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Continuous as the stars that shine
The waves beside them danced; but they
For oft, when on my couch I lie
THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.
[This arose out of my observation of the affecting music of these
birds hanging in this way in the London streets during the freshness and stillness of the Spring morning.]
Ar the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three
years : Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.
'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,
She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,
POWER OF MUSIC.
(TAKEN from life.]
An Orpheus ! an Orpheus ! yes, Faith may grow bold,
His station is there; and he works on the crowd,
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss; The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest; And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest.
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the
night, So He, where he stands, is a centre of light; It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack, And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound ’Prentice was passing in hasteWhat matter! he's caught-and his time runs to
waste; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret; And the half-breathless Lamplighter-he's in the net!
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore ;
He stands, backed by the wall ;—he abates not his din; His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in, From the old and the
young, from the poorest; and there! The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand
That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height,
Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch ; like a tower
Now, coaches and chariots ! roar on like a stream; Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream : They are deaf to your murmurs--they care not for you, Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue !
(OBSERVED by me in Leicester-square, as here described.]
WHAT crowd is this? what have we here! we must
not pass it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat, Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters
The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's
busy Square; And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue
and fair; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands
ready with the fee, And envies him that's looking ;-what an insight must
Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause ? Shall thy
Implement have blame, A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to
shame? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds ? or, finally, is yon resplendent