« VorigeDoorgaan »
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain storm crow,
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wrecked sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice re-measures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not !*
In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she owned her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd The silk upon the frame, and worked her name Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-notHer own dear name, with her own auburn-hair! That forced to wander till sweet spring return, I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, Her voice (that even in her mirthful mood Has made me wish to steal
and weep), Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss With which she promised, that when spring returned, She would resign one half of that dear name, And own henceforth no other name but mine.
One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole empire of Germany (Vergissmein nicht), and I believe, in Denmark and Sweden.
TO A LADY.
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice;
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;
Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood,
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;
Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings,
Now groans, and shivers the replunging bark !
Cling to the shrouds !" In vain! The breakers
roarDeath shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
No classic roamer, but a ship-wreck'd man !
Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the
Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,
Or absent or no more! shades of the Past, Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last !
I send with deep regards of heart and head,
thee : And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.
TO A YOUNG LADY
ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.
WHY need I say, Louisa dear!
How glad I am to see you here,
And feverish heat incessant.
The sunny showers, the dappled sky,
Their vernal loves commencing,
With their sweet influencing.
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
You made us grow devouter !
and seemed to say, How can we do without her ?
Besides, wnat vexed us worse, we knew,
In the place where you were going :
And Heaven is overflowing !
SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY
WRITTEN IN GERMANY
you I'd fly, my dear!
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:
The world is all one's own.
All, all alone.
Sleep stays not though a monarch bids :
For though my sleep be gone,
And still dreams on.
WRITTEN IN GERMANY.
Through city crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.
And sweet it is, in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate, and gay,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.