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, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful | Seem to participate, the whilst they view mind employ

Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads of him who gazes

, or has gazed ? a grave and steady Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, joy,

That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream! That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward

sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine !

WRITTEN IN MARCH, Whatever be the cause, 't is sure that they who pry WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF

and pore

Seemn to meet with little gain, seem less happy than

before: i One after One they take their turn, nor have I one

espied
That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.

THE HAUNTED TREE.

TO

BROTHER'S WATER.

The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest ;
The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising ;
There are forty feeding like one !

Like an army defeated
The Snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;
The Ploughhoy is whooping--anon-anon:

There's joy in the mountains ;
There's life in the fountains ;
Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing ;
The rain is over and gone!

now, attired

GIPSIES

Taose silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less
To overshade than multiply his beams
3y soft reflection - grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy
More ample than the time-dismantled Oak
Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which
In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords
Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use
Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art,
That Eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought
On silken tissue, might diffiise his limbs
In languor; or, by Nature, for repose
Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied by the chase.
O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight
T'han fairest spiritual Creature of the groves,
Approach --- and, thus invited, crown with rest
The noon-tide hour :— though truly some there are
Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind
Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound
(Above the general roar of woods and crags)
Distinctly heard from far- a doleful note!
As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed)
The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed
Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved,
By ruder fancy, that a troubled Ghost
Haunts this old Trunk; lamenting deeds of which
The Rowery ground is conscious. But no wind
Sweeps now along this elevated ridge ;
Not even a zephyr stirs ; – the obnoxious Tree
Is mute, — and, in his silence would look down,
O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills,
On thy reclining form with more delight
Than his Coevals, in the sheltered vale

Yet are they here the same unbroken knot
Of human Beings, in the self-same spot !

Men, Women, Children, yea the frame

Of the whole Spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the colouring of night;

That on their Gipsy-faces falls,

Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.
-Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone

while I
Have been a Traveller under open sky,

Much witnessing of change and cheer,

Yet as I left I find them here!
The weary Sun betook himself to rest.
-Then issued Vesper from the fulgent West,

Outshining like a visible God

The glorious path in which he trod.
And now, ascending, after one dark hour
And one night's diminution of her power,

Behold the mighty Moon! this way
She looks as if at them — but they

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He was a lovely Youth! I guess
The panther in the Wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play,
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear
Such tales as told to any Maid
By such a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

He told of Girls - a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and shout,
Their pleasant Indian Town,
To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song
When daylight is gone down.

He spake of plants divine and strange
That every hour their blossoms change,
Ten thousand lovely hues!
With budding, fading, faded flowers
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews.

He told of the Magnolia*, spread
High as a cloud, high over head !
The Cypress and her spire;

- Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem
To set the hills on fire.f

The Youth of green savannahs spa ke,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds
Of islands, that together lie
As quietly as spots of sky
Among the evening clouds.
And then he said, “How sweet it were
A fisher or a hunter there,
A gardener in the shade,
Still wandering with an easy mind
To build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade!

" What days and what sweet years ! Ah me!
Our life were life indeed, with thee
So passed in quiet bliss,
And all the while,” said he, "to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this !"

* Magnolia grandiflora.

+ The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which arı scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern

parts of North America, is frequently mentioned by Bartram in | his Travels.

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The breezes their own languor lent;
The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those gorgeous bowers.

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes there did intervene
Pure hopes of high intent:
For passions linked to forms so fair
And stately, needs must have their share
Of noble sentiment.

But ill he lived, much evil saw,
With men to whom no better law
Nor better life was known;
Deliberately, and undeceived,
Those wild men's vices he received,
And gave them back

own,

His genius and his moral frame
Were thus impaired, and he became
The slave of low desires :
A Man who without self-control
Would seek what the degraded soul
Unworthily admires.

And yet he with no feigned delight
Had wooed the Maiden, day and night
Had loved her, night and morn:
What could he less than love a Maid
Whose heart with so much nature played ?
So kind and so forlorn!

Sometimes, most earnestly, he said,
“O Ruth! I have been worse than dead;
False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain,
Encompassed me on every

side When first, in confidence and pride, I crossed the Atlantic Main.

“It was a fresh and glorious world,
A banner bright that was unfurled
Before me suddenly :
I looked upon those hills and plains,
And seemed as if let loose from chains,
To live at liberty.

“But wherefore speak of this ? For now,
Sweet Ruth! with thee, I know not how,
I feel my spirit burn -
Even as the east when day comes forth :
And, to the west, and south, and scatti
The morning doth return."

Full soon that purer mind was gone
No hope, no wish remained, not one, –
They stirred him now no more;
New objects did new pleasure give,
And once again he wished to live
As lawless as before.

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought,

Fair trees and lovely flowers;

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An innocent life, yet far astray !
And Ruth will, long before her day,
Be broken down and old :
Sore aches she needs must have! but less
Of mind, than body's wretchedness,

Prom damp, and rain, and cold.
*The Tone is a River of Somersetshire, at no great distance
frem the Quantock Hills. These Hills, which are alluded to a

O terror! what hath she perceived ? - joy!
What doth she look on? — whom doth she behold?
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence — his corporeal mould ?
It is - if sense deceive her not-t is He !
And a God leads him — winged Mercury !

nickly covered with coppice woods.

Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with his wand
That calms all fear, “Such grace hath crowned thy

,
below, are extremely beautiful
, and in handel.co Laodamía l'that at Jove's command

Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:
erlined my daurdened kimi have Ire.
Centon Think cankuifand sharm fuera

!

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