III. WRITTEN IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY. The Reader must be apprised, that the Stoves in North Germany generally have the impression of a galloping Horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms. A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse! And the tongs and the poker, instead of that Horse See that Fly, - a disconsolate creature! perhaps A child of the field or the grove; And, sorrow for him! the dull treacherous heat Has seduced the poor fool from his winter retreat, And he creeps to the edge of my stove. Alas! how he fumbles about the domains Which this comfortless oven environ ! He cannot find out in what track he must crawl, Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed; The best of his skill he has tried; His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth To the East and the West, to the South and the North; But he finds neither Guide-post nor Guide. How his spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh; Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws; No Brother, no Mate has he near him - while I As if green summer grass were the floor of my room, And woodbines were hanging above. Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing! Thy life I would gladly sustain Till summer comes up from the South, and with crowds Of thy brethrenamarch thou should'st sound through the clouds, And back to the forests again! IV. LINES. Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands near the Lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate Part of the Shore, commanding a beautiful Prospect. NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands Who he was That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod I well remember. He was one who owned No common soul. In youth by science nursed, And led by nature into a wild scene Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth A favoured Being, knowing no desire Which Genius did not hallow, - 'gainst the taint Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate, And scorn, against all enemies prepared, All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, And with the food of pride sustained his soul The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time, When nature had subdued him to herself, Would he forget those beings, to whose minds, Warm from the labours of benevolence, The world, and human life, appeared a scene |