Drawn by what peculiar spell, By what charm of sight or smell, Prized above all buds and bells Thou art not beyond the moon, But a thing beneath our shoon :' In his bark the polar sea ; + If there be but three or four Who will love my little Flower. 1803. THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE. I. "BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf," "Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self Between me and my choice!" A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows § *This stanza is not in the Edition of 1815. + Let, as old Magellan did, Others roam about the sea.-Edit. 1815. § A falling water swollen with snow.-Edit. 1815. That, all bespattered with his foam, And dancing high and dancing low, Was living, as a child might know, II. "Dost thou presume my course to block? I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock The Flood was tyrannous and strong; But, seeing no relief, at last, He ventured to reply. III. "Ah!" said the Briar, "blame me not; Why should we dwell in strife? We who in this sequestered spot Once lived a happy life! You stirred me on my rocky bed What pleasure through my veins you spread The summer long, from day to day, My leaves you freshened and bedewed ; Nor was it common gratitude That did your cares repay. IV. When spring came on with bud and bell, Among these rocks did I Before you hang my wreaths to tell That gentle days were nigh! M And in the sultry summer hours, I sheltered you with leaves and flowers; V. But now proud thoughts are in What grief is mine you see, your breast Ah! would you think, even yet how blest Together we might be ! Though of both leaf and flower bereft, Some ornaments to me are left Rich store of scarlet hips is mine, VI. What more he said I cannot tell, *The torrent thundered down the dell 1800. 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 clouds and sky about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high * To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 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 * Up with me, up with me, high and high.-Edit. 1815. Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done.* 1805. TO A SEXTON. LET thy wheel-barrow 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 Take not even a finger-joint : Andrew's whole fire-side is there. From weakness now, and pain defended, *In the Edition of 1815 the last stanza runs thus: Hearing thee, or else some other, As merry a brother, I on the earth will go plodding on By myself, cheerfully, till the day is done. |