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Far off the petrel in the troubled way
High o'er the restless deep, above the reach
În-shore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge, And drop for prey within the sweeping surge; Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly Far back, then turn, and all their force apply ; While to the storm they give their weak complain
ing cry, Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, And in the restless ocean dip for rest.
Darkness begins to reign ; the louder wind Appals the weak, and awes the firmer mind; But frights not him, whom evening and the spray In part conceald — yon prowler on his way. Lo! he has something seen; he runs apace, As if he fear'd companion in the chase; He sees his prize, and now he turns again, Slowly and sorrowing — “Was your search in
vain ?” Gruffly he answers, “'Tis a sorry sight ! “A seaman's body — there'll be more to-night!”
Hark to those sounds! they're from distress at
How quick they come ! what terrors may there be !
Their head the gown has hooded, and their call,
See, one poor girl, all terror and alarm, Has fondly seiz'd upon her lover's arm ; - Thou shalt not venture!” and he answers,
“ No! “ I will not;
-still she cries, “Thou shalt not
No need of this; not here the stoutest boat Can through such breakers, o'er such billows float: Yet may they view those lights upon the beach, Which yield them hope, whom help can never
reach. From parted clouds the moon her radiance
THE EVENING WALK.
LET us o'er the fields,
As well we may,
the graces infinite
See, ere we pass
Away, we loiter. Without notice pass
To hide a bleeding heart. And here's the week
How gay this meadow — like a gamesome boy
See, the toiling hind With many a sturdy stroke cuts up at last The tough and sinewy furze. How hard he fought, To win the glory of the barren waste! For what more noble than the vernal furze, With golden baskets hung ? Approach it not, For ev'ry blossom has a troop of swords Drawn to defend it. 'Tis the treasury Of fays and fairies. Here they nightly meet, Each with a burnish'd kingcup in his hand, And quaff the subtile ether. Here they dance Or to the village chimes, or moody song Of midnight Philomel. The ringlet see Fantastically trod. There Oberon His gallant train leads out, the while his torch The glow-worm lights, and dusky night illumes.
TO A BEE.
Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee!
As abroad I took my early way, Before the cow from her resting-place Had risen up, and left her trace
On the meadow, with dew so gray, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy Bee.
Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee !
After the fall of the cistus flower, When the primrose of evening was ready to burst, I heard thee last, as I saw thee first;
In the silence of the evening hour, Heard I thee, thou busy, busy Bee.
Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee !
Late and early at employ;
What thy winter will never enjoy ;
Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee !
What is the end of thy toil.
Thy master comes for the spoil;
THE FALLING LEAF.
WERE I a trembling leaf
On yonder stately tree,
Condemn'd to fade and flee:
Beside the common way,
Till trodden down to clay.
All on a bed of grass,
And idly rot in mass.