(I speak of one from many singled out), Motley accoutrement,-of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth, Drooped with its withered leaves-ungracious sign Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,— The banquet; or beneath the trees I sate The Sailor's Mother. ONE morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter-time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime; Majestic in her person, tall and straight, And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there: Such strength, a dignity so fair. She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; When from these lofty thoughts I woke,- Protected from the cold damp air ?" She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burden, sir; a little singing-bird." And thus continuing, she said :- In Denmark he was cast away: And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. "The bird and cage they both were his: 'Twas my son's bird, and neat and trim He kept it; many voyages This singing-bird had gone with him: When last he sailed he left the bird behind, From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. "He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety: there And now, God help me for my little wit! I bear it with me, sir; he took so much delight in it." |