In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure;
The scentless and the scented rose: this red,
And of an humbler growth, the other, tall,
And throwing up into the darkest gloom
Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew,
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf
That the wind severs from the broken wave.
The lilac, various in array, now white,
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
With purple spikes pyramidal, as if,
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
Which hue she most approved, she chose them all;
Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan,
But well compensating her sickly looks
With never-cloying odours, early and late.
SISTER ELLEN, I've been dreaming
Of a fair and happy time;
Gentle thoughts are round me gleaming,
Thoughts of sunny girlhood's prime :
Oh, the light, untutored fancies,
Images so quaint and bold-
Outlines dim of old romances,
Forming childhood's age of gold!
Eternal spring was then above us,
Sunshine cheered our every path;
None then knew us but to love us—
Winning ways sweet childhood hath.
Thou art little Nelly, looking
Up into my anxious face,
I thy childish caprice brooking,
As thy merry thoughts I trace :
See thy dreamy blue eyes glancing
From thy founts of light and glee,
And thy little feet go dancing
Like the waves upon the sea!
Tossing from thy snowy shoulder
Golden curls with witching grace,
Charming every new beholder.
With thine arch, expressive face.
Sister Ellen! I've been dreaming
Of some lightsome summer eves,
When the harvest-moon was beaming
Softly through the dewy leaves-
How among the flowers we wandered,
Treading light as summer air;
Looking upward, how we pondered
On the dazzling glories there!
We were children then together,
Though I older was in years,
And life's dark and stormy weather
Seemed like April's smiles and tears.
THEN, as I wandered where the huddling rill.
Brightens with water-breaks the hollow ghyll,*
To where, while thick above the branches close,
In dark brown bason its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green,
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between;
Save that aloft the subtle sunbeams shine
On withered briars that o'er the crags recline;
Sole light admitted here, a small cascade
Illumes with sparkling from the twilight shade;
Beyond, along the vista of the brook,
Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridge.
Half grey, half shagged with ivy to its ridge.
Sweet Rill, farewell! To morrow's noon again Shall hide me, wooing long thy wildwood strain; But now the sun has gained his western road, And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad.
|