Sweet flower! for by that name at last, I call thee, and to that cleave fast,- That breath'st with me in sun and air, XL TO THE SAME FLOWER. BRIGHT flower, whose home is everywhere! A pilgrim bold in Nature's care, And all the long year through, the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see Is it that man is soon depressed? Or on his reason, And thou wouldst teach him how to find A hope for times that are unkind, And every season? Thou wanderest the wide world about, Meek, yielding to th' occasion's call, In peace fulfilling. XIL. TO A SKY-LARK. Up with me! up with me, into the clouds ! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me! up with me into the clouds! With all the heavens about thee ringing. That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, Had I now the wings of a fairy, There is madness about thee, and joy divine Up with me, up with me, high and high, Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest: With a soul as strong as a mountain river, Hearing thee, or else some other, I on the earth will go plodding on, XIII. TO A SEXTON. LET thy wheelbarrow alone-- In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid. -These died in peace each with the other, Father, sister, friend, and brother. Mark the spot to which I point! From this platform, eight feet square, Take not even a finger-joint; Andrew's whole fireside is there. Here, alone, before thine eyes, Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness, now, and pain defended, Whom he twenty winters tended. Look but at the gardener's pride- By the heart of man, his tears. Thou, old grey-beard! art the warden Thus, then, each to other dear, And, should I live through sun and rain XIV. WHO fancied what a pretty sight Was it the humour of a child! Or rather of some love-sick maid, Whose brows, the day that she was styled The shepherd queen, were thus arrayed! I asked 'twas whispered, the device That prompts such work, a spirit strong, That gives to all the self-same bent Where life is wise and innocent. XV. SONG FOR THE WANDERING JEW. THOUGH the torrents from their fountains Though, as if with eagle pinion, If on windy days the raven Not the less he loves his haven Though the sea-horse in the ocean Day and night my toils redouble! XVI. THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR, THE SOLITUde of BINNORIE. SEVEN daughters had Lord Archibald, All children of one mother; I could not say in one short day Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully, Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, Across the wave, a rover brave To Binnorie is steering: Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne ; The warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the leader of the band Hath blown his bugle-horn. Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully, Beside a grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, At noise of man and steed, But now, upstarting with affright Of Away the seven fair Campbells fly, With menace proud, and insult loud, Cried they, "Your father loves to roam : The empty house when he comes home; Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully, Some close behind, some side by side, A lake was near; the shore was steep; They ran, and with a desperate leap Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully, The stream that flows out of the lake, Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully, XVII. "-Pleasure is spread through the earth By their floating mill, Which lies dead and still, Behold yon prisoners three ! The miller with two dames, on the breast of the Thames; The platform is small, but there's room for them all; And they're dancing merrily. From the shore come the notes To their mill where it floats, To their house and their mill tethered fast; To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile, They from morning to even take whatever is given; And many a blithe day they have passed. |