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sun,

Which, as the housewife phrased it, were throughout When soothed awhile by milder airs, “ The prettiest letters that were ever seen."

Thee Winter in the garland wears Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.

That thinly shades his few grey hairs; So, many months passed on: and once again

Spring cannot shun thee; The shepherd went about his daily work

Whole Summer fields are thine by right; With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now

And Autumn, melancholy wight! Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour

Doth in thy crimson head delight He to that valley took his way, and there

When rains are on thee. Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began

In shoals and bands, a morrice train, To slacken in his duty; and at length

Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ; He in the dissolute city gave himself

If welcomed once thou count'st it gain; To evil courses: ignominy and shame

Thou art not daunted, Fell on him, so that he was driven at last

Nor car'st if thou be set at nought:
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

And oft alone in pooks remote
There is a comfort in the strength of love;

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else

When such are wanted.
Would overset the brain,-or break the heart:
I have conversed with more than one who well

Be Violets in their secret mews.
Remember the old man, and what he was

The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ; Years after he had heard this heavy news.

Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews His bodily frame had been from youth to age

Her head'impearling; Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, He went, and still looked up upon the

Yet hast not gone without thy fame; And listened to the wind; and as before

Thou art indeed by many a claim Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,

The Poet's darling And for the land his small inheritance.

If to a rock from rains he fly, And to that hollow dell from time to time

Or, some bright day of April sky, Did he repair, to build the fold of which

Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet

Near the green holly, The pity which was then in every heart

And wearily at length should fare ; For the old man-and 'tis believed by all

He needs but look about, and there That many and many a day he thither went,

Thou art! a friend at hand, to scare
And never lifted up a single stone.

His melancholy.
There, by the sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, with that his faithful dog,

A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, The length of full seven years from time to time

Have I derived from thy sweet power He at the building of this sheep-fold wrought,

Some apprehension ; And left the work unfinished when he died.

Some steady love; some brief delight; Three years, or little more, did Isabel

Some memory that had taken flight; Survive her husband : at her death the estate

Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand:

Or stray invention. The cottage which was named The Evening Star

If stately passions in me burn, Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the

And one chance look to thee should turn, ground

I drink out of an humbler urn On which it stood; great changes have been wrought

A lowlier pleasure ; In all the neighbourhood :—yet the oak is left

The homely sympathy that heeds That grew beside their door; and the remains

The common life our nature breeds; Of the unfinished sheep-fold may be seen

A wisdom fitted to the needs Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll..

Of hearts at leisure.

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TO THE DAISY.
In youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill, in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make-
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake

Of thee, sweet Daisy!

When, smitten by the morning ray,
I see thee rise, alert and gay,
Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play

With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast

Of careful sadness.

And all day long 1 number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,

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Which I, wherever thou art met,

“But now proud thoughts are in your breastTo thee am owing;

What grief is mine you see. Av instinct call it, a blind sense;

Ahl would you think, even yet how blest A happy, genial influence,

Together we might be!
Coming one knows not how, nor whence,

Though of both leaf and flower bereft,
Nor whither going.

Some ornaments to me are left

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine, Child of the Year! that round dost run

With which I, in my humble way, Thy course, bold lover of the sun,

Would deck you many a winter's day,
And cheerful when the day's begun

A happy Eglantine !"
As morning leveret,
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain ;

What more he said I cannot tell.
Dear thou shalt be to future men

The Torrent thundered down the dell
As in old time ;-thou not in vain,

With unabating haste;
Art Nature's favourite.

I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked - and much I fear

Those accents were his last.
THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLAN-
TINE.

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING “ Begone, thou fond presumptuous elf,"

LEAVES. Exclaimed a thundering voice, “ Nor dare to trust thy foolish self

That way look, my infant, lo! Between me and my choice !"

What a pretty baby-show! A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows

See the kitten on the wall, Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,

Sporting with the leaves that fall, That, all bespattered with his foam,

Withered leaves one-two-and threeAnd dancing high, and dancing low,

From the lofty elder-tree! Was living, as a child might know,

Through the calm and frosty air In an unhappy home.

Of this morning bright and fair

Eddying round and round they sink “ Dost thou presume my course to block? Off, off! or, puny thing!

Softly, slowly, one night think,

From the motions that are made, I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

Every little leaf conveyed To which thy fibres cling.”

Sylph or fairy hither tending, The Flood was tyrannous and strong ;

To this lower world descending, The patient Briar suffered long,

Each invisible and mute, Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

In his wavering parachute. Hoping the danger would be past;

- But the kitten, how she starts, But, seeing no relief, at last He ventured to reply.

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!

First at one, and then its fellow “ Ah !” said the Briar,“ blame me not;

Just as light and just as yellow; Why should we dwell in strife?

There are many now — now oneWe who in this sequestered spot

Now they stop; and there are none Once lived a happy life!

What intenseness of desire You stirred me on my rocky bed

In her upward eye of fire! What pleasure through my veins you spread!

With a tiger-leap, half way, The summer long, from day to day,

Now she meets the coming prey, My leaves you freshened and bedewed;

Lets it go as fast, and then Nor was it common gratitude

Has it in her power again: That did your cares repay.

Now she works with three or four,

Like an Indian conjuror; “ When spring came on with bud and bell,

Quick as he in feats of art, Among these rocks did I

Far beyond in joy of heart. Before you hang my wreaths, to tell

Were her antics played in the eye That gentle days were nigh!

Of a thousand standers-by, And in the sultry summer hours,

Clapping hands with shout and stare, I sheltered you with leaves and flowers ;

What would little Tabby care And in my leaves- now shed and gone,

For the plaudits of the crowd ? The linnet lodged, and for us two

Over happy to be proud, Chaunted his pretty songs, when you

Over wealthy in the treasure Had little voice or none.

Of her own exceeding pleasure !

'Tis a pretty baby-treat;

Spreads with such a living grace Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;

O'er my little Laura's face; Here, for neither babe nor me,

Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Other playmate can I see.

Thee, baby, laughing in my arms, Of the countless living things,

That almost I could repine That with stir of feet and wings,

That your transports are not mine, (In the sun or under shade,

That I do not wholly far: Upon bough or grassy blade)

Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! And with busy revellings,

And I will have my careless season Chirp and song, and murmurings,

Spite of melancholy reason, Made this orchard's narrow space,

Will walk through life in such a way And this vale so blithe a place;

That, when time brings on decay, Multitudes are swept away

Now and then I may possess Never more to breathe the day:

Hours of perfect gladsomeness. Some are sleeping ; some in bands

— Pleased by any random toy; Travelled into distant lands;

By a kitten's busy joy, Others slunk to moor and wood,

Or an infant's laughing eye Far from human neighbourhood;

Sharing in the ecstasy ; And among the kinds that keep

I would fare like that or this, With us closer fellowship,

Find my wisdom in my bliss; With us openly abide,

Keep the sprightly soul awake, All have laid their mirth aside.

And have faculties to take, - Where is he that giddy sprite,

Even from things by sorrow wrought, Blue-cap, with his colours bright,

Matter for a jocund thought; Who was blest as bird could be,

Spite of care, and spite of grief,
Feeding in the apple-tree;

To gambol with life's falling leaf.
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung with head towards the ground,

TO THE CUCKOO. Fluttered, perched, into a round

Oblithe new-comer! I have heard, Bound himself, and then unbound;

I hear thee and rejoice : Lithest, gaudiest harlequin !

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Prettiest tumbler ever seen!

Or but a wandering voice ?
Light of heart and light of limb,
What is now become of him?

While I am lying on the grass,
Lambs, that through the mountains went

Thy loud note smites my ear! Frisking, bleating merriment,

It seems to fill the whole air's space, When the year was in it's prime,

At once far off and near!
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,

I hear thee babbling to the vale
If you listen, all is still,

Of sunshine and of flowers; Save a little neighbouring rill,

But unto me thou bring'st a tale
That from out the rocky ground

Of visionary hours.
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitters hill and plain,

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! And the air is calm in vain;

Even yet thou art to me Vainly morning spreads the lure

No bird; but an invisible thing, Of a sky serene and pure ;

A voice, a mystery. Creature none can she decoy

The same whom in my school-boy days Into open sign of joy:

I listened to; that cry Is it that they have a fear

Which made me look a thousand ways, Of the dreary season near?

In bush, and tree, and sky.
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?

To seek thee did I often rove
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell

Through woods and on the green; In the impenetrable cell

And thou wert still a hope, a love; of the silent heart which Nature

Still longed for, never seen!
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know

And I can listen to thee yet;
Too sedate for outward show,

Can lie upon the plain Such a light of gladness breaks,

And listen, till I do beget Pretty kitten! from thy freaks,

That golden time again.

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O blessed bird! the earth we pace

RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. Again appears to be

There was a roaring in the wind all night; An unsubstantial, faery place;

The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
That is fit home for thee!

But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dore broods;
YEW-TREES.

The jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; There is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,

And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its owu darkness, as it stood of yore,

All things that love the sun are out of doors; Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands

The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; Of Umfraville or Percy, ere they marched

The grass is bright with rain-drops;-on the moors To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea The hare is running races in her mirth; And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,

And with her feet she from the plashy earth Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.

Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun, Of vast circumference and gloom profound

Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. This solitary tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay;

I was a traveller then upon the moor; Of form and aspect too magnificent

I saw the hare that raced about with joy;

I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;
To be destroyed. But worthier still of note

Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale,
Joined in one solemn and capacious grove ;

The pleasant season did my heart employ:
Huge trunks !—and each particular trunk a growth

My old remembrances went from me wholly; Of intertwisted fibres serpentine

And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy! Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,

But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks

Of joy in minds that can no farther go,
That threaten the prophane ;-a pillared shade, As high as we have mounted in delight
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, In our dejection do we sink as low,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged To me that morning did it happen so;
Perennially-beneath whose sable roof

And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came; Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked

Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes

could name. May meet at noontide-Fear and trembling Hope,

I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
Silence and Foresight—Death the Skeleton
And Time the Shadow,—there to celebrate,

And I bethought me of the playful hare:

Even such a happy child of earth am I; As in a natural temple scattered o'er

Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,

Far from the world I walk, and from all care; United worship; or in mute repose

But there may come another day to meTo lie, and listen to the mountain flood

Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. Murmuring from Glaramara’s inmost caves.

My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,

As if life's business were a summer mood; THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

As if all needful things would come unsought At the corner of Wood-street, when day-light ap- To genial faith, still rich in genial good; pears,

(three years:

But how can he expect that others should Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? In the silence of morning the song of the bird.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Of Him who walked in glory and in joy Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, Following his plough, along the mountain-side : And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. By our own spirits are we deified;

We poets in our youth begin in gladness; (ness. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,

But thereof comes in the end despondency and madDown which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,

Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

A leading from above, a something given,

Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place, She looks, and her heart is in heaven; but they fade, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: Beside a pool bare to the eye of Heaven The stream will not flow and the hill will not rise, I saw a man before me unawares : And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hair) As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie

My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; Couched on the bald top of an eminence;

And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; Wonder to all who do the same espy,

Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; By what means it could thither come, and whence; And mighty poets in their misery dead. So that it seems a thing endued with sense : -Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf My question eagerly did I renew, Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; “ How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" Such seemed this man, not all alive nor dead,

He with a smile did then his words repeat; Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age:

And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide His body was bent double, feet and head

He travelled; stirring thus about his feet Coming together in life's pilgrimage;

The waters of the ponds where they abide. As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage

“ Once I could meet with them on every side; Of sickness felt by him in times long past,

But they have dwindled long by slow decay; A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.

Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face,

While he was talking thus, the lonely place, Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:

The old man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,

In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace

About the weary moors continually,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood
Motionless as a cloud the old man stood,

Wandering about alone and silently.
That heareth not the loud winds when they call,

While I these thoughts within myself pursued, And moveth all together, if it move at all.

He, having made a pause, the same discourse re

newed. At length, himself unsettling, he the pond

And soon with this he other matter blended, Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look

Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
Upon the muddy water, which he conned
As if he had been reading in a book:

But stately in the main; and when he ended, And now a stranger's privilege I took ;

I could have laughed myself to scorn, to find

In that decrepid man so firm a mind. And, drawing to his side, to him did say,

“ God,” said I,“ be my help and stay secure; “ This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."

I'll think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" A gentle answer did the old man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake,

THE THORN. “ What occupation do you there pursue ?

“ There is a thorn-it looks so old, This is a lonesome place for one like you."

In truth, you'd find it hard to say He answered, while a flash of mild surprise

How it could ever have been young, Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid eyes. It looks so old and gray.

Not higher than a two years' child His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,

It stands erect, this aged thorn; But each in solemn order followed each,

No leaves it has, no thorny points; With something of a lofty utterance drest;

It is a mass of knotted joints, Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach

A wretched thing forlorn. Of ordinary men; a stately speech ;

It stands erect, and like a stone Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,

With lichens it is overgrown. Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.

Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown He told me that he to this pond had come

With lichens to the very top, To gather leeches, being old and poor:

And hung with heavy tufts of moss, Employment hazardous and wearisome!

A melancholy crop : And he had many hardships to endure:

Up from the earth these mosses creep, From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;

And this poor thorn they clasp it round Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance:

So close, you'd say that they were bent And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.

With plain and manifest intent

To drag it to the ground; 'The old man still stood talking by my side;

And all had joined in one endeavour
But now his voice to me was like a stream

To bury this poor thorn for ever.
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the man did seem

High on a mountain's highest ridge,
Like one whom I had met with in a dream;

Where oft the stormy winter gale Or like a man from some far region sent, (ment. Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds To give me human strength by strong admonish- It sweeps from vale to vale;

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