275 XXXIX TO MAY. THOUGH many suns have risen and set Delicious odours! music sweet, That, when a thousand years are told, Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less, With its soft smile the truth express, The heavens have felt it too. The inmost heart of man if glad And eyes that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear. Since thy return, through days and weeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, Another year is ours;' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Who tripping lisps a merry song But now, when every sharp-edged blast His Mother leaves him free to taste Thy help is with the weed that creeps And yet how pleased we wander forth ניי "Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread "From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves, *Drops on the mouldering turret's head, "And on your turf-clad graves!" Such greeting heard, away with sighs Vernal fruitions and desires Are linked in endless chase; While, as one kindly growth retires, Another takes its place. And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight; If expectations newly blown. Have perished in thy sight; If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare; Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair. Lo! Streams that April could not check Are patient of thy rule; How delicate the leafy veil Through which yon house of God No sooner stand attired In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise Season of fancy and of hope, Of self-restraining art, This modest charm of not too much, 1826-183.t. XL. LINES SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT FROM THE PENCIL OF F. STONE THIS Portrait has hung for many years in our principal sittingroom, and represents J. Q. as she was when a girl. The picture, though it is somewhat thinly painted, has much merit in tone and general effect: it is chiefly valuable, however, from the sentiment that pervades it. The Anecdote of the saying of the Monk in sight of Titian's picture was told in this house by Mr. Wilkie, and was, I believe, first communicated to the public in this poem, the former portion of which I was composing at the time. Southey heard the story from Miss Hutchinson, and transferred it to the "Doctor;" but it is not easy to explain how my friend Mr. Rogers, in a note subsequently added to his "Italy," was led to speak of the same remarkable words having many years before been spoken in his hearing by a monk or priest in front of a picture of the Last Supper, placed over a Refectory-table in a convent at Padua.] BEGUILED into forgetfulness of care Due to the day's unfinished task; of pen The common light; whose stillness charms the air, Whose silence, for the pleasure of the ear, In a white vest, white as her marble neck The treasure, what mine eyes behold, see thou, A silver line, that runs from brow to crown |