led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I liv'd upon what casual bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
Is, that I have my inner self abused,

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,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
And now across this moor my steps I bend-
Oh tell me whither- -for no earthly friend
Have I." She ceased, and weeping turned away,
As if because her tale was at an end

She wept ;-because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD

OF CHILDHOOD.

My heart leaps up when I behold
A Rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man.
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!

The child is father of the man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

STAY near me-do not take thy flight?
A little longer stay in sight!

Much converse do I find in thee,

Historian of my infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart

Dead times revive in thee:

Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art :

A solemn image to my heart,

My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,

The time, when in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I

Together chased the Butterfly!

A very hunter did I rush

Upon the prey:-with leaps and spring

I followed on from brake to bush;

But she, God love her! feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

THE SPARROW'S NEST.

BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid

On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.-
I started-seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,-
The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My father's house, in wet or dry,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together visited.

She looked at it as if she feared it:
Still wishing, dreading to be near it:
Such heart was in her, being then
A little prattler among men.
The blessing of my later years
Was with me when a boy:

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.

FORESIGHT,

OR THE CHARGE OF A CHILD TO HIS YOUNGER COMFANION

THAT is work of waste and ruin-
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,

We must spare them-here are many:
Look at it the flower is small,

Small and low, though fair as any:

Do not touch it! summers two

I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the primrose, sister Anne!

Pull as many as you can.

-Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and tne cuckow-flower:

Of the lofty daffodil

Make your bed, and make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;
Only spare the Strawberry-blossom

Primroses, the Spring may love them-
Summer knows but little of them;

Violets, a barren kind,

Withered on the ground must lie

Daisies leave no fruit behind

When the pretty flowrets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.

God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured Strawberry-flower.
When the months of spring are filed
Hither let us bend our walk;

Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,
Each within its leafy bower:

And for that promise spare the flower!

CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS
OLD.

LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her

To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;

And feats of cunning; and the pretty round
Of trespasses, affected to provoke

Mock-chastisement and partnership in play.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth,

Not less if unattended and alone

Than when both young and old sit gathered round
And take delight in its activity,

Even so this happy creature of herself

Is all-sufficient: solitude to her

Is blithe society, who fills the air

With gladness and involuntary songs.

Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's

Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched ;

Unthought-of, unexpected as the stir

Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow flowers;
Or from before it chasing wantonly

The many-coloured images impressed

Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

ADDRESS TO A CHILD, DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.

WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow,

Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb takes his sounding flight. He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see;

But how he will come, and whether he goes
There's never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,

And rings a sharp larum ;-but if you should look
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were covered with silk.
Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock

-Yet seek him-and what shall you find in the place?

Nothing but silence and empty space,

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,

That he's left for a bed for beggars or thieves!

As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me
You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see
That he has been there, and made a great rout,
And cracked the branches, and strewn them about
Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright t
That looked up at the sky so proud and big
All last summer, as well you know,
Studded with apples, a beautiful show!
Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,

And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle

Drive them down, like men in a battle:

-But let him range round; he does us no harm,

We build up the fire, we're snug and warm;

wie

Untouch'd by his breath see the candle shines bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light;

Books have we to read,-hush! that half-stified kne11,
Methinks 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell.

-Come, now we'll to bed! and when we are there
He may work his own will, and what shall we care.
He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in,
May drive at the windows,-we'll laugh at his din;
Let him seek his own home wherever it be;
Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.

THE MOTHER'S RETURN.

BY THE SAME.

A MONTH, Sweet little ones, is passed
Since your dear mother went away,-
And she to-morrow will return;
To-morrow is the happy day.

O blessed tidings! thought of joy!
The eldest heard with steady glee ;
Silent he stood; then laughed amain,-
And shouted, "Mother come to me!"

Louder and louder did he shout

With witless hope to bring her near;

Nay, patience! patience, little boy!

Your tender mother cannot hear."

I told of hills, and far-off towns,

And long, long vales to travel through;
He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed,
But he submits? what can he do?