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“Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse ; and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain,

“ She shall be sportive as the fawn,
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs ;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

“ The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall fhe fail to see E’en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy.

“ The stars of midnight shall be clear To her; and the shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

“And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell ;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.”

Thus Nature spake. The work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene ;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.


She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn ;

A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too !
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet :
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine ;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller betwixt life and death ;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ;
A perfect woman, nobly plann’d,
To warn to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

Poems on Flowers.



N youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill in discontent,
Of pleasure high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make-
My thirst at every rill can Nake,–
And gladly Nature's love partake

Of thee, sweet Daily !

When soothed a while by milder airs,

Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly shades his few grey hairs;

Spring cannot shun thee ;
While summer fields are thine by right;
And Autumn, melancholy wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight,

When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ;
If welcomed once thou count'st it gain ;

Thou art not daunted,
Nor car’st if thou be set at naught:
And oft alone in nooks remote
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought

When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews
The Aowers the wanton zephyrs choose ;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews

Her head impearling;
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet haft not gone without thy fame;
Thou art indeed by many a claim

The poet's darling.

If to a rock from rains he fly,
Or, some bright day of April sky,
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie

Near the green holly,
And wearily at length should fare ;
He need but look about, and there
Thou art ! a friend at hand to scare

His melancholy

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