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MISCELLANEOUS PO E MS.
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;
And feats of cunning; and thc pretty round OB THE CHARGE OF A CHILD TO HIS YOUNGER Of trespasses, affected to provoke
Mock-chastisement and partnership in play.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth, That is work of waste and ruin
Not less if unattended and alone Do as Charles and I are doing!
Than when both young and old sit gathered Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
round We must spare them-here are many:
And take delight in its activity, Look at it-the Flower is small,
Even so this happy Creature of herself Small and low, though fair as any:
Is all sufficient: solitude to her Do not touch it! summers two
Is blithe society, who fills the air I am older, Anne, than you.
With gladness and involuntary songs.
Light are her sallies as the tripping Fawn's Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!
Forth-startled from the fern where she lay Pull as many as you can.
couched; - Here are Daisies, take your fill;
Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower:
Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadowOf the lofty Daffodil
WE ARE SEVEN.
A SIMPLE child
That lightly draws its breath As many will be blowing here.
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage-girl:
She was eight years old, she said; Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Her hair was thick with many a curl Then will hang on every stalk,
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic woodland-air
Her beauty made me glad.
Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
And where are they? I pray you tell.
TO H. C.
0 Thou! whose fancies from afar are My sister and my brother;
brought; And, in the church-yard-cottage, I
Who of thy words dost make a mock-apparel, Dwell near them with my mother.
And fittest to unutterable thought
The breeze-likemotion and the self-born carol; You say that two at Conway dwell, Thou faery Voyager! that dost float And two are gone to sea,
In such clear water, that thy Boat Yet ye are seven - I pray you tell,
May rather seem Sweet Maid, how this may be?
To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Then did the little Maid reply:
Where earth and heaven do make one Seven boys and girls are we;
imagery; Two of us in the church-yard lie,
O blessed Vision! happy Child! Beneath the church-yard-tree.
That art so exquisitely wild,
I think of thee with many fears You run about, my little Maid,
For what may be thy lot in future years. Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five.
I thought of times when Pain might be
thy guest, Their graves are green, they may be seen, Lord of thy house and hospitality; The little maid replied,
And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, But when she sate within the touch of thee. And they are side by side.
Oh! too industrious folly!
Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! My stockings there I often knit,
Nature will either end thee quite; My kerchief there I hem;
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, And there upon the ground I sit
Preserve for thee, by individual right, I sit and sing to them.
flocks. And often after sunset, Sir,
What hast Thou to do with sorrow, When it is light and fair,
Or the injuries of to-morrow? I take my little porringer,
Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings And eat my supper there.
Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks;
A Gem that glitters while it lives,
But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife
Slips in a moment out of life. So in the church-yard she was laid; And all the summer dry Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, THE BLIND, HIGHLAND BOY. And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go,
(A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDR.) And he lies by her side. How many are you then, said I,
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
We've romp'd enough, my little Boy! If they two are in Heaven? The little Maiden did reply :
Jane hangs her head upon my breast, 0 Master we are seven.
And you shall bring your stool and rest,
This corner is your own.
There! take your seat, and let me see
That strange adventure which befel
A poor blind Highland-Boy.
And then the bagpipes he could blow; When one day (and now mark ine well,
He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down Than did the poor blind Boy.
Towards the mighty Sea.
Yet he had many a restless dream; In such a vessel ne'er before
Did human Creature leave the shore:
For death will be his doom. Beside a lake their Cottage stood,
But say what bears him ?--Ye have seen Not small like ours, a peaceful flood; The Indian's bow, his arrows keen, But one of mighty size, and strange; Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright; That, rough or sinooth, is full of change, Gifts which, for wonder or delight And stirring in its bed.
Are brought in ships from far. For to this Lake, by night and day, Such gifts had those sea-faring men The great Sea-water finds its way Spread round that Haven in the glen; Through long, long windings of the hills; Each hut, perchance, might have its own, And drinks up all the pretty rills
And to the Boy they all were known, And rivers large and strong:
He knew and prized them all. Then hurries back the road it came- And one, the rarest, was a shell Returns, on errand still the same;
Which he, poor child! had studied well; This did it when the earth was new; The shell of a green Turtle, thin And this for evermore will do,
And hollow ;--you might sit therein, As long as earth shall last.
It was so wide and deep.
'Twas even the largest of its kind, But now the passionate lament,
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
Are stifled-all is still.
A Boat is ready to pursue ;
Had stoutly launched from shore; They follow the blind Boy.
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar.
Or as the wily sailors crept
They steal upon their prey.
But in his darkness he can hear, And bore it in his arms.
And guesses their intent.
But most of all, his Mother dear,
What thou askest, noble Brother, She who had fainted with her fear,
With God's favour shall be done. Rejoiced when waking she espies
So were both right well content: The Child; when she can trust her eyes, From the Castle forth they went. And touches the blind Boy.
And at the head of their Array
To Palestine the Brothers took their way.
Side by side they fought (the Lucies
There the Saracens were tam'd.
Whence, then, could it come the thought, Thus, after he had fondly braved
By what evil spirit brought? The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved; Oh! can a brave Man wish to take And, though his fancies had been wild, His Brother's life, for Land's and Castle's sake? Yet he was pleased, and reconciled To live in peace on shore.
Sir! the Ruffians said to Hubert,
Deep he lies in Jordan flood.And in the lonely Highland-dell
Stricken by this ill assurance, Still do they keep the turtle-shell ;
Pale and trembling Hubert stood. And long the story will repeat
Take your earnings.-Oh! that I
It was a pang that vex'd him then,
Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace!
Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer When the Brothers reached the gateway, Back again to England steer'd. Eustace pointed with his lance
To his Castle Hubert sped ; To the Horn which there was hanging ; He has nothing now to dread. Horn of the inheritance.
But silent and by stealth he came, Horn it was which none could sound, And at an hour which nobody could name. No one upon living ground, Save He who came as rightful Heir None could tell if it were night-time, To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair. Night or day, at even or morn;
For the sound was heard by no one Heirs from ages without record
Of the proclamation-horn. Had the House of Lucie born,
But bold Hubert lives in glee: Who of right had claim'd the Lordship Months and years went smilingly; By the proof upon the Horn :
With plenty was his table spread; Each at the appointed hour
And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.
At his board by these surrounded,
And, while thus in open day
A blast was utter'd from the Horn, Hear, then, and neglect me not!
Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. At this time, and on this spot, The words are utter'd from my heart, 'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! As my last earnest prayer ere we depart. He is come to claim his right:
Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains On good service we are going
Hear the challenge with delight.
Hubert! though the blast be blown
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word ! Hither come thou back straightway, And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Hubert, if alive that day;
And if power to speak he had,
Smitten to the heart, and sad.