The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild,
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine,
Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves,
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To seize upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy.
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn.
Forlorn the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my soul self. Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf!
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades,
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music.-Do I wake or sleep?
O chair he hath, the awful pedagogue,
Such as would magisterial hams imbed,
But sitteth lowly on a beechen log,
Secure in high authority and dread:
Large as a dome for learning seems his head,
And, like Apollo's, all beset with rays,
Because his locks are so unkempt and red,
And stand abroad in many several ways:
No laurel crown he wears, howbeit his cap is baize.
And, underneath, a pair of shaggy brows
O'erhang as many eyes of gizzard hue,
That inward giblet of a fowl, which shows
A mongrel tint, that is ne brown ne blue;
His nose-it is a coral to the view,
Well nourish'd with Pierian Potheen,
For much he loves his native mountain-dew;
But to depict the dye would lack, I ween,
A bottle-red, in terms, as well as bottle-green.
And soe he sits amidst the little pack,
That look for shady or for sunny noon
Within his visage, like an almanack,
His quiet smile foretelling gracious boon;
But when his mouth droops down, like rainy moon,
With horrid chill each little heart unwarms,
Knowing that infant showers will follow soon,
And with forebodings of near wrath and storms
They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their forms.
Ah! luckless wight, who cannot then repeat
Corduroy Colloquy," or "Ki, Kæ, Kod!"
Full soon his tears shall make his turfy seat
More sodden, though already made of sod,
For Dan shall whip him with the Word of God:
Severe by rule, and not by nature mild,
He never spoils the child and spares the rod,
But spoils the rod and never spares the child,
And soe with holy rule deems he is reconciled.
But surely the just sky will never wink
At men who take delight in childish throe,
And stripe the nether-urchin like a pink
Or tender hyacinth, inscribed with woe;
Such bloody pedagogues, when they shall know,
By useless birches, that forlorn recess,
Which is no holiday, in pit below,
Will hell not seem design'd for their distress,
A melancholy place that is all bottomlesse ?
GREEN bloom thy groves, sweet Seaton Vale!
And fair unfauld thy flowers,
To bless wi' balm the gentle gale
That seeks thy simmer bowers! Where white as snaw the gowans grow,
The thornie briers blossom;
And pure as light the waters flow
That babble thro' thy bosom.
The dew descends, sweet Seaton Vale!
As heaven's ain tears to woo thee;
The zephyr sighs its true-love tale,
Baith morn and e'enin' thro' thee.
Th' enamour'd sun, with brightest rays,
Smiles on thy realm o' flowers;
And Eve her saftest shadow lays
Upon thy peacefu' bowers.
For thee and thine, sweet Seaton Vale!
Tear after tear is starting,
That better far than words o' wail
Reveals the pang o' parting.
In Nature's every hue and form,
Thou fairy land, I loved thee;
In simmer's calm and winter's storm,
Adoring, have I roved thee.
Then fare thee weel, sweet Seaton Vale!
And fare thee weel for ever!
Our bark for sea now bends the sail-
Ae look, and then we sever.
And ye wha made as dear as fair
Each scene o' wave and wildwood, Fareweel!--we part to meet nae mair, Companions o' my childhood!
No, never other lip shall press
The blighted one where thine hath been,
Nor ever other bosom bless
The heart whereon thy head did lean.
Oh, never, love! though after this
Thy smile I must not dare to see;
The very memory of that bliss
Will keep me sacred all to thee.
Farewell! farewell! in weal or woe,
Though worlds may interpose to sever,
And “the world's law” I wildly feel,
Thy heart and mine are one for ever.
Farewell! the big tear fills mine eye,
My very inmost soul is riven—
Such trial past, 'tis light to die ;—
Matilda, we shall meet in heaven.
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