They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor Among the forest glades, when jocund June But ill they suited me; those journies dark The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still. What could I do, unaided and unblest? Small help; and, after marriage such as mine, Ill was I then for toil or service fit : With tears whose course no effort could confine, By the road-side forgetful would I sit Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit, I led a wandering life among the fields; Forgone the home delight of constant truth, And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth. Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd, And now across this moor my steps I bend→→ She wept ;-because she had no more to say Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link F Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trail'd its wreathes; And 'tis my faith that every flower The birds around me hopp'd and play'd : It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If I these thoughts may not prevent, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? |