Come to regions solitary, Where the eagle builds her aery, Above the hermit's long-forsaken cell!" That Figure, like a ship with snow-white sail! As pure a sunshine and as soft a gale His richest splendour-when his veering gait Of music, audible to him alone. "O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne! Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit Beside an unambitious hearth to sit Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou near, -Queen, and handmaid lowly! Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares, By all that mind invents or hand prepares; Who that hath seen thy beauty could content Pass onward (even the glancing deer That mossy slope, o'er which the woodbine throws Of warblers in full concert strong The lagging shower, and force coy Phoebus out, While to these shades a sister Nymph I call. And the dear voice of harmony, By none more deeply felt than Thee!" -I sang; and lo! from pastimes virginal She hastens to the tents Of nature, and the lonely elements. Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen; But mark her glowing cheek, her vesture green! And, as if wishful to disarm Or to repay the potent Charm, She bears the stringèd lute of old romance, And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered hall. How vivid, yet how delicate, her glee! So tripped the Muse, inventress of the dance; Why are they ungarlanded? Choicest flowers that ever breathed, Which the myrtle would delight in But her humility is well content With one wild floweret (call it not forlorn) FLOWER OF THE WINDS, beneath her bosom wornYet more for love than ornament. Open, ye thickets! let her fly, Swift as a Thracian Nymph o'er field and height! Turning them inside out with arch audacity. Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays; A face o'er which a thousand shadows go! And there (while, with sedater mien, O'er timid waters that have scarcely left Their birth-place in the rocky cleft She bends) at leisure may be seen Features to old ideal grace allied, Amid their smiles and dimples dignified Fit countenance for the soul of primal truth; What more changeful than the sea? But over his great tides Fidelity presides; And this light-hearted Maiden constant is as he. High is her aim as heaven above, And wide as ether her good-will; And, like the lowly reed, her love Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill: Insight as keen as frosty star Is to her charity no bar, Nor interrupts her frolic graces When she is, far from these wild places, Encircled by familiar faces. O the charm that manners draw, If from what her hand would do, She, in benign affections pure, In self-forgetfulness secure, Sheds round the transient harm or vague mischance A light unknown to tutored elegance: Her's is not a cheek shame-stricken, But her blushes are joy-flushes; And the fault (if fault it be) And kindle sportive wit Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free As if she knew that Oberon king of Faery Had crossed her purpose with some quaint vagary, And heard his viewless bands Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands. But whether in the semblance drest Each grief, through meekness, settling into rest. Nor dread the depth of meditative eye; What would'st thou more? In sunny glade, |