For thee, sweet Baby-thou hast tried,
Thou know'st the pillow of my breast;
Good, good art thou:-alas! to me

Far more than I can be to thee.

III.

Here, little Darling, dost thou lie;
An infant thou, a mother I!

1 1820.

II.

Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears;

Mine art thou-spite of these my tears.
Alas! before I left the spot,

My baby and its dwelling-place,

The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not
Be shed upon an infant's face,

It was unlucky '-no, no, no;
No truth is in them who say so!

IV.

My own dear Little-one will sigh,
Sweet Babe! and they will let him die.
'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom,
And you may see his hour is come."
Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles,
Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay,
Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles,
And countenance like a summer's day,
They would have hopes of him;—and then
I should behold his face again!

V.

"Tis gone-like dreams that we forget;
There was a smile or two-yet-yet1

'Tis gone-forgotten-let me do

My best-there was a smile or two,

R

1807.

I can remember them-I see

The smiles, worth all the world to me.
Dear Baby! I must lay thee down;
Thou troublest me with strange alarms;
Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;1
I cannot keep thee in my arms;
For they confound me-where-where is
That last, that sweetest smile of his ?2

VI.

Oh how I love thee-we will stay
Together here this one half day.
My sister's child, who bears my name,
From France to sheltering England came ;3
She with her mother crossed the sea;
The babe and mother near me dwell:
Yet does my yearning heart to thee
Turn rather, though I love her well:*

Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here!
Never was any child more dear!

VII.

-I cannot help it; ill intent
I've none, my pretty Innocent!
I weep I know they do thee wrong,
These tears and my poor idle tongue.
Oh, what a kiss was that! my cheek
How cold it is! but thou art good;
Thine eyes are on me-they would speak,
I think, to help me if they could.
Blessings upon that soft, warm face,1
My heart again is in its place!

VIII.

While thou art mine, my little Love,
This cannot be a sorrowful grove;
Contentment, hope, and mother's glee,
I seem to find them all in thee:

Here's grass to play with, here are flowers;
I'll call thee by my darling's name;
Thou hast, I think, a look of ours,

Thy features seem to me the same;
His little sister thou shalt be;

And, when once more my home I see,

I'll tell him many tales of Thee."

In edd. 1807 and 1815, this poem had no distinctive title; but it was known, in the Wordsworth circle, as The Emigrant Mother from 1802. It was first published under that name in 1820. It was revised and altered in 1827, 1832, 1836, and more especially in 1845.

1 1820.

that quiet face,

1807.

In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following entries occur :— "Tuesday (March 16).—William went up into the orchard, and wrote a part of the Emigrant Mother." "Wednesday.-William went up into the orchard, and finished the poem. I went and sate with W., and walked backwards and forwards in the orchard till dinner-time. read me his poem."—ED.

He

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere.]

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.

"March 26, 1802.-W. wrote the Rainbow" (Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal).

"I am informed that these lines (The Rainbow) have been cited as a specimen of despicable puerility. So much the worse for the citer; not willingly in his presence would I behold the sun setting behind our mountains... But let the dead bury their dead! The poet sang for the living. I was always pleased with the motto placed under the figure of the rosemary in old herbals—

'Sus, apage! Haud tibi spiro.""

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, in The Friend, Vol. I., p. 58.—ED.

AMONG ALL LOVELY THINGS MY LOVE HAD

BEEN.

Comp. April 12, 1802.

Pub. 1807.

AMONG all lovely things my Love had been;
Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

While riding near her home one stormy night
A single glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my horse I lept; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay,

To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the dwelling of my Love I came,

I went into the orchard quietly;

And left the glow-worm, blessing it by name,

Laid safely by itself, beneath a tree.

The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;
At night the glow-worm shone beneath the tree;

I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here,"

Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

This poem-known in the Wordsworth household as The Glowworm— was written on the 12th of April 1802, during a ride from Middleham to Barnard Castle, and was published in the edition of 1807. It was never reproduced. The "Lucy" of this and other poems was his Sister Dorothy. In a letter to Coleridge, written in April 1802, he