VII ""Disasters, do the best we can, For me, why should I wish to roam? It is my pleasant heritage; My father many a happy year Spread here his careless blossoms, here VIII "Even such as his may be my lot. On me such bounty Summer pours, IX "The butterfly, all green and gold, To me hath often flown, Here in my blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew, The love they to each other make, And the sweet joy which they partake, X 'Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night Their journey had renewed; But in the branches of the oak Two ravens now began to croak Their nuptial song, a gladsome air; 70 80 90 100 XI 'One night, my Children! from the north There came a furious blast; At break of day I ventured forth, And near the cliff I passed. The storm had fallen upon the Oak, And struck him with a mighty stroke, And whirled, and whirled him far away; The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day.' VI TO A SEXTON ET thy wheel-barrow alone LET ΙΙΟ 1800 Wherefore, Sexton, piling still In thy bone-house bone on bone? 'Tis already like a hill In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid; These died in peace each with the other,- Mark the spot to which I point! From this platform, eight feet square, Take not even a finger-joint: Andrew's whole fireside is there. Here, alone, before thine eyes, Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness now and pain defended, Whom he twenty winters tended. Look but at the gardener's pride- By the heart of Man, his tears, By his hopes and by his fears, Thou, too heedless, art the Warden Thus then, each to other dear, Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there, and Susan here, Neighbours in mortality. ΙΟ 20 And, should I live through sun and rain Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover! 30 Thee Winter in the garland wears That thinly decks his few grey hairs ; Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; And Autumn, melancholy Wight! Doth in thy crimson head delight In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Yet nothing daunted, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 1 His Muse. 1799 ΤΟ 20 Be violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, Yet hast not gone without thy fame; If to a rock from rains he fly, And wearily at length should fare; A hundred times, by rock or bower, Some steady love; some brief delight; If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life our nature breeds; Of hearts at leisure. Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Of careful sadness. And all day long I number yet, An instinct call it, a blind sense; Coming one knows not how, nor whence, Child of the Year! that round dost run Thy pleasant course,-when day's begun As lark or leveret, Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; Than in old time;—thou not in vain Art Nature's favourite.1 70 80 1802 VIII TO THE SAME FLOWER W ITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisy! again I talk to thee, For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming Common-place Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising: And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, While I am gazing. A nun demure of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, Of all temptations; ΤΟ 20 1 See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower. |