The darling of children and men? Under the branches of the tree: In and out, he darts about; Can this be the bird, to man so good, That, after their bewildering, Covered with leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood? What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue A beautiful creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; "Tis all that he wishes to do. The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness, 1806. XVIIL ON SEEING A NEEDLECASE IN THE FORM OF A HARP. THE WORK OF E.M.S. Fnowys are on every Muse's face, A very Harp in all but size! Needles for strings in apt gradation! Even her own needle that subdued Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood, And this, too, from the Laureate's Child, How will her Sire be reconciled Ipake, when whispered a low voice, Bard! moderate your ire; Spirits of all degrees rejoice The Minstrels of Pygmean bands, Some, still more delicate of ear, Have lutes (believe my words) Gay Sylphs this miniature will court, Whence strains to love-sick maiden dear, Trust, angry Bard! a knowing Sprite, 1827. XIX. TO A LADY, IN ANSWER TO A REQUEST THAT I WOULD WRITE HER A POEM UPON SOME LRAWINGS THAT SHE HAD MADE OF FLOWERS IN THE 18LAND OF MADEIRA. FAIR Lady! can I sing of flowers That in Madeira bloom and fade, I who ne'er sate within their bowers, Nor through their sunny lawns have strayed? How they in sprightly dance are worn By Shepherd-groom or May-day queen, Or holy festal pomps adorn, These eyes have never seen. Yet tho' to me the pencil's art No like remembrances can give, Your portraits still may reach the heart And there for gentle pleasure live; While Fancy ranging with free scope Shall on some lovely Alien set A name with us endeared to hope, To peace, or fond regret. Still as we look with nicer care, Some new resemblance we may trace: A Heart's-ease will perhaps be there, A Speedwell may not want its place. And so may we, with charmed mind Beholding what your skill has wrought, Another Star-of-Bethlehem find, A new Forget-me-not. From earth to heaven with motion fleet From heaven to earth our thoughts will pass, A Holy-thistle here we meet And there a Shepherd's weather-glass; And haply some familiar name Shall grace the fairest, sweetest, plant Whose presence cheers the drooping frame Of English Emigrant. Gazing she feels its power beguile Sad thoughts, and breathes with easier breath; Alas! that meek that tender smile Is but a harbinger of death: And pointing with a feeble hand She says, in faint words by sighs broken, Bear for me to my native land This precious Flower, true love's last token. |