Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802. EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would be he of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty :
This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
97. To a Highland Girl, at Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond.
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these gray rocks; that household
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn ;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake; This little bay; a quiet road That holds in shelter thy Abode - In truth together do ye seem
Like something fashioned in a dream; Such Forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! But, O fair Creature! in the light Of common day, so heavenly bright, I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart; God shield thee to thy latest years! Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away:
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered, like a random seed, Remote from men, Thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a Mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread! Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful. O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways, and dress, A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality :
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea; and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder Brother I would be,
Thy Father anything to thee!
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then, why should I be loth to stir?
I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old, As fair before me shall behold, As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And Thee, the Spirit of them all!
The Solitary Reaper.
BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands
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