Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought The great church-bell? they said. Toll at her burying, quoth Richard Penlake, But don't disturb the ringers now R. S. Y The MORNING MIST. Look, WILLIAM, how the morning mists Have covered all the scene, Nor house nor hill canst thou behold, The distant spire across the vale But seest thou, William, where the mists Sweep o'er the southern sky, The dim effulgence of the sun That lights them as they fly? Soon shall that glorious orb of day Thro' clear and cloudless skies. Then shall we see across the vale And the grey wood and meadow green So, William, from the moral world The light that struggles thro' them now ERTHUSYO. To the BURNIE* BEE. Blythe son of summer, furl thy filmy wing, Here may'st thou freely quaff the nectar'd sweet Or with the wild-thymes balm anoint thy sides. Back o'er thy shoulders throw those ruby shards * A provincial name of the beetle coccinella, or lady-bird. Daunted by me beneath this trembling bough Nor shall the swarthy gaoler for thy way His grate of twinkling threads successful strain, With venom'd trunk thy writhing members slay, Or from thy heart the reeking life's-blood drain. Forego thy wheeling in the sunny air Thy glancing to the envious insects round, To the dim calmness of my bower repair, Silence and Coolness keep its hallowed ground. Here to the elves who sleep in flowers by day So shall the fairy-train by glow-worm light Thy burnish'd armour speck with glossier jet. E |