Raise on that dreary Waste a monument Several of the band (eagerly). Captain! Mar. No more of that; in silence hear my doom: A hermitage has furnished fit relief To some offenders; other penitents, A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. 1795-6. POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF CHILDHOOD. I. [WRITTEN at Town-end, Grasmere.] My heart leaps up when I behold So was it when my life began; So be it when I shall grow old, The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. 1804. II. TO A BUTTERFLY. [WRITTEN in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. My sister and I were parted immediately after the death of our mother, who died in 1778, both being very young.] STAY near me- -do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! My father's family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey-with leaps and springs 1801. III. THE SPARROW'S NEST. [WRITTEN in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. At the end of the garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. This was our favourite play-ground. The terrace-wall, a low one, was covered with closely-clipt privet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds that built their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one of those nests.] BEHOLD, within the leafy shade, I started-seeming to espy The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by She looked at it and seemed to fear it ; She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; 1801 IV. FORESIGHT. [ALSO composed in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.] THAT is work of waste and ruin- We must spare them-here are many : I am older, Anne, than you. Pull the primrose, sister Anne! -Here are daisies, take your fill; Make your bed, or make your bower; Primroses, the Spring may love them- Withered on the ground must lie; God has given a kindlier power Lurking berries, ripe and red, Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower! 1802. |