Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder- I heard my neighbours in their beds, comstroke
The impatient mariner the sail unfurled, And whistling, called the wind that hardly [of home The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts And from all hope I was for ever hurled. For me-farthest from earthly port to roam Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come,
And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found; Here will I dwell," said I, "my whole life long,
Roaming the illimitable waters round: Here will I live, of every friend disowned, And end my days upon the ocean flood.'' To break my dream the vessel reached its bound: [stood, And homeless near a thousand homes And near a thousand tables pined, and
By grief enfeebled, was I turned adrift, Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock; Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, Nor dared my hand at any door to knock. I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock From the cross timber of an out-house hung : Dismally tolled that night the city clock ! At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, [frame my tongue. Nor to the beggar's language could I
So passed another day, and so the third : Then did I try in vain the crowd's resort. -In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort; There pains, which nature could no more support, [fall, With blindness linked, did on my vitals And after many interruption: short Of hideous sense, I sank, nor step could crawl; Trecall. Unsought for was the help that did my life
Borne to an hospital, I lay with brain Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory;
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised. With strength did memory return; and, thence
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, At houses, men, and common light amazed. Came where beneath the trees a faggot The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired, The travellers saw me weep, my fate inblazed; [quired, Aud gave me food,-and rest, more welcome, more desired.
They with their panniered asses semblance
of potters wandering on from door to door : But life of happier sort to me portrayed, And other joys my fancy to allure; The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight
STAY near me-do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring st, gay creature as thou art! A solemr image to my heart, My father's family!
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey.-with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush; But she, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings.
THAT is work of waste and ruin- Do as Charles and I are doing! Strawberry-blossoms, one and all, We must spare them-here are many : Look at it-the flower is small, Small and low, though fair as any: Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you,
Pull the primrose, sister Anne ! Pull as many as you can. -Here are daisies, take your fill ; Pansies, and the cuckow flower: Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed, and make your bower; Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ; Only spare the strawberry-blossom!
Primroses, the spring may love them : Summer knows but little of them : Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie; Daisies leave no fruit behind When the pretty flowerets die; Pluck them, and another year As many will be blowing here.
God has given a kindlier power To the favoured strawberry-flower. When the months of spring are fled Hither let us bend our walk;
Larking berries, ripe and red, Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower!
CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD.
LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild; And innocence hath privilege in her To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes: And feats of cunning; and the pretty round Of trespasses, affected to provoke Mock-chastisement and partnershipin play. And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth, Not less if unattended and alone Than when both young and old sit gathered And take delight in its activity, [round Even so this happy creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched ;
Unthought of, unexpected, as the stir Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow flowers;
Or from before it chasing wantonly The many-coloured images impressed Upon the bosom of a placid lake
ADDRESS TO A CHILD DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER
BY A FEMALE FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.
WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go?
He rides over the water and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height,
Which the goat cannot climb takes his sounding flight;
He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see; But how he will come and whither he goes There's never a scholar in England knows.
He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook And ring a sharp 'larum!-but if you should look, [snow There's nothing to see but a cushion of
Round as a pillow and whiter than milk, And softer than if it were covered with silk. Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock, Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock; -Yet seek him,—and what shall you find in the place?
Nothing but silence and empty space; Save, in a corner a heap of dry leaves, That hes left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves !
As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see
[rout, That he has been there, and made a great And cracked the branches, and strewn them about; [upright twig Heaven grant that he spare but that one That looked up at the sky so proud and big All last summer, as well you know. Studded with apples, a beautiful show!
Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, And growls as if he would fix his claws Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle Drive them down like men in a battle; -But let him range round; he does us no harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug and warm ; Untouched by his breath see the candle
And burns with a clear and steady light; Books have we to read,-but that halfstifled knell
Alas! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. -Come now, we'll to bed! and when we are there [we care? He may work his own will and what shall He may knock at the door,-we ll not let him in ; [his din; May drive at the windows,—we'll laugh at Let him seek his own home wherever it be; Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.
A MONTH, Sweet little ones, is passed Since your dear mother went away, And she to-morrow will return; To-morrow is the happy day.
Oh, blessed tidings! thought of joy! The eldest heard with steady glee; Silent he stood; then laughed amain. And shouted, "Mother; come to me!"
Louder and louder did he shout, With witless hope to bring her near; Nay, patience! patience, little boy! Your tender mother cannot hear."
I told of hills, and far-off towns, And long, long vales to travel through;— He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, But he submits; what can he do?
No strife disturbs his sister's breast: She wars not with the mystery Of time and distance, night and day, The bonds of our humanity.
Her joy is like an instinct, joy Of kitten, bird, or summer fly; She dances, runs without an aim, She chatters in her ecstasy.
Her brother now takes up the note, And echoes back his sister's glee; They hug the infant in my arms, As if to force his sympathy.
Then, settling into fond discourse, We rested in the garden bower; While sweetly shone the evening sun In his departing hour.
We told o'er all that we had done,-- Our rambles by the swift brook's side Far as the willow-skirted pool, Where two fair swans together glide.
We talked of change, of winter gone, Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray, Of birds that build their nests and sing, And all since mother went away."
To her these tales they will repeat, To her our new-born tribes will show, The goslings green, the ass's colt, The lambs that in the meadow go.
-But, see, the evening star comes forth! To bed the children must depart; A moment's heaviness they feel, A sadness at the heart:
'Tis gone-and in a merry fit
They run up stairs in gamesome race; I, too, infected by their mood,
I could have joined the wanton chase.
Five minutes past-and, oh, the change! Asleep upon their beds they lie; Their busy limbs in perfect rest, And closed the sparkling eye.
LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor- The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night— You to the town must go; And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow.
"That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon
The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon.'
At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot band; He plied his work;-and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb; But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.
They wept, and turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet:" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.
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