MAY, 1840. LOVELY morn, so still, so very still, It hardly seems a growing day of Spring, Though all the odorous buds are blossoming, And the small matin birds were glad and shrill Some hours ago; but now the woodland rill Save when the wee wren flits with stealthy wing, And cons by fits and bits her evening trill. An hour together, looking at the sky, Long listening for the signal of a sigh; And the sweet Nun, diffused in voiceless prayer, NOVEMBER. HE mellow year is hasting to its close; The little birds have almost sung their last, Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast— That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; The patient beauty of the scentless rose, Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed, The dusky waters shudder as they shine, Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, And the gaunt woods, in ragged scant array, Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine. TO A DEAF AND DUMB LITTLE GIRL. IKE a loose island on the wide expanse, Her waking life as lonely as a trance, And never hear the music which expounds She cannot hear it, all her little being What can she know of beauteous or sublime? And yet methinks she looks so calm and good, God must be with her in her solitude. HEN we were idlers with the loitering rills, Our love was nature: and the peace that floated On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills, To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills : One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted Of that sweet music which no ear can measure; And now the streams may sing for others' pleasure, The hills sleep on in their eternity. TO A LOFTY BEAUTY FROM HER POOR KINSMAN. |AIR maid, had I not heard thy baby cries, Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude, Thy mazy motions, striving to elude, Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes, Thy humours, many as the opal's dyes, And lovely all ;-methinks thy scornful mood. And bearing high of stately womanhood,— Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize For never sure was seen a royal bride Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride,My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee; But when I see thee at thy father's side, Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee. |