And ever, when such stature they had gained That Ilium's walls were subject to their view, The trees' tall summits withered at the sight; A constant interchange of growth and blight!*
'Her † divine skill taught me this, That from every thing I saw I could some instruction draw, And raise pleasure to the height Through the meanest object's sight. By the murmur of a spring, Or the least bough's rustelling; By a Daisy whose leaves spread Shut when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree; She could more infuse in me Than all Nature's beauties can In some other wiser man.'
IN youth from rock to rock I went, From hill to hill in discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent,
Most pleased when most uneasy; But now my own delights I make,— My thirst at every rill can slake, And gladly Nature's love partake, Of Thee, sweet Daisy !
* For the account of these long-lived trees, see Pliny's Natural History, lib. xvi. cap. 44; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus see the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides. Virgil places the Shade of Laodamia in a mournful region, among unhappy Lovers,
Thee Winter in the garland wears That thinly decks his few grey hairs; Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, That she may sun thee; *
Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; And Autumn, melancholy Wight! Doth in thy crimson head delight When rains are on thee.
In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane; Pleased at his greeting thee again; Yet nothing daunted,
Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: And oft alone in nooks remote
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
Be violets in their secret mews
The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Proud be the rose, with rains and dews Her head impearling,
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; Thou art indeed by many a claim The Poet's darling.
If to a rock from rains he fly, Or, some bright day of April sky, Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie
* When soothed a while by milder airs Thee, Winter in the garland wears That thinly shades his few gray hairs;
Spring cannot shun thee.-Edit. 1815.
Near the green holly,
And wearily at length should fare ; He needs but look about, and there Thou art a friend at hand, to scare His melancholy.
A hundred times, by rock or bower, Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, Have I derived from thy sweet power Some apprehension;
Some steady love; some brief delight ; Some memory that had taken flight ; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention.
If stately passions in me burn,
And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn
A lowlier pleasure;
The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs
Of hearts at leisure.
Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, When thou art up, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness.
And all day long I number yet, All seasons through, another debt, Which I, wherever thou art met, To thee am owing;
An instinct call it, a blind sense; A happy, genial influence,
Coming one knows not how, nor whence, Nor whither going.
Child of the Year! that round dost run Thy pleasant course,-when day's begun As ready to salute the sun
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain ; Nor be less dear to future ment
Than in old time ;-thou not in vain Art Nature's favourite.
WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisy! again I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,
* Child of the year! that round dost run Thy course; bold lover of the sun, And cheerful when the day's begun As morning Leveret.-Edit. 1815.
Dear shalt thou be to future men As in old time.-Edit. 1815.
See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower.
Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similies,* Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising:
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing.
A nun demure of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
A queen in crown of rubies drest; A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Thy appellations.
A little cyclops, with one eye Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next—and instantly The freak is over,
The shape will vanish-and behold A silver shield with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some faery bold In fight to cover!
* Oft do I sit by thee at ease
And weave a web of similies.-Edit. 1815.
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