We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore. Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st moan, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier! SONNET. TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME. CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first I scanned that face of feeble infancy! For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst All I had been, and all my child might be! But when I saw it on its mother's arm, And hanging at her bosom (she the while Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile) Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm Impressed a father's kiss: and all beguiled Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, I seemed to see an angel form appear"Twas even thine, beloved woman mild! So for the mother's sake the child was dear, And dearer was the mother for the child. O simple spirit, guided from above, ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH STANZA IN HER "PASSAGE OVER MOUNT GOTHARD." "AND hail the chapel! hail the platform wild! With well strung arm, that first preserved his child, SPLENDOR'S fondly fostered child! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, Far, far removed! from want, from hope, from fear! Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, Where once the Austrian fell Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure, There crowd your finely-fibred frame His forehead wreathed with lambent flame, A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? Yet these delight to celebrate The sordid vices and the abject pains, The doom of ignorance and penury! But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! You were a mother! That most holy name I may not vilely prostitute to those You were a mother! at your bosom fed The babes that loved you. eye, You, with laughing Each twilight-thought, each nascent feeling read, Without the mother's bitter groans: By touch, or taste, by looks or tones O'er the growing sense to roll, The mother of your infant's soul ! The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides All trembling gazes on the eye of God, A moment turned his awful face away; And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet New influences in your being rose, Blest intuitions and communions fleet With living Nature, in her joys and woes! O beautiful! O Nature's child! Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure, ODE TO TRANQUILLITY. TRANQUILLITY! thou better name For oh dear child of thoughtful Truth, To thee I gave my early youth, And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its roar. Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, Thy spirit rests! Satiety And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: But me thy gentle nand will lead At morning through the accustomed mead; Will build me up a mossy seat; And when the gust of Autumn crowds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, The feeling heart, the searching soul, To thee I dedicate the whole! The greatness of some future race, |