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While riding near her home one stormy night She hath neither wish nor heart,
Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,
From the brink her paws she stretches, Albeit putting forth a fainter light.
Very hands as you would say!
As he breaks the ice away.
Him alone she sees and hears, And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name, Makes efforts and complaininge; nor gives o'er Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree. Until her Fellow sunk, and reappear'd no
The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped
TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG.
BELONGED TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.
Lie here sequestered :—be this little mound
For ever thine, and be it holy ground ! INCIDENT,
Lie here, without a record of thy worth,
Beneath the covering of the common earth! CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG, WHICH It is not from unwillingness to praise,
Or want of love, that here no Stone we
raise: On his morning-rounds the Master
More thou deserv’st; but this Man gives to Goes to learn how all things fare ;
Man, Searches pasture after pasture,
Brother to Brother, this is all we can. Sheep and Cattle eyes with care;
Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee And, for silence or for talk,
dear He hath Comrades in his walk;
Shall find thee through all changes of the Four Dogs, each pair of different breed,
year: Distinguished two for scent and two for speed. This Oak points out thy grave; the silent
Will gladly stand a monument of thee.
I prayed for thee, and that thy end were All the four are in the race!
past; And the Hare whom they pursue
And willingly have laid thee here at last: Hath an instinct what to do;
For thou hadst lived, till every thing that Her hope is near: no turn she makes ;
cheers But, like an arrow, to the River takes. In thee had yielded to the weight of years ;
Extreme old age had wasted thee away,
And left thee but a glimmering of the day; Deep the River was, and crusted
Thy ears were deaf; and feeble were thy Thinly by a one-night's frost;
knees,But the nimble Hare hath trusted
I saw thee stagger in the summer-breeze, To the ice, and safely crost;
Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, She hath crost, and without heed
And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. All are following at full speed,
It came, and we were glad ; yet tears were When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread,
shed; Breaks--and the Greyhound, Dart, is over Both Man and Woman wept when Thou head!
wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were,
Old household-thoughts, in which thou hadst Better fate have Prince and Swallow
thy share; See them cleaving to the sport!
But for some precious boons vouchsafed to Music has no heart to follow,
thee, Little Music, she stops short.
Found scarcely any where in like degree !
For love, that comes to all; the holy sense, / From those abrupt and perilous rocks,
But hear a wonder, for whose sake
The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This Dog had been through three months' A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears,
space A cry as of a Dog or Fox;
A Dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain that since the day A stirring in a brake of fern;
On which the Traveller thus had died And instantly a Dog is seen
The Dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his Master's side:
He knows, who gave that love sublime,
ODE TO DUTY.
STERN Daughter of the Voice of God! It was a cove, a huge recens,
O Duty! if that name thou love That keeps till June December's snow ; Who art a Light to guide, a Rod A lofty precipice in front,
To check the erring, and reprove; A silent tarn below!
Thou who art victory and law Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
When empty terrors overawe; Remote from public road or dwelling, From vain temptations dost set free; Pathway, or cultivated land,
And calmst the weary strife of frail humanity! From trace of human foot or hand.
There are who ask not if thine eye
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
to stand fast! But that enormous Barricr binds it fast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And blest are they who in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain : A human skeleton on the ground,
Live in the spirit of this creed, The appaled discoverer with a sigh Yet find that other strength, according to Looks round, to learn the history.
I, loving freedom, and untried ;
No man like him the horn could sound, No sport of every random gust,
And no man was so full of glee; Yet being to myself a guide,
To say the least, four Counties round
Had heard of Simon Lee;
Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
if I may
And he is lean and he is sick,
His dwindled body's half awry; Though no disturbance of my soul,
His ancles, too, are swoln and thick; Or strong compunction in me wrought,
His legs are thin and dry.
When he was young he little knew
of husbandry or tillage;
And now is forced to work, though weak, I feel the weight of chance-desires;
-The weakest in the village.
He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind; Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear And often, ere the race was done, The Godhead's most benignant grace;
He reeled and was stone-blind. Nor know we any thing so fair
And still there's something in the world As is the smile upon thy face;
At which his heart rejoices; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; For when the chiming hounds are out, And Fragrance in thy footing treads; He dearly loves their voices ! Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong ; And the most ancient Heavens through Thee His hunting feats have him bereft
are fresh and strong. or his right eye, as you may see;
And then, what limbs those feats have left
To poor old Simon Lee! To humbler functions, awful Power!
He has no son, he has no child I call thee: I myself commend
His Wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village Common.
Old Ruth works out of doors with him, And in the light of truth thy Bondman let And does what Simon cannot do;
For she, not over stout of limb,
Alas! 'tis very little, all
Which they can do between them,
THE OLD HUNTSMAN.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
years he has upon his back,
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
A long blue livery-coat has hc,
Few months of life has he in store,
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY-VALE. To the neighbours he went-all were free
with their money ; 'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined, For his hive had so long been replenished The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of
with honey mind,
That they dreamt not of dearth-He conAnd the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
tinued his rounds, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. Knocked here and knocked there, pounds still
adding to pounde.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide
He paid what he could of his ill-gotten pelf, His staff is a sceptre--his gray hairs a crown; And something, it might be, reserved for Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the
Then, (what is too true) without hinting a Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek.
word, Turned his back on the Country; and off
like a Bird. 'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn
'mid the joy Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when You lift up your eyes!--and I guess that
a boy; There fashioned that countenance, which, in A judgment too harsh of the sin and the spite of a stain
shame; That his life hath received, to the last will In him it was scarcely a business of art,
To London-a sad emigration I ween- Old Adam will smile at the pains that have With his gray hairs he went from the brook
made and the green;
Poor Winter look fine in such strange masAnd there, with small wealth but his legs
querade. and his hands, As lonely he stood as a Crow on the sands.
Mid coaches and chariots, a Waggon of
Straw All trades, as needs was, did old Adam Like a magnet the heart of old Adam can assume,
draw; Served as Stable-boy, Errand-boy, Porter, With a thousand soft pictures his memory and Groom ;
will teem, But nature is gracious, necessity kind, And his hearing is touched with the sounds And, in spite of the shame that may lurk
of a dream. in his mind, He seems ten birth-days younger, is green
Up the Hay-market-hill he oft whistles his
way, and is stout ; Thrusts his hands in the Waggon, and smells Twice as fast as before does his blood run
at the hay: about;
He thinks of the fields he so often hath You would say that each hair of his beard
mown, was alive,
And is happy as if the rich freight were his And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to goes
repairAbout work that he knows in a track that If you pass by at morning you'll meet with he knows;
him there; But often his mind is compelled to demur, The breath of the Cows you may see him And you guess that the more then his body
inhale, must stir. And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury
Vale. In the throng of the Town like a Stranger
is he, Like one whose own Country's far over the Now farewell, old Adam, when low thos sea,
art laid And Nature, while through the great City May one blade of grass spring up over thy he hies,
head; Full ten times a day takes his heart by And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever surprize.
it be, Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves
of a tree. This gives him the fancy of one that is
young, More of soul in his face than of words on
his tongne; Like a Maiden of twenty he trembles and
INSCRIPTION sighs, And tears of fifteen have come into his eyes. FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD
ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER. What's a tempest to him or the dry parching Tus Island, guarded from profane ap heats ?
proach Yet he watches the clouds that pass over
By mountains high and waters widely spread, the streets;
Is that reeess to which St. Herbert came With a look of such carnestness often will In life's decline ; a self-secluded Man,
After long exercise in social cares You might think he'd twelve Reapers at And offices humane, intent to adore
work in the Strand. The Deity, with undistracted mind,
And meditate on everlasting things. Where proud Covent - garden, in desolate -Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones hours
and earth Of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits (Long be its mossy covering andisturbed!)
and her flowers, Is reverenced as a vestige of the Abode