368 'If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own,- 'My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none 'Now both himself and me he wrongs, I live and sing my idle songs 'And Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasp'd my hand and said, We rose up from the fountain-side; Of the green sheep-track did we glide, And ere we came to Leonard's rock He sang those witty rhymes About the crazy old church-clock, 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; 369 The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; Their heads never raising; Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping-anon-anon: The rain is over and gone! NATURE AND THE POET Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, A picture had it been of lasting ease, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend This work of thine I blame not, but commend; O'tis a passionate work!-yet wise and well, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, -Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 370 RUTH OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE When Ruth was left half desolate And she had made a pipe of straw, Beneath her father's roof, alone She seem'd to live; her thoughts her own; Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay, She passed her time; and in this way Grew up 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. From Indian blood you deem him sprung: And, when America was free With hues of genius on his cheek, In finest tones the youth could speak: The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run He was a lovely youth! I guess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he; And when he chose to sport and play, No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought; And with him many tales he brought Such tales as, told to any maid By such a youth, in the green shade, He told of girls, a happy rout! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian town, To gather strawberries all day long; When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless range Of intermingling hues; With budding, fading, faded flowers, They stand the wonder of the bowers From morn to evening dews. |