XIX. A FRAGMENT. BETWEEN two sister moorland rills There is a spot that seems to lie Sacred to flow'rets of the hills, And in this smooth and open dell A thing no storm can e'er destroy, The shadow of a Danish Boy. In clouds above, the Lark is heard,— He sings his blithest and his best t; But in this lonesome nook the Bird Did never build his nest. No Beast, no Bird hath here his home; The Bees borne on the breezy air Pass high above those fragrant bells To other flowers, to other dells, The Danish Boy walks here alone: The lovely dell is all his own. A spirit of noon-day is he, He seems a Form of flesh and blood; Nor piping Shepherd shall he be, Nor Herd-boy of the wood. A regal vest of fur he wears, In colour like a raven's wing; It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew; But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue As budding pines in Spring; A harp is from his shoulder slung : He rests the harp upon his knee; And there in a forgotten tongue Of flocks upon the neighbouring hills He is the darling and the joy; And often, when no cause appears, Beside the tree and corner-stone. There sits he: in his face you spy So steady or so fair. The lovely Danish Boy is blest And happy in his flowery cove: From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; For calm and gentle is his mien; Like a dead Boy he is serene. VOL. I. U XX. ADDRESS TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER, On being reminded, that she was a Month old, on that Day. -HAST thou then survived, Mild Offspring of infirm humanity, Meek Infant! among all forlornest things The most forlorn, one life of that bright Star, That transformation through the wide earth felt, And one day's narrow circuit is to him Not less capacious than a thousand years. But what is time? What outward glory? neither A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend Through "heaven's eternal year."-Yet hail to Thee, Frail, feeble Monthling!—by that name, methinks, On the blank plains, the coldness of the night, Do for thee what the finger of the heavens For thy unblest Coevals, amid wilds |