GLEN ALMAIN; OR, THE NARROW GLEN. IN this still place, remote from men, Of stormy war, and violent death; And should, methinks, when all was past, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent As by a spirit turbulent; Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And everything unreconcil'd; In some complaining dim retreat, For fear and melancholy meet; But this is calm: there cannot be A more entire tranquillity. Does then the Bard sleep here indeed? Or is it but a groundless creed? What matters it?-I blame them not Whose fancy in this lonely spot Was moved, and in this way express'd Their notion of its perfect rest. It is not quiet, is not ease; But something deeper far than these: The separation that is here Is of the grave; and of austere And happy feelings of the dead: WORDSWORTH. THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES. THAT way look, my Infant, lo See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Withered leaves-one-two-and three From the lofty elder tree! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink, Softly, slowly one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or Fairy hither tending,- In this wavering parachute. -But the Kitten, how she starts, In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half-way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjuror; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care FAIR May unveils her ruddy cheek, And decks her brow with daisies, And scatters blossoms as she goes Through fields and forest mazes. THE MAYING. The fragrant hawthorn, white with bloom, Fills all the uplands airy: The grass is dry, the sky is clear Let's go a-Maying, Mary! I dearly love, in days like this, When birds make music o'er us, Time lays his finger light on thee: Thine eyes are bright as first they glow'd To hear my youthful speeches. Bring all the four into the woodsWe'll set them gathering posies To roam with thee through wildwood paths, Of harebells blue and pimpernels, And listen to the chorus; To help thee over crags and stiles, And take thy hand in leaping, Ten years have pass'd since first I saw In life's young Spring I swore to thee Instead of garden roses. Beneath the trees we'll have one day Of frolicsome employment; And birds shall sing and winds shall blow, To help us to enjoyment. Leave house affairs to shift awhile- I would not greatly care for life, Could not afford me now and then And Fate is kind to those who strive To make existence pleasant, With harmless joys and simple tastes, And kindness ever present. We'll not complain; so come away, And when we want a treasure, We'll use these May-day memories To buy forgotten pleasure. CHARLES MACKAY. |