Sad fancies do we then affect, Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!) Pleased with the harvest hope that runs Pleased while the sylvan world displays Its ripeness to the feeding gaze; Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell Of the resplendent miracle. But something whispers to my heart To which our souls must bend; Whose smiles diffused o'er land and sea, Of youth into the breast: May pensive autumn ne'er present A claim to her disparagement! While blossoms and the budding spray Inspire us in our own decay, Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, Be hopeful spring the favourite of the soul! 1817. YEW-TREES. THERE is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea Of vast circumference and gloom profound To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked As in a natural temple scattered o'er 1803. AIREY FORCE VALLEY. NOT a breath of air Ruffles the bosom of this leafy glen. From the brook's margin, wide around, the trees Old as the hills that feed it from afar, Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm Where all things else are calm and motionless. But to its gentle touch how sensitive Is the light ash! that, pendent from the brow To stay the wanderer's steps and soothe his thoughts. THE ECHO. YES! yes! it was the mountain echo, Answering to the shouting cuckoo, Unsolicited reply To a babbling wanderer sent; Like-but, oh, how different! Hears not also mortal life? Hear not we, unthinking creatures! Voices of two different natures? Have not we too?--Yes, we have Such rebounds our inward ear For of God,--of God they are! THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE DOVE. O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art A creature of a " fiery heart"; These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce : He did not cease; but cooed-and cooed; 1806. He sang of love, with quiet blending, That was the song, the song for me! 1807. TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard, O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, While I am lying on the grass, Thy loud note smites my ear! I hear thee babbling to the vale, Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! No bird, but an invisible thing; A voice, a mystery ; The same whom in my school-boy days Which made me look a thousand ways To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And I can listen to thee yet; O blessed bird! the earth we pace An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for thee! TO A SKYLARK. UP with me! up with me, into the clouds! Up with me, up with me, into the clouds ! With clouds and sky about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, Had I now the wings of a faery, There is madness about thee, and joy divine Lift me, guide me, high and high, Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning ; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, Happy, happy liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. 1805. TO THE SKYLARK. ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! |