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

If they speak 'tis 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.

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.

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!

WRITTEN IN MARCH

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER

THE Cock is crowing,
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 ;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;
The ploughboy is whooping, anon, anon:
There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing ;
The rain is over and gone!

BEGGARS

SHE had a tall man's height or more;
Her face from summer's noontide heat
No bonnet shaded, but she wore

A mantle, to her very feet

Descending with a graceful flow,

And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow.

Her skin was of Egyptian brown:

Haughty, as if her eye had seen
Its own light to a distance thrown,
She towered, fit person for a Queen

To lead those ancient Amazonian files;

Or ruling bandit's wife among the Grecian isles.

Advancing, forth she stretched her hand

And begged an alms with doleful plea
That ceased not; on our English land
Such woes, I knew, could never be;

And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature

Was beautiful to see, a weed of glorious feature.

I left her, and pursued my way;

And soon before me did espy

A pair of little boys at play,
Chasing a crimson butterfly;

The taller followed with his hat in hand,

Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land.

The other wore a rimless crown
With leaves of laurel stuck about;
And while both followed up and down,
Each whooping with a merry shout,
In their fraternal features I could trace
Unquestionable lines of that wild suppliant's face.

Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit
For finest tasks of earth or air:

Wings let them have, and they might flit
Precursors to Aurora's car,

Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween,
To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level green.

They dart across my path, but lo,
Each ready with a plaintive whine!
Said I, "not half an hour ago

Your mother has had alms of mine."

"That cannot be," one answered, "she is dead:

I looked reproof, they saw, but neither hung his head.

"She has been dead, Sir, many a day."

"Hush, boys! you're telling me a lie; It was your mother, as I say!"

And, in the twinkling of an eye,

Come! come!" cried one, and without more ado Off to some other play the joyous vagrants flew !

SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING

COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER

WHERE are they now, those wanton boys?
For whose free range the dædal earth
Was filled with animated toys,

And implements of frolic mirth;
With tools for ready wit to guide ;

And ornaments of seemlier pride,

More fresh, more bright, than princes wear; For what one moment flung aside,

Another could repair;

What good or evil have they seen
Since I their pastime witnessed here,
Their daring wiles, their sportive cheer?
I ask, but all is dark between!

They met me in a genial hour,
When universal nature breathed
As with the breath of one sweet flower,
A time to overrule the power

Of discontent, and check the birth

Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife,
The most familiar bane of life

Since parting innocence bequeathed
Mortality to earth!

Soft clouds, the whitest of the year,

Sailed through the sky, the brooks ran clear;
The lambs from rock to rock were bounding;
With songs the budded groves resounding;
And to my heart are still endeared

The thoughts with which it then was cheered;
The faith which saw that gladsome pair
Walk through the fire with unsinged hair.
Or, if such faith must needs deceive,
Then, spirits of beauty and of grace,
Associates in that eager chase;

Ye, who within the blameless mind
Your favourite seat of empire find,
Kind spirits! may we not believe
That they, so happy and so fair

Through your sweet influence, and the care
Of pitying Heaven, at least were free
From touch of deadly injury?

Destined, whate'er their earthly doom,
For mercy and immortal bloom?

RUTH

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her father took another mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,

As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;

And, passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.

There came a youth from Georgia's shore-

A military casque he wore,

With splendid feathers drest;

He brought them from the Cherokees;

The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.