THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. AT the corner of Wood Street, when day- That errand-bound 'prentice was passing heard [for three years: [bird. in haste on the fret, runs to waste [in the net! light appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung What matter! he's caught and his time Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has The newsman is stopped, though he stops In the silence of morning the song of the And the half-breathless lamplighter-he's 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? The porter sits down on the weight which She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; he bore; [her store ;wheels hither Bright volumes of vapour through Loth- If a thief could be here he might pilfer at bury glide, [Cheapside. ease; And a river flows on through the vale of She sees the musician, tis all that she sees! Green pastures she views in the midst of He stands, backed by the wall;-he abates Down which she so often has tripped with His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropAnd a single small cottage, a nest like a From the old and the young, from the the dale, dove's The one only dwelling on earth that she The one-pennied boy has his penny to She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but Oh, blest are the hearers, and proud be they fade, [shade: the hand [thankful a band; The mist and the river, the hill and the Of the pleasure it spreads through so The stream will not flow, and the hill will I am glad for him, blind as he is !-all the not rise, [her eyes. while [with a smile. And the colours have all passed away from If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise Or is it rather that conceit rapacious is and strong, And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong? Or is it that when human souls a journey long have had, And are returned into themselves they cannot but be sad? Or must we be constrained to think that these spectators rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie? No, no, this cannot be-men thirst for power and majesty ! Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy. That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, WHAT crowd is this? what have we here: Because not of this noisy world, but we must not pass it by; A telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky : [little boat, Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's, waters float. The showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square, And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready with the fee, And envies him that's looking--what an insight must it be! Yet, showman, where can lie the cause? Shall thy implement have blame, A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame ? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is this resplendent vault? Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here? Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear? The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest fame, Doth she betray us when they're seen! or are they but a name? silent and divine! Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before; One after one they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. THE HAUNTED TREE. TO THOSE silver clouds collected round the [less sun His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use [art, Was fashioned; whether by the hand of That eastern sultan, amid flowers enwrought On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs of which The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed free Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, There's joy in the mountains; GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Men, women, children, yea, the frame Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. are gone, while 1 Have been a traveller under open sky, Much witnessing of change and cheer, The weary sun betook himself to rest, The glorious path in which he trod. That, for a brief space, checks the (By nature transient) than such torpid life; hurrying stream! WRITTEN IN MARCH, WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE THE Cock is crowing, Life which the very stars reprove And breeding suffer them to be; The stream is flowing. The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, On the top of the bare hill;' The plough-boy is whooping-anon-anon: BEGGARS. SHE had a tall man's height, or more; Depending with a graceful flow; Only she wore a cap pure as unsullied snow. Her skin was of Egyptian brown; To head those ancient Amazonian files; |