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That in some other way yon smoke
May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on ; they from the heavens de-
part :

LET other bards of angels sing,
I look--the sky is empty space;

Bright suns without a spot ;
I know not what I trace ;

But thou art no such perfect thing :
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my

Rejoice that thou art not ! heart.

Heed not tho' none should call thee fair O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?

So, Mary, let it be

If nought in loveliness compare
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,

With what thou art to me.
It robs my heart of peace.
Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, free,

Whose veil is unremoved Into yon row of willows flit,

Till heart with heart in concord beats, l'pon that alder sit ;

And the lover is beloved. Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-

And there for ever be thy waters chained !
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved That cannot be sustained ;

To scorn the declaration, If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough

That sometimes I in thee have loved Headlong yon waterfall must come,

My fancy's own creation. Oh let it then be dumb

Imagination needs must stir : Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou Dear Maid, this truth believe, art now

Minds that have nothing to confer Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,

Find little to perceive. Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale,

Be pleased that nature made thee fit Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

To feed my heart's devotion, And stir not in the gale.

By laws to which all Forms submit
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,

In sky, air, earth, and ocean.
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend, -
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can

The Man who makes this feverish complaint

How rich that forehead's calm expanse ! Is one of giant stature, who could dance

How bright that heaven-directed glance! Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.

--Waft her to glory, wingèd Powers, Ah gentle Love ! if ever thought was thine

Ere sorrow be renewed, To store up kindred hours for me, thy face

And intercourse with mortal hours Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk

Bring back a humbler mood ! Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know

So looked Cecilia when she drew Such happiness as I have known to-day.

An Angel from his station ;

So looked; not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration !
But hand and voice alike are still ;

No sound here sweeps away the will

That gave it birth : in service meek
THERE is a change--and I am poor;

One upright arm sustains the cheek,
Your love hath been, nor long ago,

And one across the bosom lies--
A fountain at my fond heart's door,

That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Whose only business was to flow;

Subdued by breathless harmonies
And flow it did ; not taking heed

Of meditative feeling:
Of its own bounty, or my need.

Mute strains from worlds beyond the skie

Through the pure light of female eyes,
What happy moments did I count !

Their sanctity revealing !
Blest was I then all bliss above !

Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I shall I dare to tell ?

A comfortless and hidden well.

What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine
A well of love-it may be deep--

Through my very heart they shine :
I trust it is,--and never dry :

And, if my brow gives back their light,
What matter? if the waters sleep

Do thou look gladly on the sight;
In silence and obscurity.

As the clear Moon with modest pride ---Such change, and at the very door

Beholds her own bright beams Of my fond heart, hath made me poor. Reflected from the mountain's side 1806.

And from the headlong streams.





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TO O Dearer far than light and life are dear, Full oft our human foresight I deplore ; Trembling, through my unworthiness, with fear That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no

more! Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control, Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest; While all the future, for thy purer soul, With “sober certainties" of love is blest. That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear, Tells that these words thy humbleness offend ; Yet bear me up--else faltering in the rear Of a steep march : support me to the end. Peace settles where the intellect is meek, And Love is dutiful in thought and deed ; Through Thee communion with that Love I

seek : The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds

the Creed. 1824.

VI. Yet how?-for I, if there be truth In the world's voice, was passing fair ; And beauty, for confiding youth, Those shocks of passion can prepare That kill the bloom before its time : And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

VII. Unblest distinction ! showered on me To bind a lingering life in chains : All that could quit my grasp, or flee, Is gone ;- but not the subtle stains Fixed in the spirit ; for even here Can I be proud that jealous fear Of what I was remains.

VIII. A Woman rules my prison's key; A sister Queen, against the bent Of law and holiest sympathy, Detains me, doubtful of the event ; Great God, who feel'st for my distress, My thoughts are all that I possess, o keep them innocent !

IX. Farewell desire of human aid, Which abject mortals vainly court. By friends deceived, by foes betrayed, of fears the prey, of hopes the sport; Nought but the world-redeeming Cross Is able to supply my loss, My burthen to support.

X. Hark! the death-note of the year Sounded by the castle-clock ! From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear Stole forth, unsettled by the shock: But oft the woods renewed their green, Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen Reposed upon the block ! 1817.



SMILE of the Moon !--for so I name
That silent greeting from above ;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

Bright boon of pitying Heaven !-alas,
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that Time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,

That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
Save those who to my sorrows lend
Tears due unto their own.



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OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. (When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is

unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert : unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians, The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interes 'ng work "Hearue's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high nur,hern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.]

Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higher, to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields :
-- It is my royal state that yields
This bitterness of woe.

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In sleep I heard the northern gleams;

For once could have thee close to me, The stars, they were among my dreams, With happy heart I then would die, In rustling conflict through the skies,

And my last thought would happy be ; I heard, I saw the flashes drive,

But thou, dear Babe, art far away, And yet they are upon my eyes,

Nor shall I see another day. And yet I am alive;

1798. Before I see another day. Oh let my body die away!


THE LAST OF THE FLOCK. My fire is dead : it knew no pain; Yet is it dead, and I remain:

In distant countries have I been,
All stiff with ice the ashes lie ;

And yet I have not often seen
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,

A healthy man, a man full grown,
For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;

Weep in the public roads, alone.

But such a one, on English ground, But they to me no joy can give,

And in the broad highway, I met;
No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie !

Along the broad highway he came,

His cheeks with tears were wet : Alone, I cannot fear to die.

Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad ; 111.

And in his arms a Lamb he had. Alas! ye might have dragged me on

II. Another day, single one!

He saw me, and he turned aside, Too soon I yielded to despair ;

As if he wished himself to hide :
Why did ye listen to my prayer ?

And with his coat did then essay
When ye were gone mylimbs were stronger;
And oh, how grievously I rue

To wipe those briny tears away:

I followed him, and said, “My friend, That, afterwards, a little longer,

What ails you 2 wherefore weep you so?" My friends, I did not follow you !

-“Shame on me, Sir ! this lusty Lamb, For strong and without pain I lay,

He makes my tears to flow. Dear friends, when ye were gone away. To-day I fetched him from the rock ; iv.

He is the last of all my flock. My Child! they gave thee to another,

III. A woman who was not thy mother.

When I was young, a single man, When from my arms my Babe they took,

And after youthful follies ran, On me how strangely did he look!

Though little given to care and thought, Through his whole body something ran, Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought; A most strange working did I see ;

And other sheep from her 1 raised, -As if he strove to be a man,

As healthy sheep as you might see ; That he might pull the sledge for me:

And then I married, and was rich
And then he stretched his arms, how wild ! As I could wish to be ;
Oh mercy! like a helpless child.

Of sheep I numbered a full score,

And every year increased my store. My little joy! my little pride!

IV. In two days more I must have died.

Year after year my stock it grew; Then do not weep and grieve for me ;

And from this one, this single ewe, I feel I must have died with thee.

Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
O wind, that o'er my head art flying

As fine á flock as ever grazed !
The way my friends their course did bend, Upon the Quantock hills they fed ;
I should not feel the pain of dying,

They throve, and we at home did thrive: Could I with thee a message send ;

---This lusty Lamb of all my store Too soon, my friends, ye went away;

Is all that is alive ;
For I had many things to say.

And now I care not if we die,

And perish all of poverty.
I'll follow you across the snow ;

V. Ye travel heavily and slow;

Six Children, Sir! had I to feed ; In spite of all my weary pain

Hard labour in a time of need! I'll look upon your tents again.

My pride was tamed, and in our grief -My fire is dead, and snowy white

I of the Parish asked relief. The water which beside it stood :

They said, I was a wealthy man ; The wolf has come to me to-night,

My sheep upon the uplands fed, And he has stolen away my food.

And it was fit that thence I took For ever left alone am I ;

Whereof to buy us bread. Then wherefore should I fear to die?

“Do this : how can we give to you,'

They cried, 'what to the poor is due?' Young as I am, my course is run,

VI. I shall not see another sun;

I sold a sheep, as they had said, I cannot lift my limbs to know

And bought my little children bread, If they have any life or no.

And they were healthy with their food; My poor forsaken Child, if I

For me-it never did me good.


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A woeful time it was for


There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their
To see the end of all my gains,

The pretty flock which I had reared Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide ;
With all my care and pains,

We could do what we liked with the land, it
To see it melt like snow away-

was ours : For me it was a woeful day.

And for us the brook murmured that ran by its

Another still ! and still another !

But now we are strangers, go early or late;
A little lamb, and then its mother ! And often, like one overburthened with sin,
It was a vein that never stopped-

With my hand on the latch of the half-opened
Like blood-drops from my heart they


I look at the fields, but I cannot go in!
Till thirty were not left alive,

When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one ;

And I may say that many a time Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,
I wished they all were gone-
Reckless of what might come at last

A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,

What ails you, that you must come creeping Were but the bitter struggle past.

to me!"

With our pastures about us, we could not be
To wicked deeds I was inclined,

sad ;
And wicked fancies crossed my mind; Our comfort was near if we ever were crost ;
And every man I chanced to see,

But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that
I thought he knew some ill of me:

we had,
No peace, no comfort could I find,

We slighted them all,-and our birth-right was
No ease, within doors or without ;

And, crazily and wearily
I went my work about;

Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son
And oft was moved to flee from home,

Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to

that strain !
And hide my head where wild beasts roam.

Think of evening's repose when our labour was

Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,

The sabbath's return, and its leisure's soft
As dear as my own children be ;

chain !
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.

And in sickness, if night had been sparing of
Alas! it was an evil time ;

God cursed me in my sore distress ;

How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood,
I prayed, yet every day I thought

Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of
I loved my children less;

And every week, and every day,

That besprinkled the field : 'twas like youth in
My flock it seemed to melt away.

my blood!

Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a
They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see !

snail ;
From ten to five, from five to three,

And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a
A lamb, a wether, and a ewe ;-

And then at last from three to two ;

That follows the thought-We've no land in the
And, of my fifty, yesterday

I had but only one:

Save six feet of earth where out forefathers lie !
And here it lies upon my arm,

Alas! and I have none;
To-day I fetched it from the rock;

It is the last of all my flock."


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The fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
l'hose beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a

burthen of gold,
Could we but have been as contented as they.
When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I,
“Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped

in his hand; But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,-- we'll die Before he shall go with an inch of the land!"

Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
Oh find me, prosperous or undone !
Or, if the grave be now thy bed,
Why am I ignorant of the same
That I may rest ; and neither blame
Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

Seven years, alas ! to have received
No tidings of an only child ;
To have despaired, have hoped, believed,
And been for evermore beguiled;
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss !
I catch at them, and then I miss ;
Was ever darkness like to this?


They pity me, and not my grief.
He was among the prime in worth,

Then come to me, my Son, or send
An object beauteous to behold;

Some tidings that my woes may end;
Well born, well bred; I sent him forth

I have no other earthly friend!
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold :

If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were not base;
And never blush was on my face.


Ah ! little doth the young
one dream,

When full of play and childish cares,
t power is in his wildest scream,

The days are cold, the nights are long,
Heard by his mother unawares !

The north-wind sings a doleful song ; He knows it not, he cannot guess :

Then hush again upon my breast;

All merry things are now at rest,
Years to a mother bring distress ;

Save thee, my pretty Love!
But do not make her love the less.

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
Neglect me! no, I suffered long

The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
From that ill thought ; and, being blind,

There's nothing stirring in the house

Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Said, “Pride shall help me in my wrong,
Kind mother have I been, as kind

Then why so busy thou?
As ever breathed :", and that is true;

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
I've wet my path with tears like dew,

'Tis but the moon that shines so bright Weeping for him when no one knew.

On the window pane bedropped with rain:

Then, little Darling! sleep again,

And wake when it is day.
My Son, if thou be humbled, poor,

Hopeless of honour and of gain,
Oh! do not dread thy mother's door ;
Think not of me with grief and pain:

I now can see with better eyes;
And worldly grandeur I despise,

And fortune with her gifts and lies. DEPARTED Child ! I could forget thee once

Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain
Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings, Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight; Is present and perpetually abides
They mount-how short a voyage brings A shadow, never, never to be displaced
The wanderers back to their delight! By the returning substance, seen or touched,
Chains tie us down by land and sea ; Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace.
And wishes, vain as mine, may be

Absence and death how differ they! and how
All that is left to comfort thee.

Shall I admit that nothing can restore

What one short sigh so easily removed ?-
Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,

Death, life, and sleep, reality and thought
Maimed, mangled by inhuman men ;

Assist me, God, their boundaries to know, Or thou upon a desert thrown

O teach me calm submission to thy Will! Inheritest the lion's den;

The Child she mourned had overstepped the
Or hast been summoned to the deep,

Thou, thou and all thy mates, to keep Of Infancy, but still did breathe the air
An incommunicable sleep.

That sanctifies its confines, and partook

Reflected beams of that celestial light
I look for ghosts; but none will force

To all the Little ones on sinful earth
Their way to me: 'tis falsely said

Not unvouchsafed-a light that warmed and
That there was ever intercourse

Between the living and the dead;

Those several qualities of heart and mind
For, surely, then I should have sight

Which, in her own blest nature, rooted deep,
Or him I wait for day and night,

Daily before the Mother's watchful eye,
With love and longings infinite.

And not hers only, their peculiar charms

Unfolded, --beauty, for its present self,

And for its promises to future years,
My apprehensions come in crowds; With not unfrequent rapture fondly hailed.
I dread the rustling of the grass ;
The very shadows of the clouds

Have you espied upon a dewy lawn
Have power to shake me as they pass :

A pair of Leverets each provoking each
I question things and do not find

To a continuance of their fearless sport,
One that will answer to my mind;

Two separate Creatures in their several gifts
And all the world appears unkind.

Abounding, but so fashioned that, in all

That Nature prompts them to display, their XI.

looks, Beyond participation lie

Their starts of motion and their fits of rest,
My troubles, and beyond relief :

An undistinguishable style appears
If any chance to heave a sigh,

And character of gladness, as if Spring

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