"Myself will to my darling be In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn Or up the mountain springs; "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm "The stars of midnight shall be dear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake. The work was done, How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; And nevermore will be. NARCISSA. - W. WORDSWORTH. "Myself will to my darling be In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm, Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake. The work was done, How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; And nevermore will be. NARCISSA. W. WORDSWORTH. "YOUNG, gay, and fortunate!" Each yields a theme. And, first, thy youth: what says it to gray hairs? DR. EDWARD YOUNG. MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN! with the meek brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies! SWEETER and sweeter, Soft and low, Neat little nymph, Thy numbers flow, Urging thy thimble, Busy and nimble, To and fro; Prettily plying Thread and song, Keeping them flying Late and long, Through the stitch linger, Kissing thy finger, Quick, as it skips along. Many an echo, Soft and low, Follows thy flying Fancy so, Melodies thrilling, Thee with their trilling, Come and go; Memory's finger, Quick as thine, Loving to linger On the line, Writes of another, Dearer than brother: Would that the name were mine! TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNAİD. SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! And these gray rocks, this household lawn, A murmur near the silent lake, |