Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub

THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES.

THAT way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
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
Irom the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Fairy hither tending,-
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
-But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire
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 conjurer;
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
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!

'Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy Llade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings,

Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place,
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighborhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,

All have laid their mirth aside.

Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colors bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree;

Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out;

Hung-head pointing towards the ground-
Fluttered, perched, into a round

Bound himself, and then unbound:
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him?

Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,
It you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighboring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain ;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy:
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gayety?

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,-
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Laura's face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,

That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair!
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess
Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
-Pleased by any random toy;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy;
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought,
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
1804.

XXXII.

ADDRESS TO MY INFANT
TER DORA,

Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Not idly.-Hadst thou been of Indian birth
Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,
And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed
On the blank plains,-the coldness of the
night,

Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned,
Would, with imperious admonition, then
Have scored thine age, and punctually timed
Thine infant history, on the minds of those
Who might have wandered with thee.-
Mother's love,

Nor less than mother's love in other breasts,
Will, among us warm-clad and warmly
housed,

Do for thee what the finger of the heavens
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds
Where fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or refine;
And the maternal sympathy itself,
Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.
Happier, far happier, is thy lot and ours!
Even now-to solemnize thy helpless state,
And to enliven in the mind's regard
DAUGH-Thy passive beauty-parallels have risen,
Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a father's thoughts,
Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky.

ON BEING REMINDED THAT SHE WAS A

MONTH OLD THAT DAY, SEPTEMBER 16. And first ;-thy sinless progress, through a

-HAST thou then survived

Mild Offspring of infirm humanity,
Meek Infant! among all forlornest things
The most forlorn-one life of that bright
star,

The second glory of the Heavens ?-Thou
hast;

Already hast survived that great decay, That transformation through the wide earth felt,

And by all nations. In that Being's sight
From whom the Race of human kind pro-
ceed,

A thousand years are but as yesterday;
And one day's narrow circuit is to Him
Not less capacious than a thousand years.
But what is time? What outward glory?
neither

A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend
Through "heaven's eternal year."-Yet hail
to Thee,

Frail, feeble, Monthling!-by that name, methinks,

world

[blocks in formation]
[graphic][merged small][merged small]

A mournful labor, while to her is given
Hope, and a renovation without end.
-That smile forbids the thought; for on
thy face

Smiles are beginning, like the beams of
dawn,

To shoot and circulate; smiles have there
been seen;

Tranquil assurances, that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers
Thy loneliness or shall those smiles be
called

Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage intricate and dim?
Such are they; and the same are tokens,
signs,

Which, when the appointed season hath
arrived,

Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt;
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to

own.

1804.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

46

XXXIII.

THE WAGONER.

"In Cairo's crowded streets

The impatient Merchant, wondering, waits in vain,
And Mecca saddens at the long delay."-THOMSON

TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ.

When I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, you asked why THE WAGONER was not added ""-To say the truth,-from the higher tone of imagina tion, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended, this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, THE WAGONER was read to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope that, since the localities on which the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your Writings, and with the high esteem with which I am very truly yours.

Rydal Mount, May 20, 1819.

CANTO FIRST.

'Tis spent this burning day of June!
Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is steal-
ing,

The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is
wheeling,-

That solitary bird

Is all that can be heard

In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon!

Confiding Glow-worms, 'tis a night Propitious to your earth-born light! But, where the scattered stars are see In hazy straits the clouds between, Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot.

WILLIAM WORDsworth.

Rise up, and grow to wondrous height
The air, as in a lion's den,
Is close and hot ;-and now and then
Comes a tired and sultry breeze
With a haunting and a panting,
Like the stifling of disease;
But the dews allay the heat,
And the silence makes it sweet.

Hush, there is some one on the stir!
'Tis Benjamin the Wagoner;
Who long hath trod this toilsome way,
Companion of the night and day.
That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer,
Mix'd with a faint yet grating sound
In a moment lost and found,

The Wain announces--by whose side
Along the banks of Rydal Mere

The mountains against heaven's grave He paces on, a trusty Guide,—

weight

Listen! you can scarcely hear!

« FöregåendeFortsätt »