There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers; Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide ; was ours; And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side. But now we are strangers, go early or late; I look at the fields, but I cannot go in! day, Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree, A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say, "What ails you, that you must come creeping to me! With our pastures about us, we could not be sad; Our comfort was near if we ever were crost; But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had, We slighted them all,-and our birth-right was Tost. Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain! Think of evening's repose when our labour was done, The sabbath's return, and its leisure's soft chain ! And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep, How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood! They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend! 1804. XXV. THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT. BY MY SISTER. THE days are cold, the nights are long, Nay! start not at that sparkling light; 1805. And wake when it is day. XXVI. MATERNAL GRIEF. DEPARTED Child! I could forget thee once A shadow, never, never to be displaced Of Infancy, but still did breathe the air Those several qualities of heart and mind looks, Their starts of motion and their fits of rest, Lodged in their innocent bosoms, and the spirit Of the rejoicing morning were their own? Such union, in the lovely Girl maintained And her twin Brother, had the parent seen Ere, pouncing like a ravenous bird of prey, Death in a moment parted them, and left The Mother, in her turns of anguish, worse Than desolate; for oft-times from the sound Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child, He knew it not) and from his happiest looks Did she extract the food of self-reproach, As one that lived ungrateful for the stay By Heaven afforded to uphold her maimed And tottering spirit. And full oft the Boy, Now first acquainted with distress and grief, Shrunk from his Mother's presence, shunned with fear Her sad approach, and stole away to find, Faint colour over both their pallid cheeks, And cheered; and now together breathe fresh air In open fields; and when the glare of day grave, When from these lofty thoughts I woke, She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird." And, thus continuing, she said, "I had a Son, who many a day Sailed on the seas, but he is dead; In Denmark he was cast away: And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. The bird and cage they both were his : The singing-bird had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind. From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, I bear it with me, Sir;-he took so much delight in it." 1800. XXVIII. THE CHILDLESS FATHER. "Ur, Timothy, up with your staff and away! Not a soul in the village this morning will stay: The hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds, And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds." Which he with flowers hath planted, finding-Ofcoats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and green, there Amusement, where the Mother does not miss As now it is, seems to her own fond heart, XXVII. THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. ONE morning (raw it was and wet- A Woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. On the slopes of the pastures all colours were XXIX. THE EMIGRANT MOTHER. ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned In which a Lady driven from France did dwell; The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned, In friendship she to me would often tell. Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace My song the workings of her heart expressed. VAUDRACOUR AND JULIA. The following tale was written as an Episode, in a work from which its length may perhaps exclude it. The facts are true; no invention as to these has been exercised, as none was needed. O HAPPY time of youthful lovers (thus Whose progress had a little overstepped a Maid Who heard the heart-felt music of his suit With answering vows. Plebeian was the stock, Plebeian, though ingenuous, the stock, From which her graces and her honours sprung: And hence the father of the enamoured Youth, |