XXIII. WRITTEN IN MARCH, While resting on the Bridge at the foot of Brother's Water. The cock is crowing, The lake doth glitter, green field sleeps in the sun ; Their heads never raising ; anon anon : Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill ; There's joy in the mountains ; Blue sky prevailing; XXIV. GIPSIES. Yet are they here ? — the same unbroken knot Men, Women, Children, yea the frame Of the whole Spectacle the same ! Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light, Now deep and red, the colouring of night ; That on their Gipsy-faces falls, Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. - Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I Have been a Traveller under open sky, Much witnessing of change and cheer, Yet as I left I find them here! Outshining like a visible God And now, ascending, after one dark hour, Behold the mighty Moon ! this way - but they Regard not her :- - oh better wrong and strife, (By nature transient) than such torpid life! The silent Heavens have goings-on ; The stars have tasks but these have none ! And breeding suffers them to be; XXV. BEGGARS. She had a tall Man's height, or more ; What other dress she has I could not know; Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow. In all my walks, through field or town, To head those ancient Amazonian files : |