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The mother, in her turns of anguish, worse
So clear, so bright, our fathers said Than desolate; for ofttimes from the sound
He wears a jewel in his head ! Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child,
And when, upon some showery day, He knew it not) and from his happiest looks,
Into a path or public way Did she extract the food of self-reproach,
A frog leaps out from bordering grass, As one that lived ungrateful for the stay
Startling the timid as they pass, By Heaven afforded to uphold her maimed
Do you observe him, and endeavour And tottering spirit. And full oft the boy,
To take the intruder into favour; Now first acquainted with distress and grief,
Learning from him to find a reason
And you may love him in the pool,
In which he swims as taught by nature,
Fit pattern for a human creature, To what he saw, he gradually returned,
Glancing amid the water bright,
And sending upward sparkling light.
Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing
May fill your breast with joyful pride;
But when the fruit, so often praised
For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Say not you love the delicate treat,
Long may you love your pensioner mouse,
Though one of a tribe that torment the house: In prayer, yet blending with that solemn rite
Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Of pious faith the vanities of grief;
Deadly foe both of mouse and rat; For such, by pitying Angels and by Spirits
Remember she follows the law of her kind, Transferred to regions upon which the clouds
And instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Of our weak nature rest not, must be deemed
Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Those willing tears, and unforbidden sighs,
Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm,
And her soothing song by the winter fire,
I would not circumscribe your love:
Or track the hedgehog to his hole.
Loving and liking are the solace of life,
Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strife
Your grown-up and your baby brother;
You love your sister, and your friends, Yet listen, child !- I would not preach;
And countless blessings which God sends: But only give some plain directions
And while these right affections play, To guide your speech and your affections.
You live each moment of your day; Say not you love a roasted fowl,
They lead you on to full content, But you may love a screaming owl,
And likings fresh and innocent, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad
That store the mind, the memory feed, That crawls from his secure abode
And prompt to many a gentle deed: Within the mossy garden wall
But likings come, and pass away; When evening dews begin to fall.
"Tis love that remains till our latest day: O mark the beauty of his eye.
Our heavenward guide is holy love, What wonders in that circle lie!
And will be - bliss with saints above.
BY MY SISTER.
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Thrice happy creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, Entrance and exit both yet free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O’er table lill, or perch on chair, Though some may frown and make a stir, To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the dame, and wears away Her long and vacant holiday; With images about her heart, Reflected from the years gone by, On human nature's second infancy.
HER EYES ARE WILD.
SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.
Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air
Heart-pleased we smile upon the bird
and with like pleasure stirred
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The words -
Bless the bed that I lie on,'
“Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
thee have no fear of me;
A fire was once within my brain;
VII. Thy father cares not for my breast, 'T is thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; 'Tis all thine own! — and, if its bue Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove! My beauty, little child, is flown, But thou wilt live with me in love; And what if my poor cheek be brown ? 'T is well for me, thou canst not see How pale and wan it else would be.
POEMS FOUNDED ON THE AFFECTIONS.
The letter from which this extract is made, was pubNote, p. 87.
lished in 1838, by Sir Henry Bunbury, among some "The Brothers."
miscellaneous letters in his “Correspondence of Sir (Extract from a letter addressed by Wordsworth to Thomas Hanmer, etc.," p. 436. Carles James Fox in 1802, and accompanying a copy It is this poem of which Coleridge said—“THE BROof the Poems:
THERS, that model of English pastoral, which I never “In the two poems, "The Brothers' and · Michael, yet read with unclouded eye.” Biographia Literaria, I have attempted to draw a picture of the domestic Vol. II., chap. v., p. 85, Note, Edit. of 1847. And affections, as I know they exist amongst a class of men Southey, writing to Coleridge, July 11, 1801, says: – i ho are now almost confined to the north of England. “God bless Wordsworth for that poem! (“The BroThey are small independent proprietors of land, here THERS.")" Life and Correspondence of Southey, Vol. II., called • statesmen,' men of respectable education, who
p. 150, chap. viii. - H. R.] daily labour on their own little properties. The domestic affections will always be strong amongst men who live
Page 96. In a country not crowded with population; if these men
.I travelled among unknown men.' are placed above poverty. But, if they are proprietors
[“ Amongst the Poems founded on the Affections is # small estates which have descended to them from Uber ancestors, the power which these affections will one called, from its first line, “I travelled among unacquire amongst such men, is inconceivable by those known men,' which ends with these lines, wherein the who bare only had an opportunity of observing hired poet addresses his native land : ka tourers, fariners, and the manufacturing poor. Their Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed itle tract of land serves as a kind of permanent rally. The bowers where Lucy played ; ing point for their domestic feelings, as a tablet upon And thine too is the last green field a bich they are written, which makes them objects of That Lucy's eyes surveyed. Cipriory in a thousand instances when they would A friend, a true poet himself, to whom I owe some new vverwise be forgotten. It is a fountain fitted to the insight into the merits of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry, pa'ure of social man, from which supplies of affection and who showed me to my surprise, that there were d« mire as his heart was intended for, are daily drawn. nooks in that rich and varied region, some of the shy Tiis class of men is rapidly disappearing. You, Sir, treasures of which I was not perfectly acquainted with, here a consciousness, upon which every good man will first made me feel the great beauty of this stanza ; in ruggratulate you, that the whole of your public conduct which the poet, as it were, spreads day and night over has in one way or other been directed to the preservation the object of his affections, and seems, under the influce this class of men, and those who hold similar situa- ence of passionate feeling, to think of England, whether 103. You have felt that the most sacred of all pro- in light or darkness, only as her play-place and verdant "sity is the property of the poor. The two poems home. -S. C.” (Sara Coleridge.) Biographia LitePhat I have mentioned were written with a view to raria of S. T. Coleridge, Vol. II., chap. ix., p. 173, Note, w that men who do not wear fine cloaths can feel Edit. of 1847.-H. R.] loppy. Pectus enim est quod disertos facit, et vis Turnus. Ideoque imperitis quoque, si modo sint aliquo
Page 98. ctu concitati, verba non desunt.' The poems are
Let other bards of angels sing.' "Stiful copies from nature; and I hope whatever effect they have upon you, you will at least be able to
[In his editions of 1845 and 1850, the author has ex: steve that they may excite profitable sympathies in cluded the following stanza, which was the second in
kind and good hearts ; and may in some small this piece in the earlier editions, to the readers of which Senarge our feelings of reverence for our species, it had become familiar, and is therefore preserved in 1. Mur knowledge of human nature, by showing that this note : 11,7 best qualities are possessed by men whom we are
Such if thou wert in all men's view, ang app to consider, not with reference to the points
A universal show, nahich they resemble us, but to those in which they
What would my fancy have to do? man testly differ from us."
My feelings to bestow ? - H. R.