There, he wheels in downward mazes; ANSWER 'Stranger, 'tis no act of courage Which aloft thou dost discern; No bold bird gone forth to forage 'Mid the tempest stern; But such mockery as the nations 'Such it is; the aspiring creature A dull helpless thing, Dry and withered, light and yellow;- 1817 XVIII ON SEEING A NEEDLECASE IN THE F' FORM OF A HARP THE WORK OF E. M. S. ROWNS are on every Muse's face, A very Harp in all but size! Needles for strings in apt gradation! Minerva's self would stigmatize The unclassic profanation. Even her own needle that subdued Arachne's rival spirit, Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood, Such honour could not merit. And this, too, from the Laureate's Child, I spake, when whispered a low voice, 'The Minstrels of Pygmean bands, 'Some, still more delicate of ear, 'Gay Sylphs this miniature will court, 'Whence strains to love-sick maiden dear, 'Trust, angry Bard! a knowing Sprite, 1827 20 30 XIX TO A LADY IN ANSWER TO A REQUEST THAT I WOULD WRITE HER A POEM UPON SOME DRAWINGS THAT SHE HAD MADE OF FLOWERS IN THE ISLAND OF MADEIRA F AIR Lady! can I sing of flowers That in Madeira bloom and fade, I who ne'er sate within their bowers, Nor through their sunny lawns have strayed? How they in sprightly dance are worn These eyes have never seen. Yet tho' to me the pencil's art No like remembrances can give, Still as we look with nicer care, Some new resemblance we may trace: A Heart's-ease will perhaps be there, A Speedwell may not want its place. And so may we, with charmed mind Beholding what your skill has wrought, Another Star-of-Bethlehem find, A new Forget-me-not. From earth to heaven with motion fleet From heaven to earth our thoughts will pass, A Holy-thistle here we meet And there a Shepherd's weather-glass; And haply some familiar name Shall grace the fairest, sweetest, plant Whose presence cheers the drooping frame Of English Emigrant. Gazing she feels its power beguile Sad thoughts, and breathes with easier breath; Alas! that meek, that tender smile Is but a harbinger of death: And pointing with a feeble hand She says, in faint words by sighs broken, Bear for me to my native land This precious Flower, true love's last token. ΙΟ 20 30 40 Published 1845 G' XX LAD sight wherever new with old Is joined through some dear homeborn tie; The life of all that we behold Depends upon that mystery. WITH I ITHIN her gilded cage confined A Parrot of that famous kind Like beads of glossy jet her eyes; Her plumy mantle's living hues, And, sooth to say, an apter Mate Did never tempt the choice Of feathered Thing most delicate In figure and in voice. But, exiled from Australian bowers, And singleness her lot, She trills her song with tutored powers, Or mocks each casual note. No more of pity for regrets With which she may have striven! Now but in wantonness she frets, Or spite, if cause be given; Arch, volatile, a sportive bird ΤΟ 20 II THIS moss-lined shed, green, soft, and dry, Strange places, coverts unendeared, In which this Child of Spring was reared, To the bleak winds she sometimes gives Proof that the hermitess still lives, Though she appear not, and be sought in vain. Say, Dora! tell me, by yon placid moon, 1825 30 40 B XXII THE DANISH BOY A FRAGMENT I ETWEEN two sister moorland rills And in this smooth and open dell A thing no storm can e'er destroy, In clouds above the lark is heard, |