SONNET. TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME. CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first I scanned that face of feeble infancy : For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst All I had been, and all my child might be ! But when I saw it on its mother's arm, And hanging at her bosom (she the while Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile,) Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm Impressed a father's kiss: and all beguiled Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, I seemed to see an angel-form appear'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild! So for the mother's sake the child was dear, And dearer was the mother for the child. TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE. IMITATED FROM STOLBERG. I. MARK this holy chapel well! The birth-place, this, of William Tell. II. Here, first, an infant to her breast, Him his loving mother prest; And kissed the babe, and blessed the day, III. "Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give The child thy servant still to live!" But God had destined to do more Through him, than through an armed power. IV. God gave him reverence of laws, Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause A spirit to his rocks akin, The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein ! V. To Nature and to Holy Writ Where flashed and roared the torrent, oft VI. The straining oar and chamois chase VII. He knew not that his chosen hand, ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, ON THE TWENTY 66 FOURTH STANZA IN HER PASSAGE OVER MOUNT GOTHARD." "And hail the chapel! hail the platform wild! With well strung arm, that first preserved his child, SPLENDOUR'S fondly fostered child! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, Enchanting music lulled your infant ear, Emblazonments and old ancestral crests, With many a bright obtrusive form of art, Detained your eye from nature: stately vests, That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, Rich viands and the pleasurable wine, Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! There crowd your finely-fibred frame, His forehead wreathed with lambent flame, A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? Yet these delight to celebrate Pernicious tales! insidious strains! That steel the rich man's breast, And mock the lot unblest, The sordid vices and the abject pains, |