LONDON, 1802. MILTON! thou should'st be living at this hour: Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : So didst thou travel on life's common way, 5 TO THE DAISY. WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, 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, And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, A nun demure, of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest; A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seems to suit thee best, A little cyclops, with one eye That thought comes next-and instantly The shape will vanish-and behold I see thee glittering from afar- In heaven above thee! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;— May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee! Bright Flower! for by that name at last, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature! That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature! THE SMALL CELANDINE. [A LESSON.] THERE is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain ; When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 5 Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed, 10 10 I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice, "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold : This neither is its courage nor its choice, 15 But its necessity in being old. The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; It cannot help itself in its decay; Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue." To be a Prodigal's Favourite-then, worse truth, O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth 20 TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! 5 10 |