By their floating mill,

That lies dead and still,

Behold yon Prisoners three,

The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the

Thames !

The platform is small, but gives room for them all;
And they're dancing merrily.

From the shore come the notes

To their mill where it floats,

To their house and their mill tethered fast:

To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile,
They from morning to even take whatever is given ;-
And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the spires,

All alive with the fires

Of the sun going down to his rest,

In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,

They dance, there are three, as jocund as free,

While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Man and Maidens wheel,

They themselves make the reel,

And their music's a prey which they seize;

It plays not for them,

what matter? 't is theirs ;

And if they had care, it has scattered their cares,
While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"

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They dance not for me,

Yet mine is their glee!

Thus pleasure is spread through the earth

In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find;

Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind,

Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.

The showers of the spring

Rouse the birds, and they sing;

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If the wind do but stir for his proper delight,
Each leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss ;
Each wave, one and t' other, speeds after his brother:
They are happy, for that is their right!

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1806.

POWER OF MUSIC.

AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old ;

Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.

His station is there; and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?

What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ;
The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest;
And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest.

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ΙΟ

As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,
So He, where he stands, is a centre of light.;

It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.

That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste — What matter! he's caught and his time runs to waste; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret ; And the half-breathless Lamplighter — he's in the net!

The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;
If a thief could be here he might pilfer at ease;
She sees the Musician, 't is all that she sees!

He stands, backed by the wall; he abates not his din

His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in,
From the old and the young, from the poorest; and there!
The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.

O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand

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Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band; 30 I am glad for him, blind as he is! - all the while

If they speak 't is to praise, and they praise with a smile.

That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height,
Not an inch of his body is free from delight;
Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he!
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.

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Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch; like a tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour! That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound,

While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound.

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Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream;
Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream :
They are deaf to your murmurs - they care not for you,
Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue!

1806.

STAR-GAZERS.

WHAT crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by;

A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky:
Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat,

Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters

float.

The Showman chooses well his place, 't is 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 yon 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?

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ΙΟ

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?

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,

Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!

Whatever be the cause, 't is 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.

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