁₂₆ Where the linnet took the wool:

₁₂₇^{………………………..……………………………………………}

’Tending Hodge had slept too fast,

While his cattle stray’d abroad,

Swift the freed horse gallop’d past,

Pattering down the stony road.

The gipsies’ tune was loud and strong,

As round the camp they danc’d a jig, 50

And much I lov’d the brown girl’s song,

While list’ning on the wooden brig;

The shepherd, he was on his rounds,

The dog stopt short to lap the stream,

And jingling in the fallow grounds

The ploughman urg’d his reeking team.

Often did I stop to gaze

On each spot once dear to me,

Known ’mong those remember’d days

₁₂₇ Of banish’d, happy infancy: 60

₁₂₈^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Often did I view the shade

Where once a nest my eyes did fill,

And often mark’d the place I play’d

At “roly poly” down the hill.

In the wood’s deep shade did stand,

As I pass’d, the sticking-troop;

And Goody begg’d a helping hand

To heave her rotten faggot up:

The riding-gate, sharp jerking round,

Follow’d fast my heels again, 70

While echo mock’d the clapping sound,

And “clap, clap,” sang the woods amain.

The wood is sweet—I love it well,

In spending there my leisure hours,

To seek the snail its painted shell,

₁₂₈ And look about for curious flowers;

₁₂₉^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Or ’neath the hazel’s leafy thatch,

On a stulp or mossy ground,

Little squirrel’s gambols watch,

Dancing oak trees round and round. 80

Green was the shade—I love the woods,

When autumn’s wind is mourning loud,

To see the leaves float on the floods,

Dead within their yellow shroud:

The wood was then in glory spread—

I love the browning bough to see

That litters autumn’s dying bed—

Her latest sigh is dear to me.

’Neath a spreading shady oak

For awhile to muse I lay; 90

From its grains a bough I broke,

₁₂₉ To fan the teasing flies away:

₁₃₀^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Then I sought the woodland side,

Cool the breeze my face did meet,

And the shade the sun did hide;

Though ’twas hot, it seemed sweet.

And as while I clomb the hill,

Many a distant charm I found;

Pausing on the lagging mill,

That scarcely mov’d its sails around: 100

Hanging o’er a gate or stile,

Till my curious eye did tire,

Leisure was employ’d awhile,

Counting many a peeping spire.

While the hot sun ’gan to wane,

Cooling glooms fast deep’ning still,

Refreshing greenness spread the plain,

₁₃₀ As black clouds crept the southern hill;

₁₃₁^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Labour sought a sheltering place,

’Neath some thick wood-woven bower, 110

While odd rain-drops damp’d his face,

Heralds of the coming shower.

Where the oak-plank cross’d the stream,

Which the early-rising lass

Climbs with milk-pail gathering cream,

Crook’d paths tracking through the grass:

There, where willows hang their boughs,

Briars and blackthorns form’d a bower

Stunted thick by sheep and cows,—

There I stood to shun the shower. 120

Sweet it was to feel the breeze

Blowing cool without the sun,

Bumming gad-flies ceas’d to teaze,

₁₃₁ All seem’d glad the shower to shun:

₁₃₂^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Sweet it was to mark the flower,

Rain-drops glist’ning on its head,

Perking up beneath the bower,

As if rising from the dead.

And full sweet it was to look,

How clouds misted o’er the hill, 130

Rain-drops how they dimp’d the brook,

Falling fast and faster still;

While the gudgeons darting by,

Cring’d ’neath water-grasses’ shade,

Startling as each nimble eye

Saw the rings the dropples made.

And upon the dripping ground,

As the shower had ceas’d again,

As the eye was wandering round,

₁₃₂ Trifling troubles caus’d a pain; 140

₁₃₃^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Overtaken in the shower,

Bumble-bees I wander’d by,

Clinging to the drowking flower,

Left without the power to fly:

And full often, drowning wet,

Scampering beetles rac’d away,

Safer shelter glad to get,

Flooded out from whence they lay:

While the moth, for night’s reprief,

Waited safe and snug withal 150

’Neath the plantain’s bowery leaf,

Where not e’en a drop could fall.

Then the clouds dispers’d again,

And full sweet it was to view

Sunbeams, trembling long in vain,

₁₃₃ Now they ’gan to glimmer through:

₁₃₄^{………………………..……………………………………………}

And as labour strength regains

From ale’s booning bounty given,

So reviv’d the fresh’ning plains

From the smiling showers of heaven. 160

Sweet the birds did chant their songs,

Blackbird, linnet, lark, and thrush;

Music from a many tongues

Melted from each dripping bush:

Deafen’d echo, on the plain,

As the sunbeams broke the cloud,

Scarce could help repeat the strain,

Nature’s anthem flow’d so loud.

What a fresh’ning feeling came,

As the sun’s smile gleam’d again; 170

Summer seem’d no more the same,

₁₃₄ Such a mildness swept the plain;

₁₃₅^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Breezes, such as one would seek,

Cooling infants of the shower,

Fanning sweet the burning cheek,

Trembled through the bramble-bower.

Insects of mysterious birth

Sudden struck my wondering sight,

Doubtless brought by moisture forth,

Hid in knots of spittle white; 180

Backs of leaves the burthen bear,

Where the sunbeams cannot stray,

“Wood seers” call’d, that wet declare,

So the knowing shepherds say.

As the cart-rut rippled down

With the burden of the rain,

Boys came drabbling from the town,

₁₃₅ Glad to meet their sports again;

₁₃₆^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Stopping up the mimic rills,

Till they forc’d their frothy bound, 190

Then the keck made water-mills

In the current whisk’d around.

Once again did memory pain

O’er the life she once had led;

Once did manhood wish again

Childish joys had never fled:

“Could I lay these woes aside

Which I long have murmur’d o’er,

Mix a boy with boys,” I sigh’d,

“Fate should then be teas’d no more.” 200

Hot the sun in summer warms,

Quick the roads dry o’er the plain:

Girls, with baskets on their arms,

₁₃₆ Soon renew’d their sports again;

₁₃₇^{………………………..……………………………………………}

O’er the green they sought their play,

Where the cowslip-bunches grew,

Quick the rush-bent fann’d away,

As they danc’d and bounded through.

Some went searching by the wood,

Peeping ’neath the weaving thorn, 210

Where the pouch-lipp’d cuckoo-bud

From its snug retreat was torn;

Where the ragged-robin stood

With its pip’d stem streak’d with jet;

And the crow-flowers, golden hued,

Careless plenty easier met.

Some, with many an anxious pain

Childish wishes to pursue,

From the pond-head gaz’d in vain

₁₃₇ On the flag-flower’s yellow hue; 220

₁₃₈^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Smiling in its safety there,

Sleeping o’er its shadow’d bloom,

While the flood’s triumphing care

Crimpled round its guarded home.

Then I stood to pause again;

Retrospection sigh’d and smil’d,

Musing, ’tween a joy and pain,

How I acted when a child;

When by clearing brooks I’ve been,

Where the painted sky was given, 230

Thinking, if I tumbled in,

I should fall direct to heaven.

Many an hour had come and gone

Since the town last met my eye,

Where, huge baskets mauling on,

₁₃₈ Maids hung out their clothes to dry;

₁₃₉^{………………………..……………………………………………}

Granny there was on the bench,

Coolly sitting in the swail,

Stopping oft a love-sick wench,

To pinch her snuff, and hear her tale. 240

Be the journey e’er so mean,

Passing by a cot or tree,

In the rout there’s something seen

Which the curious love to see;

In each ramble, taste’s warm souls

More of wisdom’s self can view,

Than blind ignorance beholds

All life’s seven stages through.

₁₃₉

₁₄₀^{………………………..……………………………………..……………………}

A SIGH.

____

AGAIN freckled cowslips are gilding the plain,

And crow-flowers yellow again o’er the lea,

Again the speck’d throstle comes in with her strain,

And welcomes the spring—but no spring can I see.

I once hail’d the throstle, her singing begun,

And bath’d in spring’s dew when her flower met my eyes;

I sought for the kingcup all cloth’d in the sun,

₁₄₀ And gather’d my cowslips, and joy’d in the prize.

₁₄₁^{………………………..…………………………………………………………..………………}

They brought nature’s spring, and they comforted me,

They wip’d winter off, and did pleasure restore; 10

But, alas! in their tidings a change can I see,

Fate’s added a postscript, “Thy spring is no more.”

_________

TO A BOWER.

____

THREE times, sweet hawthorn! I have met thy bower,

And thou hast gain’d my love, and I do feel

An aching pain to leave thee: every flower

₁₄₁ Around thee opening doth new charms reveal,

₁₄₂^{………………………..……………………………………………………………….…}

And binds my fondness stronger.—Wild wood bower,

In memory’s calendar thou’rt treasur’d up:

And should we meet in some remoter hour,

When all thy bloom to winter-winds shall droop;

Ah, in life’s winter, many a day to come,

Should my grey wrinkles pass thy spot of ground, 10

And find it bare—with thee no longer crown’d;

Within the woodman’s faggot torn from hence,

Or chopt by hedgers up for yonder fence;

Ah, should I chance by thee as then to come,

I’ll look upon thy nakedness with pain,

And, as I view thy desolated doom,

In fancy’s eye I’ll fetch thy shade again:

And of this lovely day I’ll think and sigh,

And ponder o’er this sweetly-passing hour,

And feel as then the throes of joys gone by, 20

When I was young, and thou a blooming bower.

₁₄₂

₁₄₃^{………………………..……………………………………………………………….…}

BALLAD.

____

WHEN nature’s beauty shone complete,

With summer’s lovely weather,

And even, shadowing day’s retreat,

Brought swains and maids together;

Then I did meet a charming face,

But who—I’ll be discreet:

Though lords themselves without disgrace

Might love whom I did meet.

“Good evening, lovely lass,” said I,

To make her silence break; 10

The instant evening’s blushing sky

₁₄₃ Was rival’d in her cheek;

₁₄₄^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Her eyes were turn’d upon the ground,

She made me no reply,

But downward looks my bosom found:

“You’ve won me,” whisper’d I.

And I did try all love could do,

And she try’d all to fly,

Now lingering slow to let me go,

Then hurrying to pass by: 20

“My love,” said I, “you’ve me mistook,

No harm from me you’ll meet;”

She only answer’d with a look,

But it was ’witching sweet.

I own’d my love, and prais’d her eyes,

Whose power she little knew;

And doubtless then she fancied lies,

₁₄₄ What since she’s proved true;

₁₄₅^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

Confusion mingling fear and shame,

Between the “Yes” and “No,” 30

O when I mention’d love’s soft name

How sweet her cheeks did glow!

I told her all the open truth,

’Bout being a labouring swain,

With not one groat to boast, forsooth,

But what hard work did gain:

And begg’d excuse in such-like clothes

Within her way to fall;

Wenches are ta’en with flashy beaus—

But she excus’d it all. 40

As near the humble cot we came,

Her fears did meet alarm

Lest friends imprudent ways should blame,

₁₄₅ And think I meant her harm:

₁₄₆^{………………………..………………………………………….…}

So there I prest her to my heart,

And there a kiss was ta’en,

And there I vow’d, ere we did part,

To meet her soon again.

________

TO POESY.

____

O SWEETLY wild and ’witching Poesy!

Thou light of this world’s hermitage I prove thee;

And surely none helps loving thee that knows thee,

A soul of feeling cannot help but love thee.

I would say how thy secret wonders move me,

Thou spell of loveliness!—but ’tis too much:

Had I the language of the gods above me

₁₄₆ I might then venture thy wild harp to touch,

₁₄₇^{………………………..………………………………………………………….…}

And sing of all thy thrilling pains and pleasures;

The flowers I meet in this world’s wilderness; 10

The comforts rising from thy spell-bound treasures,

Thy cordial balm that softens my distress:

I would say all, but thou art far above me;

Words are too weak, expression can’t be had;

I can but say I love, and dearly love thee,

And that thou cheer’st me when my soul is sad.

_________

TO THE CLOUDS.

____

O PAINTED clouds ! sweet beauties of the sky,

How have I view’d your motion and your rest,

When like fleet hunters ye have left mine eye,

₁₄₇ In your thin gauze of woolly-fleecing drest;

₁₄₈^{………………………..…………………………………………………………}

Or in your threaten’d thunder’s grave black vest,

Like black deep waters slowly moving by,

Awfully striking the spectator’s breast

With your Creator’s dread sublimity,

As admiration mutely views your storms.

And I do love to see you idly lie, 10

Painted by heav’n as various as your forms,

Pausing upon the eastern mountain high,

As morn awakes with spring’s wood-harmony;

And sweeter still, when in your slumbers sooth

You hang the western arch o’er day’s proud eye:

Still as the even-pool, uncurv’d and smooth,

My gazing soul has look’d most placidly;

And higher still devoutly wish’d to strain,

To wipe your shrouds and sky’s blue blinders by,

With all the warmness of a moon-struck brain,— 20

To catch a glimpse of Him who bids you reign,

And view the dwelling of all majesty.

₁₄₈

₁₄₉^{………………………..…………………………………………………………}

SONG.

____

DROPT here and there upon the flower

I love the dew to see,

For then returns the even’s hour

That is so dear to me,

When silence reigns upon the plain,

And night hides all, or nearly;

For then I meet the smiles again

Of her I love so dearly.

O how I love yon dusky plains,

Though others there may be 10

As much belov’d by other swains,

₁₄₉ But none so dear to me:

₁₅₀^{………………………..…………………………………………………}

Their thorn-buds smell as sweet the while,

Their brooks may run as clearly;

But what are they without the smile

Of her I love so dearly.

In yonder bower the maid I've met,

Whom still I love to meet;

The dew-drops fall, the sun has set,

O evening thou art sweet! 20

Hope’s eye fain breaks the misty glooms,

The time’s expir’d, or nearly—

Ah, faithful still, and here she comes;

Who could but love thee dearly!

Though till we meet ’neath fate’s control,

Who knows the luck that shall come,

And then, thou idol of my soul,

₁₅₀ We’ll meet, with happier welcome;

₁₅₁^{………………………..…………………………………………………}

I wish I had, for sake of thee,

A lord’s estate, or nearly; 30

They soon should see who’d ladies be,

And whom I love so dearly.

_________

TO A DEAD TREE.

____

OLD tree thou art wither’d—I pass’d thee last year,

And the blackbird snug hid in thy branches did sing,

Thy shadow stretch’d dark o’er the grass sprouting near,

₁₅₁ And thou wert as green as thy mates of the spring.

₁₅₂^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

How alter’d since then! not a leaf hast thou got,

Thy honours brown round thee that clothed the tree;

The clown passeth by thee and heedeth thee not,

But thou’rt a warm source of reflection for me.

I think, while I view thee and rest on the stile,

Life’s bloom is as frail as the leaves thou hast shed; 10

Like thee I may boast of my honours awhile,

But new springs may blossom, and mine may be fled:

Fond friends may bend o’er the rais’d turf where I’m laid,

And warm recollection the past may look o’er,

And say by my life, as I say by thy shade,

“Last spring he was living, but now he’s no more.”

₁₅₂

₁₅₃^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

THE DISAPPOINTMENT.

____

“AH, where can he linger?” said Doll, with a sigh,

As bearing her milk-burthen home:

“Since he’s broken his vow, near an hour has gone by,

So fair as he promis’d to come.”

—She’d fain had him notice the loudly-clapt gate,

And fain call’d him up to her song;

But while her stretch’d shade prov’d the omen too late,

Heavy-hearted she mutter’d along.

She look’d and she listen’d, and sigh follow’d sigh,

And jealous thoughts troubled her head; 10

The skirts of the pasture were losing the eye,

₁₅₃ As eve her last finishing spread;

₁₅₄^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

And hope, so endearing, was topmost to see,

As ’tween-light was cheating the view,

Every thing at a distance—a bush, or a tree,

Her love’s pleasing picture it drew.

The pasture-gate creak’d, pit-a-pat her heart went,

Fond thrilling with hope’s pleasing pain,

She certainly thought that a signal it meant,

So she turn’d, to be cheated again; 20

Expectations and wishes throbb’d warm to her side,

But soon the sweet feeling was lost,

Chill damps quick ensuing, when nigh she descried

Her idle cows rubbing the post.

By fancy soon tickled, by hopes led astray,

Again did she hope, but in vain;—

A twitch at her sleeve!—’twas the shepherd’s fond way,

₁₅₄ And she look’d o’er her shoulder again;

₁₅₅^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

But a bramble had caught at her gown passing by;

Disappointment, how great is thy smart! 30

How deep was the sorrow explain’d in that sigh,

Like a bramble-thorn twang’d through her heart!

Quite wearied she soodled along through the dew,

And oft look’d and listen’d around,

And loudly she clapt every gate she came through,

To call her lost love to the sound;

And whenever to rest she her buckets set down,

She jingled her yokes to and fro,

And her yokes she might jingle till morn—a rude clown,

Ere he it seem’d offered to go. 40

Passing maids wonder’d much as she came to the town,

To see her so still on her way;—

She ne’er stopt to name a young man or new gown,

₁₅₅ So much as she used to say:

₁₅₆^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

Some ask’d if her tongue she had lost on the plain,

Some enquir’d if she ow’d any spite;

But short were the answers she made them again,

“Yes,” or “no,” and a mutter’d “good night.”

She’d cause to be silent, and knew it too well,

And said to herself passing by, 50

“Disappointments like mine if to you they befel,

Ye would then be as sulky as I.”

Now nigh home and Roger, her bosom glow’d hot,

And jealousies rose on her cheek;

She’d be bound his delay a new sweetheart had got,

And if he came now she’d not speak.

She sat herself down soon as got in the house,

No dossity in her to stir;

The cat at her presence left watching the mouse,

₁₅₆ And the milk she might lap it for her, 60

₁₅₇^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

Eat it all an she would, for she car’d not a pin,

She’d other fish frying as then;

And soon as chance offer’d that she could begin,

She ’gan weigh her doubts to her sen.

“Ah, the gipsy, she told me my fortune last night,

Too true have I prov’d what she said:

‘You love him too warmly that loves you too light,’

And grievous she shaked her head;

‘He scorns you—the lines of your hands,’ she said, ‘meet,’

I was fit to drop under my cow; 70

‘It’s as plain as the nose on your face for to see’t,’

I could not believe it till now.

“How could I, when now but a day or two’s gone,

Since he fuss’d me so up in the grove,

And preach’d like a parson as leading me on,

₁₅₇ And seem’d like a saint fall’n in love?

₁₅₈^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

He smilingly bid me behold the stiff bean,

How it held up the weak winding pea,—

‘And so on my arm,’ said he, ‘Dolly may lean,

For I’ll be a prop unto thee.’ 80

“And oft did he shew me, as proofs of his love,

The gate, and the stile, where we came,

And many a favourite tree in the grove,

Where he had been marking my name:

And these made him staunch in my foolish esteem;

But deuce take such provings, forsooth,

They’re like flimsy nick-nacks, that cheat in a dream,

When the morning sun wakes with the truth.

“Last week I the first time ’gan doubt his respect,

When at market he left me behind; 90

He made no excuses to hide his neglect,

₁₅₈ Plain proof that he’d changed his mind:

₁₅₉^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

When I said how I loiter’d in hopes he would come,

And when all my troubles he learn’d,

How late and how wet I was ere I got home,

He ne’er seem’d a morsel concern’d.

“And magpies that chatter’d, no omen so black,

The dreams of my being a bride,

Odd crows that are constantly fix’d in my track,

Plain prov’d that bad luck would betide: 100

The coffin-spark burning my holiday-gown,

As nothing’s so certain a sign;

The knives I keep crossing whenever laid down,

Were proofs of these sorrows of mine.

“A good-for-nought looby, he nettled me sore,

I minded him oft when at church,

How under the wenches’ fine bonnets he’d glower,

₁₅₉ As smiling they came in the porch:

₁₆₀^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

Lord knows, scores of times he has made me to sin,

For, being so bother’d and vex’d, 110

’Bout the parson’s good preaching I car’d not a pin,

And never once thought of the text.

“Like a fool, with full many a lying excuse,

To see him I’ve stole in the street,

And drest to entice him; but all’s of no use,

’Tis folly such things to repeat:

No, no, his behaviour, a good-for-nought chap,

I’ll see no uneasiness in it;

The wreath he last bought me, to dress my new cap,

I’ll burn it to ashes this minute.” 120

Thus she vented her griefs, and gave ease to her sighs,

Till the tinkled latch startled her dumb,

And ended her tale in a pause of surprise,

₁₆₀ While hope whisper’d comfort, “he’s come!”

₁₆₁^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

He enter’d, and begg’d she’d excuse the late hour,

She doubts his assertions awhile,

Then as the glad sun breaks the clouds in a shower,

Tears melt in a welcoming smile.

Ah, sad disappointment! your damp chilly pain

And all jealous doubts you impart, 130

Description but mixes her colours in vain

To picture your horrors at heart.

Gall’d jealousy, like as the tide, ebbs to rest,

Subsiding as gradually o’er;

Contented she smother’d her sighs on his breast,

And the kiss seem’d as sweet as before.

₁₆₁

₁₆₂^{………………………..…………………………………………………..………………}

TO AN INFANT DAUGHTER.

____

SWEET gem of infant fairy-flowers!

Thy smiles on life’s unclosing hours,

Like sunbeams lost in summer showers,

They wake my fears;

When reason knows its sweets and sours,

They’ll change to tears.

God help thee, little senseless thing!

Thou, daisy-like of early spring,

Of ambush’d winter’s hornet sting

Hast yet to tell; 10

Thou know’st not what to-morrows bring:

₁₆₂ I wish thee well.

₁₆₃^{………………………..…………………………………………..……}

But thou art come, and soon or late

’Tis thine to meet the frowns of fate,

The harpy grin of envy’s hate,

And mermaid-smiles

Of worldly folly’s luring bait,

That youth beguiles.

And much I wish, whate’er may be

The lot, my child, that falls to thee, 20

Nature may never let thee see

Her glass betimes,

But keep thee from my failings free,—

Nor itch at rhymes.

Lord knows my heart, it loves thee much;

And may my feelings, aches, and such,

The pains I meet in folly’s clutch

Be never thine:

Child, it’s a tender string to touch,

That sounds “thou’rt mine.” 30

₁₆₄

₁₆₄^{………………………..…………………………………………..……}

LANGLEY BUSH.

____

O LANGLEY BUSH! the shepherd’s sacred shade,

Thy hollow trunk oft gain’d a look from me;

Full many a journey o’er the heath I’ve made,

For such-like curious things I love to see.

What truth the story of the swain allows,

That tells of honours which thy young days knew,

Of “Langley Court” being kept beneath thy boughs

I cannot tell—thus much I know is true,

That thou art reverenc’d: even the rude clan

Of lawless gipsies, driven from stage to stage, 10

Pilfering the hedges of the husbandman,

₁₆₄ Spare thee, as sacred, in thy withering age.

₁₆₅^{………………………..…………………………………………………..……}

Both swains and gipsies seem to love thy name,

Thy spot’s a favourite with the sooty crew,

And soon thou must depend on gipsy-fame,

Thy mouldering trunk is nearly rotten through.

My last doubts murmur on the zephyr’s swell,

My last look lingers on thy boughs with pain;

To thy declining age I bid farewel,

Like old companions, ne’er to meet again. 20

_________

SORROWS FOR A FAVOURITE TABBY CAT,

WHO LEFT THIS SCENE OF TROUBLES, FRIDAY NIGHT,

NOV. 26, 1819.

____

LET brutish hearts, as hard as stones,

Mock the weak Muse’s tender moans,

As now she wails o’er Titty’s bones

With anguish deep;

Doubtless o’er parent’s dying groans

₁₆₅ They’d little weep.

₁₆₆^{………………………..…………………………………………………..……}

Ah, Pity! thine’s a tender heart,

Thy sigh soon heaves, thy tears soon start;

And thou hast given the muse her part

Salt tears to shed, 10

To mourn and sigh with sorrow’s smart;

For pussy’s dead.

Ah, mourning Memory! ’neath thy pall

Thou utterest many a piercing call,

Pickling in vinegar’s sour gall

Ways that are fled—

The ways, the feats, the tricks, and all,

Of pussy dead.

Thou tell’st of all the gamesome plays

That mark’d her happy kitten-days: 20

—Ah, I did love her funny ways

On the sand floor;

But now sad sorrow damps my lays:

₁₆₆ Pussy’s no more.

₁₆₇^{………………………..…………………………………………………..……}

Thou paint’st her flirting round and round,

As she was wont, with things she’d found,

Chasing the spider o’er the ground,

Straws pushing on;

Thou paint’st them on a bosom-wound:

Poor pussy’s gone. 30

Ah mice, rejoice! ye’ve lost your foe,

Who watch’d your scheming robberies so,

That while she liv’d twa’n’t yours to know

A crumb of bread;

’Tis yours to triumph, mine’s the woe,

Now pussy’s dead.

While pussy liv’d ye’d empty maws;

No sooner peep’d ye out your nose,

But ye were instant in her claws

With squeakings dread: 40

Ye’re now set free from tyrant-laws;

₁₆₇ Poor pussy’s dead.

₁₆₈^{………………………..…………………………………………………..……}

Left freely here to prowl at night,

To wake me, like some squeaking sprite,

There’s nothing now but ye dare bite,

Your terror’s fled;

Put up I must with all your spite,

Poor pussy’s dead.

But if “wide nicks” ye mean to run,

To scoop my barley crust in fun, 50

And drop your tails on’t when ye’ve done,

Beware your head;

Or ye’ll find what ye’d wish to shun,

Though pussy’s dead.

As sure’s you’re born within your clothes,

If puss can’t nab ye by the nose,

I’ll find a scheme ye’d ill-suppose

To save my bread;

Ye mayn’t too much infringe the laws,

₁₆₈ If pussy’s dead. 60

₁₆₉^{………………………..…………………………………………………..……}

So don’t ye drive your jokes too far,

Ye cupboard-plunderers as ye are;

For while I’ve sixpence left to spare,

And traps are had,

I’ll make among ye dreadful war,

Though pussy’s dead.

And now, poor puss! thou’st lost thy breath,

And decent laid the molds beneath,

As ere a cat could wish in death

For her last bed: 70

This to thy memory I bequeath,

Poor pussy dead!

₁₆₉

₁₇₀^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……}

THE WIDOWER’S LAMENT.

____

AGE yellows my leaf with a daily decline,

And nature turns sick with decay;

Short is the thread on life’s spool that is mine,

And few are my wishes to stay:

The bud, that has seen but the sun of an hour,

When storms overtake it may sigh;

But fruit, that has weather’d life’s sunshine and shower,

Drops easy and gladly to die.

The prop of my age, and the balm of my pain,

With the length of life’s years has declin’d; 10

And, like the last sheep of the flock on the plain,

₁₇₀ She leaves me uneasy behind:

₁₇₁^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……}

I think of the days when our hearts they were one,

And she of my youth was the pride;

I look for the prop of my age, but it’s gone,

And I long to drop down by her side.

__________

SUNDAY.

____

THE Sabbath-day, of every day the best,

The poor man’s happiness, a poor man sings;

When labour has no claim to break his rest,

And the light hours fly swift on easy wings.

What happiness this holy morning brings,

How soft its pleasures on his senses steal;

How sweet the village-bells’ first warning rings;

And O how comfortable does he feel,

₁₇₁ When with his family at ease he takes his early meal.

₁₇₂^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……………}

The careful wife displays her frugal hoard, 10

And both partake in comfort though they’re poor;

While love’s sweet offsprings crowd the lowly board,

Their little likenesses in miniature.

Though through the week he labour does endure,

And weary limbs oft cause him to complain,

This welcome morning always brings a cure;

It teems with joys his soul to entertain,

And doubly sweet appears the pleasure after pain.

Ah, who call tell the bliss, from labour freed,

His leisure meeteth on a Sunday morn, 20

Fix’d in a chair, some godly book to read,

Or wandering round to view the crops of corn,

In best clothes fitted out, and beard new shorn;

Dropping adown in some warm shelter’d dell,

With six days’ labour weak and weary worn;

List’ning around each distant chiming bell,

₁₇₂ That on the soft’ning breeze melodiously doth swell.

₁₇₃^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……………}

And oft he takes his family abroad

In short excursions o’er the field and plain,

Marking each little object on his road, 30

An insect, sprig of grass, and ear of grain;

Endeavouring thus most simply to maintain

That the same Power that bids the mite to crawl,

That browns the wheat-lands in their summer-stain,

That Power which form’d the simple flower withal,

Form’d all that lives and grows upon this earthly ball.

The bell, when knoll’d its summons once and twice,

Now chimes in concert, calling all to prayers;

The rustic boy that hankers after vice,

And of religion little knows or cares, 40

Scrapes up his marbles, and by force repairs,

Though dallying on till the last bell has rung:—

The good man there his book devoutly bears,

And often, as he walks the graves among,

₁₇₃ Looks on the untravel’d dust from whence his being sprung.

₁₇₄^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……………}

The service ended, boys their play resume

In some snug corner from the parson’s view,

And where the searching clerk forgets to come;

There they their games and rural sports pursue,

With chuck and marbles wearing Sunday through: 50

The poor man seeks his cottage-hearth again,

And brings his family the text to view

From which the parson’s good discourse was ta’en,

Which with what skill he may he labours to explain.

Hail, sacred sabbath! hail, thou poor man’s joy!

Thou oft hast been a comfort to my care,

When faint and weary with the week’s employ

I met thy presence in my corner-chair,

Musing and bearing up with troubles there;

Thrice hail, thou heavenly boon! by God’s decree 60

At first creation plann’d, that all might share,

Both man and beast, some hours from labour free,

₁₇₄ To offer thanks to Him whose mercy sent us thee.

₁₇₅^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……………}

This day the field a sweeter clothing wears,

A Sunday scene looks brighter to the eye;

And hast’ning on to Monday morning’s cares

With double speed the wing’d hour gallops by.

How swift the sun streaks down the western sky,

Scarcely perceiv’d till it begins to wane,

When ploughboys mark his setting with a sigh, 70

Dreading the morn’s approaching hours with pain,

When capon’s restless calls awake to toil again.

As the day closes on its peace and rest,

The godly man sits down and takes “the book,”

To close it in a manner deem’d the best;

And for a suiting chapter doth he look,

That may for comfort and a guide be took:

He reads of patient Job, his trials’ thrall,

How men are troubled when by God forsook,

And prays with David to bear up with all;— 80

When sleep shuts up the scene, soft as the nightdews fall.

₁₇₅

₁₇₆^{………………………..……………………………………………………..……………}

A LOOK AT THE HEAVENS.

____

O WHO can witness with a careless eye

The countless lamps that light an evening sky,

And not be struck with wonder at the sight!

To think what mighty Power must there abound,

That burns each spangle with a steady light,

And guides each hanging world its rolling round.

What multitudes my misty eyes have found;

The countless numbers speak a Deity:

In numbers numberless the skies are crown’d,

And still they’re nothing which my sight can see, 10

When science, searching through her aiding glass,

In seeming blanks to me can millions trace;

While millions more, that every heart impress,

Still brighten up throughout eternal space.

O Power Almighty! whence these beings shine,

All wisdom’s lost in comprehending thine.

₁₇₆

₁₇₇^{………………………..……………………………………………………..………}

TO A CITY GIRL.

____

SWEET Mary, though nor sighs nor pains

Impassion’d courtship prove,

My simple song the truth ne’er feigns

To win thee to my love:

I ask thee from thy bustling life,

Where nought can pleasing prove,

From city noise, and care, and strife

O come, and be my love!

If harmless mirth delight thine eyes,

Then make my cot thy home; 10

The country-life abounds with joys,

₁₇₇ And whispers thee to come;

₁₇₈^{………………………..…………………………………………}

Here fiddles urge thy nimble feet

Adown the dance to move,

Here pleasures in continuance meet—

O come, and be my love!

If music’s charm, that all delights,

Has witcheries for thee,

The country then my love invites,

In echoed melody; 20

Here thrushes chant their madrigals,

Here breathes the ringed dove

Soft as day’s closing murmur falls—

O come, and be my love!

If nature’s prospects, wood, and vale,

Thy visits can entice,

The country’s scenes thy coming hail,

₁₇₈ To meet a paradise;

₁₇₉^{………………………..…………………………………………}

Here pride can raise no barring wall

To hide the flower and grove, 30

Here fields are gardens, free for all—

O come, and be my love!

If music, mirth, and all combine

To make my cot thy home,

To tempt thee, Mary, to be mine,

Then why delay to come?

Here night-birds sing my love to sleep,

Here sweet thy dreams shall prove,

Here in my arms shall Mary creep—

O come, and be my love!

₁₇₉

₁₈₀^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

TO HEALTH.

____

HAIL, soothing balm! Ye breezes blow,

Ransack the flower and blossom’d tree;

All, all your stolen gifts bestow,

For Health has granted all to me.

And may this blessing long be mine,

May I this favour still enjoy;

Then never shall my heart repine,

Nor yet its long continuance cloy.

And though I cannot boast, O Health!

Of aught beside, but only thee; 10

I would not change this bliss for wealth,

₁₈₀ No, not for all the eye can see.

₁₈₁^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

Wealth without thee is useless made,

Void of the smallest happy spark;

Yes, just as useless to give aid,

As mirrors set to light the dark.

Thy voice I hear, thy form I see,

In silence, echo, stream, or cloud;

Now, that strong voice belongs to thee

Which woods and hills repeat so loud. 20

The leaf, the flower, the spiry blade,

The hanging drops of pearly dew,

The russet heath, the woodland shade,

All, all can bring thee in my view.

With thee I seek the woodland shade

Beset in briery wilds among;

With thee I tread the tufted glade,

₁₈₁ Transported by the woodlark’s song.

₁₈₂^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

With thee I wander where the sheep

In groups display a checquer’d train, 30

Where weedy waters winding creep;

Nor wilt thou fallow-clods disdain.

Then hail, sweet charm! Ye breezes blow,

Ransack the flower and blossom’d tree;

All, all your stolen gifts bestow,

For Health has granted all to me.

________

ABSENCE.

____

“WHAT ails my love, where can he be?

He never broke a vow,

Though twice the clock’s reminded me

₁₈₂ That he’s deceiv’d me now.

₁₈₃^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

Through some bad girl, I well know that,

Poor Peggy’s love’s forgot:”

Thus sigh’d a lass, as down she sat

On the appointed spot.

The night was gathering dark and deep,

But absent was the swain; 10

The dews on many a flower did weep,

But Peggy wept in vain:

And every noise that meets her ear,

And fancy of her eye,

Hope instant wipes away the tear,

And paints the shepherd nigh.

“Ah, now he comes, my cheek glows hot,

His dog barks to the sheep!”

Alas, her own dog lay forgot,

₁₈₃ Loud whimpering in his sleep. 20

₁₈₄^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

“He rustles down the wood-path park,

The boughs hung o’er it stirr’d!”—

Alas, her Rover’s dreaming bark

Awoke a startled bird.

Again she look’d, and once again

Hop’d she her love should see,

A glimpse of moonlight checq’d the plain—

“Ah, here he comes, ’tis he!”

The trees hung o’er the shady way,

’Twas but a shadow’d oak. 30

The stock-dove wak’d the mimic lay,

“Ah, there my Henry spoke!”

“Ah, this is he! I know his tread!”

Again her hope’s a dream;

Her wandering cows had left their shed,

₁₈₄ And jump’d across the stream.

₁₈₅^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

“Ah, then he spoke, ’twas Henry plain!”

She felt she knew not how;

Alas, the clock but told again

That he had broke his vow. 40

When wearied out, her home she seeks,

Where nought could please her view;

The tear stole silent down her cheeks,

Two rose-leaves in the dew:

Her auburn hair with sweetest grace

That down her temples spread,

The night-breeze wip’d it from her face,

And kiss’d her in his stead.

₁₈₅

₁₈₆^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

MAY-DAY.

____

NOW happy swains review the plains,

And hail the first of May;

Now linnets sing to welcome spring,

And every soul is gay.

Hob, joyful soul, high rears the pole,

With wild-flower wreaths entwin’d;

Then tiptoe round the maidens bound,

All sorrow lags behind.

Branches of thorn their doors adorn,

With every flowret lin’d 10

That earliest spring essays to bring,

₁₈₆ Or searching maids can find.

₁₈₇^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

All swains resort to join the sport,

E’en age will not disdain,

But oft will throng to hear the song,

And view the jocund train.

I often too had us’d to go,

The rural mirth to share,

But what, alas! time brought to pass,

Soon made me absent there. 20

My Colin died, the village pride,

O hapless misery!

Then sports adieu, with him they flew,

For he was all to me.

And May no more shall e’er restore

To me those joys again,

There’s no relief but urging grief,

₁₈₇ For memory wakens pain.

₁₈₈^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

To think how he, so dear to me,

Had us’d to join the play; 30

And O so dear such pleasures were,

He gloried in the day.

But now, sad scene, he’s left the green,

And Lubin here to mourn:

Then flowers may spring, and birds may sing,

And May-day may return;

But never more can they restore

Their rural sports to me—

No, no, adieu! with him they flew,

For he was all to me.

₁₈₈

₁₈₉^{………………………..……………………………………….……}

WILLIAM AND ROBIN.

____

WILLIAM.

WHEN I meet Peggy in my morning walk,

She first salutes the morn, then stays to talk:

The biggest secret she will not refuse,

But freely tells me all the village-news;

And pleas’d am I, can I but haply force

Some new-made tale to lengthen the discourse,

For—O so pleasing is her company,

That hours, like minutes, in her presence fly!

I’m happy then, nor can her absence e’er

Raise in my heart the least distrust or fear. 10

ROBIN.

When Mary meets me I find nought to say,

₁₈₉ She hangs her head, I turn another way;

₁₉₀^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

Sometimes (but never till the maid’s gone by)

“Good morning!” faulters, weaken’d by a sigh;

Confounded I remain, but yet delight

To look back on her till she’s out of sight.

Then, then’s the time that absence does torment:

I jeer my weakness, painfully repent,

To think how well I might have then confest

That secret love which makes me so distrest: 20

But, when the maiden’s vanish’d for a while,

Recruited hopes my future hours beguile:

I fancy then another time I’ll tell,

Which, if not better, will be quite as well;

Thus days, and weeks, and months I’ve dallied o’er,

And am no nearer than I was before.

WILLIAM.

Such ways as these I ever strove to shun,

Nor was I bashful when I first begun:

Freely I offer’d posies to the maid,

₁₉₀ Which she as freely with her smiles repaid; 30

₁₉₁^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

Yet had I been, like you, afraid to own

My love—her kindness had been still unknown.

And, now the maiden’s kindness to requite,

I strive to please her morning, noon, and night:

The garland and the wreath for her I bind,

Compos’d of all the fairest I can find;

For her I stop the straggler going astray,

And watch her sheep when she’s not in the way;

I fetch them up at night, and shift the pen,

And in the morning let them out again: 40

For her in harvest when the nuts are brown,

I take my crook to pull the branches down;

And up the trees that dismally hang o’er

The deep black pond, where none durst go before,

I heedless climb, as free from fear as now,

And snatch the clusters from the topmost bough;

Well pleas’d to risk such dangers that can prove

₁₉₁ How much her William does his Peggy love.

₁₉₂^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

ROBIN.

I search the meadows, and as well as you

I bind up posies, and sweet garlands too; 50

And if I unawares can hear exprest

What flower she fancies finer than the rest,

Grow where it will, I search the fields about,

And search for’t daily till I find it out;

And when I’ve found it—oh—what tongue can tell

The fears and doubts which in my bosom swell:

The schemes contriving, and the plans I lay,

How I to her the garland may convey,

Are various indeed;—sometimes I start,

Resolv’d to tell the secret of my heart, 60

Vowing to make the gather’d garland prove

How much I languish, and how much I love:

But soon resolves and vows allay their heat,

And timid weakness re-assumes her seat.

The garland then, which I so painful sought,

₁₉₂ Instantly seems as if ’twere good for nought:

₁₉₃^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

“Ah, gaudy thing!” I sigh, “will Mary wear

Such foolish lumber in her auburn hair?”

Thus doubts and fears each other thought confound,

And, thus perplex’d, I throw it on the ground— 70

Walk from’t, distrest—in pensive silence mourn,

Then plan a scheme, and back again return:

Once more the garland in my hand I take,

And of the best a smaller posy make,

Resting assur’d that such a nosegay will

To gain her favour prove a better still,

And then my hopeful heart’s from grief reviv’d

By this new plan, so seeming well-contriv’d;

So off I go, and gain the spot—ah, then

I sneak along—my heart misgives again, 80

And as I nearer draw, “Well now,” thinks I,

“I’ll not speak to her, but pass silent by:”

Then from my coat that precious gift I take,

Which I beforehand treasur’d for her sake;

And after all my various scheming so,

₁₉₃ The flowers, as worthless, to the ground I throw.

₁₉₄^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

And then, if getting through the hedge-bound plain,

Having no sense to find the same again,

Her little lambkins raise a piteous cry,

Calling for help—whether far off or nigh 90

It matters not, can I but hear their moan,

(Of her’s more tender am I than my own,)

The journey’s nought at all, no steps I grudge,

But with great pleasure to their aid I trudge;

Yet this is never to the maiden known,

Nor ever done save only when alone,

Fearing from it that other swains should prove,

Or she herself, the favour to be love.

Though in her absence I so fond appear,

Yet when she’s there I’m careless, as it were; 100

Nor can I have the face, although my mind

At the same time’s most willingly inclin’d,

To do the least kind act at all for her,

Nor join the tale where she does interfere.

If from her looks a smile I e’er obtain,

₁₉₄ I feel o’erjoy’d but never smile again;

₁₉₅^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

And when I hear the swains her beauty praise,

And try with artful, fond, alluring ways

To snatch the posy from her swelling breast,

And loose the ribbon round her slender waist, 110

Then more familiar touch her curling hair,

And praise her beauty as beyond compare;

At this sad pains around my heart will sting,

But I ne’er look, nor tell a single thing.

________

BALLAD.

____

I LOVE thee, sweet Mary, but love thee in fear;

Were I but the morning breeze, healthy and airy,

As thou goest a walking I’d breathe in thine ear,

₁₉₅ And whisper and sigh how I love thee, my Mary!

₁₉₆^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

I wish but to touch thee, but wish it in vain;

Wert thou but a streamlet a winding so clearly,

And I little globules of soft dropping rain,

How fond would I press thy white bosom, my Mary!

I would steal a kiss, but I dare not presume;

Wert thou but a rose in thy garden, sweet fairy, 10

And I a bold bee for to rifle its bloom,

A whole summer’s day would I kiss thee, my Mary!

I long to be with thee, but cannot tell how;

Wert thou but the elder that grows by thy dairy,

And I the blest woodbine to twine on the bough,

I’d embrace thee and cling to thee ever, my Mary!

₁₉₆

₁₉₇^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

WINTER RAINBOW.

____

THOU Winter, thou art keen, intensely keen;

Thy cutting frowns experience bids me know,

For in thy weather days and days I’ve been,

As grinning north-winds horribly did blow,

And pepper’d round my head their hail and snow:

Throughout thy reign ’tis mine each year to prove thee;

And, spite of every storm I’ve beetled in,

With all thy insults, Winter, I do love thee,

Thou half enchantress, like to pictur’d Sin!

Though many frowns thy sparing smiles deform, 10

Yet when thy sunbeam shrinketh from its shroud,

And thy bright rainbow gilds the purple storm,

₁₉₇ I look entranced on thy painted cloud:

₁₉₈^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

And what wild eye with nature’s beauties charm’d,

That hang enraptur’d o’er each ’witching spell,

Can see thee, Winter, then, and not be warm’d

To breathe thy praise, and say, “I love thee well!”

__________

THE REQUEST.

____

NOW the sun his blinking beam

Behind yon mountain loses,

And each eye, that might evil deem,

In blinded slumber closes:

Now the field’s a desert grown,

Now the hedger’s fled the grove;

Put thou on thy russet gown,

Shielded from the dews, my love,

₁₉₈ And wander out with me.

₁₉₉^{………………………………..……………………………………}

We have met at early day, 10

Slander rises early,

Slander’s tongues had much to say,

And still I love thee dearly:

Slander now to rest has gone,

Only wakes the courting dove;

Slily steal thy bonnet on,

Leave thy father’s cot, my love,

And wander out with me.

Clowns have pass’d our noon-day screen,

’Neath the hawthorn’s blossom, 20

Seldom there the chance has been

To press thee to my bosom:

Ploughmen now no more appear,

Night-winds but the thorn-bough move;

Squander not a minute here,

Lift the door-latch gently, love,

₁₉₉ And wander out with me.

₂₀₀^{………………………………..……………………………………….……}

Oh the hour so sweet as this,

With friendly night surrounded,

Left free to talk, embrace, and kiss, 30

By virtue only bounded—

Lose it not, make no delay,

Put on thy doublet, hat, and glove,

Sly ope the door and steal away;

And sweet ’twill be, my only love,

To wander out with thee.

_________

SOLITUDE.

____

NOW as even’s warning bell

Rings the day’s departing knell,

Leaving me from labour free,

₂₀₀ Solitude, I’ll walk with thee:

₂₀₁^{………………………………..……………………………}

Whether ’side the woods we rove,

Or sweep beneath the willow grove;

Whether sauntering we proceed

Cross the green, or down the mead;

Whether, sitting down, we look

On the bubbles of the brook; 10

Whether, curious, waste an hour,

Pausing o’er each tasty flower;

Or, expounding nature’s spells,

From the sand pick out the shells;

Or, while lingering by the streams,

Where more sweet the music seems,

Listen to the soft’ning swells

Of some distant chiming bells

Mellowing sweetly on the breeze,

Rising, falling by degrees, 20

Dying now, then wak’d again

In full many a ’witching strain,

Sounding, as the gale flits by,

₂₀₁ Flats and sharps of melody.

₂₀₂^{………………………………..……………………………}

Sweet it is to wind the rill,

Sweet with thee to climb the hill,

On whose lap the bullock free

Chews his cud most placidly;

Or o’er fallows bare and brown

Beaten sheep-tracks wander down, 30

Where the mole unwearied still

Roots up many a crumbling hill,

And the little chumbling mouse

Gnarls the dead weed for her house,

While the plough’s unfeeling share

Lays full many a dwelling bare;—

Where the lark with russet breast

’Hind the big clod hides her nest,

And the black snail’s founder’d pace

Finds from noon a hiding-place, 40

Breaking off the scorching sun

₂₀₂ Where the matted twitches run.

₂₀₃^{………………………………..……………………………}

Solitude! I love thee well,

Brushing through the wilder’d dell,

Picking from the ramping grass

Nameless blossoms as I pass,

Which the dews of eve bedeck,

Fair as pearls on woman’s neck;

Marking shepherds rous’d from sleep

Blundering off to fold their sheep; 50

And the swain, with toils distrest,

Hide his tools to seek his rest:

While the cows, with hobbling strides,

Twitching slow their fly-bit hides,

Rub the pasture’s creaking gate,

Milking maids and boys to wait.

Or as sunshine leaves the sky,

As the daylight shuts her eye,

Sweet it is to meet the breeze

’Neath the shade of hawthorn trees, 60

By the pasture’s wilder’d round,

₂₀₃ Where the pismire hills abound,

₂₀₄^{………………………………..……………………………}

Where the blushing fin-weed’s flower

Closes up at even’s hour:

Leaving then the green behind,

Narrow hoof-plod lanes to wind,

Oak and ash embower’d beneath,

Leading to the lonely heath,

Where the unmolested furze

And the burdock’s clinging burs, 70

And the briars, by freedom sown,

Claim the wilder’d spots their own.

There while we the scene survey

Deck’d in nature’s wild array,

Swell’d with ling-clad hillocks green

Suiting the disorder’d scene,

Haply we may rest us then

In the banish’d herdsman’s den;

Where the wattled hulk is fixt,

₂₀₄ Propt some double oak betwixt, 80

₂₀₅^{………………………………..……………………………}

Where the swain the branches lops,

And o’er head with rushes tops;

Where, with woodbine’s sweet perfume,

And the rose’s blushing bloom,

Loveliest cieling of the bower,

Arching in, peeps many a flower;

While a hill of thyme so sweet,

Or a moss’d stone, forms a seat.

There, as ’tween-light hangs the eve,

I will watch thy bosom heave; 90

Marking then the darksome flows

Night’s gloom o’er thy mantle throws;

Fondly gazing on thine eye

As it rolls its extasy,

When thy solemn musings caught

Tell thy soul’s absorb’d in thought;

When thy finely folded arm

O’er thy bosom beating warm

Wraps thee melancholy round;

₂₀₅ And thy ringlets wild unbound 100

₂₀₆^{………………………………..……………………………}

On thy lily shoulders lie,

Like dark streaks in morning’s sky.

Peace and silence sit with thee,

And peace alone is heaven to me:

While the moonlight’s infant hour

Faint ’gins creep to gild the bower,

And the wattled hedge gleams round

Its diamond shadows on the ground.

—O thou soothing Solitude,

From the vain and from the rude, 110

When this silent hour is come,

And I meet thy welcome home,

What balm is thine to troubles deep,

As on thy breast I sink to sleep;

What bliss on even’s silence flows,

When thy wish’d opiate brings repose.

And I have found thee wondrous sweet,

₂₀₆ Sheltering from the noon-day heat,

₂₀₇^{………………………………..……………………………}

As ’neath hazels I have stood

In the gloomy hanging wood, 120

Where the sunbeams, filtering small,

Freckling through the branches fall;

And the flapping leaf the ground

Shadows, flitting round and round:

Where the glimmering streamlets wreathe

Many a crooked root beneath,

Unseen gliding day by day

O’er their solitary way,

Smooth or rough, as onward led

Where the wild-weed dips its head, 130

Murmuring,—dribbling drop by drop

When dead leaves their progress stop,—

Or winding sweet their restless way

While the frothy bubbles play.

And I love thy presence drear

In such wildernesses, where

Ne’er an axe was heard to sound,

₂₀₇ Or a tree’s fall gulsh’d the ground,

₂₀₈^{………………………………..……………………………}

Where (as if that spot could be)

First foot-mark’d the ground by me, 140

All is still, and wild, and gay,

Left as at creation’s day.

Pleasant too it is to look

For thy steps in shady nook,

Where, by hedge-side coolly led,

Brooks curl o’er their sandy bed;

On whose tide the clouds reflect,

In whose margin flags are freckt;

Where the waters, winding blue,

Single-arch’d brig flutter through, 150

While the willow-branches grey

Damp the sultry eye of day,

And in whispers mildly sooth

Chafe the mossy keystone smooth;

Where the banks, beneath them spread,

Level in an easy bed;

While the wild-thyme’s pinky bells

₂₀₈ Circulate reviving smells;

₂₀₉^{………………………………..……………………………}

And the breeze, with feather-feet,

Crimping o’er the waters sweet, 160

Trembling fans the sun-tann’d cheek,

And gives the comfort one would seek.

Stretching there in soft repose,

Far from peace and freedom’s foes,

In a spot, so wild, so rude,

Dear to me is solitude!

Soothing then to watch the ground,—

Every insect flitting round,

Such as painted summer brings;—

Lady-fly with freckled wings, 170

Watch her up the tall bent climb;

And from knotted flowers of thyme,

Where the woodland banks are deckt,

See the bee his load collect;

Mark him turn the petals by,

Gold dust gathering on his thigh,

As full many a hum he heaves,

₂₀₉ While he pats th’ intruding leaves,

₂₁₀^{………………………………..……………………………}

Lost in many a heedless spring,

Then wearing home on heavy wing. 180

But when sorrows more oppress,

When the world brings more distress,

Wishing to despise as then

Brunts of fate, and scorn of men;

When fate’s demons thus intrude,

Then I seek thee, Solitude,

Where the abbey’s height appears

Hoary ’neath a weight of years;

Where the mouldering walls are seen

Hung with pellitory green; 190

Where the steeple’s taper stretch

Tires the eye its length to reach,

Dizzy, nauntling high and proud,

Top-stone losing in a cloud;

Where the cross, to time resign’d,

₂₁₀ Creaking harshly in the wind,

₂₁₁^{………………………………..……………………………}

Crowning high the rifted dome,

Points the pilgrim’s wish’d-for home;

While the look fear turns away,

Shuddering at its dread decay. 200

There let me my peace pursue

’Neath the shades of gloomy yew,

Doleful hung with mourning green,

Suiting well the solemn scene;

There, that I may learn to scan

Mites illustrious, called man,

Turn with thee the nettles by

Where the grave-stone meets the eye,

Soon, full soon to read and see

That all below is vanity; 210

And man, to me a galling thing,

Own’d creation’s lord and king,

A minute’s length, a zephyr’s breath,

Sport of fate, and prey of death;

Tyrant to-day, to-morrow gone;

₂₁₁ Distinguish’d only by a stone,

₂₁₂^{………………………………..……………………………}

That fain would have the eye to know

Pride’s better dust is lodg’d below,—

While worms like me are mouldering laid,

With nothing set to say “they’re dead;”— 220

All the difference, trifling thing,

That notes at last the slave and king.

As wither’d leaves, life’s bloom when stopt,

That drop in autumn, so they dropt:

As snails, which in their painted shell

So snugly once were known to dwell,

When in the school-boy’s care we view

The pleasing toys of varied hue.—

By age or accident are flown,

The shell left empty,—tenant gone;— 230

So pass we from the world’s affairs,

And careless vanish from its cares;

So leave, with silent, long farewel,

₂₁₂ Vain life—as left the snail his shell.

₂₁₃^{………………………………..……………………………}

All this when there my eyes behold

On every stone and heap of mould,

Solitude, though thou art sweet,

Solemn art thou then to meet;

When with list’ning pause I look

Round the pillar’s ruin’d nook, 240

Glooms revealing, dim descried,

Ghosts, companion’d by thy side;

Where in old deformity

Ancient arches sweep on high;

And the aisles, to light unknown,

Create a darkness all their own:

Save the moon, as on we pass,

Splinters through the broken glass,

Or the torn roof, patch’d with cloud,

Or the crack’d wall, bulg’d and bow’d;— 250

Glimmering faint along the ground,

Shooting solemn and profound,

Lighting up the silent gloom

₂₁₃ Just to read an ancient tomb:

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’Neath where, as it gilding creeps,

We may see some abbot sleeps;

And as on we mete the aisle,

Daring scarce to breathe the while,

Soft as creeping feet can fall,

While the damp green-stained wall 260

Swift the startled ghost flits by,

Mocking murmurs faintly sigh;

Reminding our intruding fear

Such visits are unwelcome here.

Seemly then, from hollow urn,

Gentle steps our steps return:

E’er so soft and e’er so still,

Check our breath or how we will,

List’ning spirits still reply

Step for step, and sigh for sigh. 270

Murmuring o’er one’s weary woe,

Such as once ’twas theirs to know,

They whisper to such slaves as me,

₂₁₄ A buried tale of misery:—

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“We once had life, ere life’s decline,

Flesh, blood, and bone, the same as thine;

We knew its pains, and shar’d its grief,

Till death, long wish’d-for, brought relief;

We had our hopes, and like to thee,

Hop’d morrow’s better day to see, 280

But like to thine, our hope the same,

To-morrow’s kindness never came:

We had our tyrants, e’en as thou;

Our wants met many a scornful brow;

But death laid low their wealthy powers,

Their harmless ashes mix with ours:

And this vain world, its pride, its form,

That treads on thee as on a worm,

Its mighty heirs—the time shall be

When they as quiet sleep by thee!” 290

O here’s thy comfort, Solitude,

₂₁₅ When overpowering woes intrude!

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Then thy sad, thy solemn dress

Owns the balm my soul to bless:

Here I judge the world aright;

Here see vain man in his true light;

Learn patience, in this trying hour,

To gild life’s brambles with a flower;

Take pattern from the hints thou’st given,

And follow in thy steps to heaven. 300

END OF VOL. I.

________________

London: Printed by T. Miller,

Noble Street, Cheapside.

₂₁₆

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