THE FADED LEAF. It might be thought this faded leaf, Unhonoured in its reign and brief, Had never shone at all; And yet a more enchanting green Is seldom in the foliage seen, Than this before its fall. In Nature's fair approving hand, It may have graced the choicest band Of garlands where it grew; Reflecting to the raptured sight The sparkling rays of orient light, In drops of heavenly dew. But now the sport of every gale, This relic tells a piteous tale Of glories that are past,— A tale of warning to mankind, To treasure for the deathless mind A sweet abode at last. For man, as well as leaf and flower, Awaits the fast appoaching hour Of Nature's awful doom: And he who gains not here the price Of wisdom's costly merchandise, Seeks vainly in the tomb. THE LAURUSTINUS. How grateful to behold a flower Thus smiling in autumnal rain, Like love rejoicing in its power To soothe the captive heart in pain! The brighter offspring of the sun Devote their sweets to pleasure's day; And when its glittering course is run, Sink gently into cool decay. But this surpassing gem reveals Its lovely charms when they are gone, And o'er the drooping spirit steals Like heaven upon the unholy one! So be my own affections brought To bear the test of pity's claim; And spurn the mean degrading thought Of friendship as an empty name. THE CAT AND KITTENS. IN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH. I LOVE the habits of my favourite Cat, I give them bits of meat and things like that, That Betty Piggin brought when rather young; The Cat she comes and purs upon my knee, And seems withal so gentle in her mien, But soon returning, seemeth to espy Some fresh inducement on my vacant knee to lie. A stranger might be puzzled to discern What tranquil creature could be sleeping there; So like is she where'er the eye may turn, To some soft piece of turf dug up with care; Or like a resident of some pure air, Just come to fill the Poet's mind with strength, To write on natural things with unobtrusive length. And when, in sooth, I gaze upon her so, (The Cat I mean) how many homely thoughts, Concerning kindred ties, thereof do grow Into mute fancies of familiar sorts: Such waywardness of mood at times distorts The commonest objects into things refined, In him who has at heart the good of human kind. I think of early home and tender years, And marvellous stories such as matrons tell; And then I think of many childish tears |