Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less,
If yon ethereal blue

With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too.
The inmost heart of man if glad

Partakes a livelier cheer;

And eyes

that cannot but be sad

Let fall a brightened tear.

Since thy return, through days and weeks
Of hope that grew by stealth,
How many wan and faded cheeks
Have kindled into health!

The Old, by thee revived, have said,
66 Another year is ours ;"

And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed,
Have smiled upon thy flowers.

Who tripping lisps a merry song
Amid his playful peers?

The tender Infant who was long
A prisoner of fond fears;

But now, when every sharp-edged blast

Is quiet in its sheath,

His Mother leaves him free to taste

Earth's sweetness in thy breath.

Thy help is with the weed that creeps
Along the humblest ground;
No cliff so bare but on its steeps
Thy favours may be found;
But most on some peculiar nook

That our own hands have drest,
Thou and thy train are proud to look,
And seem to love it best.

And yet how pleased we wander forth
When May is whispering, "Come!
"Choose from the bowers of virgin earth
"The happiest for your home;

"Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread
"From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,
"Drops on the mouldering turret's head,
"And on your turf-clad graves!"

Such greeting heard, away with sighs
For lilies that must fade,
Or 'the rathe primrose as it dies
Forsaken' in the shade!

Vernal fruitions and desires

Are linked in endless chase; While, as one kindly growth retires, Another takes its place.

And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight;

If expectations newly blown

Have perished in thy sight;

If loves and joys, while up they sprung,
Were caught as in a snare ;
Such is the lot of all the young,

However bright and fair.

Lo! Streams that April could not check
Are patient of thy rule;
Gurgling in foamy water-break,
Loitering in glassy pool :
By thee, thee only, could be sent
Such gentle mists as glide,
Curling with unconfirmed intent,
On that green mountain's side.

How delicate the leafy veil

Through which yon house of God Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale

.By few but shepherds trod ! And lowly huts, near beaten ways, No sooner stand attired

In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise Peep forth, and are admired.

Season of fancy and of hope,

Permit not for one hour,

A blossom from thy crown to drop,

Nor add to it a flower!

Keep, lovely May, as if by touch

Of self-restraining art,

This modest charm of not too much,

Part seen, imagined part!

1326-1834

XXX

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802

EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty :
This City now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

XXXI

THE TROSACHS

THERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass,

But were an apt confessional for One

Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass

Withered at eve.

From scenes of art which chase

That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,

Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass

Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,
If from a golden perch of aspen spray
(October's workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the

year, with all its cares, to rest!

XXXII

SONNET

COMPOSED AT NIDPATH CASTLE

[The person alluded to was the then Duke of Queensbury. The fact was told me by Walter Scott.]

DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,
And love of havoc, (for with such disease
Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word