- To mark its eddying foam-balls prettily distrest

་

By ever-changing shape and want of rest;

Or watch, with mutual teaching,

The current as it plays

In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps
Adown a rocky maze;

Or note (translucent Summer's happiest chance!)
In the slope-channel floored with pebbles bright,
Stones of all hues, gem emulous of gem,
So vivid that they take from keenest sight
The liquid veil that seeks not to hide them.

XVIII.

BEGGARS.

SHE had a tall man's height or more;

Her face from Summer's noontide heat
No bonnet shaded, but she wore

A mantle, to her very feet

Descending with a graceful flow,

And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow.

Her skin was of Egyptian brown:
Haughty, as if her eye had seen

Its own light to a distance thrown,
She towered, fit person for a Queen
To lead those ancient Amazonian files;

Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles.

Advancing, forth she stretched her hand
And begged an alms with doleful plea
That ceased not; on our English land
Such woes, I knew, could never be ;
And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature
Was beautiful to see,- a weed of glorious feature.

--

I left her, and pursued my way;
And soon before me did espy

A pair of little Boys at play,
Chasing a crimson butterfly;

The taller followed with his hat in hand,
Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of

the land.

The other wore a rimless crown,
With leaves of laurel stuck about;
And, while both followed up and down,
Each whooping with a merry shout,
In their fraternal features I could trace

Unquestionable lines of that wild Suppliant's face.

Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed unfit
For finest tasks of earth or air:

Wings let them have, and they might flit
Precursors to Aurora's car,

Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I

ween,

To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level

green.

Each ready with a plaintive whine!

Said I, "Not half an hour ago

Your Mother has had alms of mine."

"That cannot be," one answered, "she is dead":— I looked reproof, — they saw, but neither hung

his head.

"She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”. "Hush, boys! you 're telling me a lie; It was your Mother, as I say!"

And, in the twinkling of an eye,

"Come! come!" cried one, and, without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew !

1802.

XIX.

SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING.

COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER.

WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys?

For whose free range the dædal earth

Was filled with animated toys,

And implements of frolic mirth;
With tools for ready wit to guide;
And ornaments of seemlier pride,

More fresh, more bright, than princes wear;

For what one moment flung aside,

Another could repair:

What good or evil have they seen
Since I their pastime witnessed here,
Their daring wiles, their sportive cheer?
I ask, but all is dark between!

They met me in a genial hour,
When universal nature breathed
As with the breath of one sweet flower,
A time to overrule the power

Of discontent, and check the birth

Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife,
The most familiar bane of life

Since parting Innocence bequeathed
Mortality to Earth!

Soft clouds, the whitest of the year,

Sailed through the sky; the brooks ran clear;
The lambs from rock to rock were bounding;
With songs the budded groves resounding;
And to my heart are still endeared

The thoughts with which it then was cheered;
The faith which saw that gladsome pair
Walk through the fire with unsinged hair.
Or, if such faith must needs deceive,
Then, Spirits of beauty and of grace,
Associates in that eager chase,
Ye who within the blameless mind
Your favorite seat of empire find, –

Kind Spirits! may we not believe
That they, so happy and so fair
Through your sweet influence, and the care
Of pitying Heaven, at least were free
From touch of deadly injury?

Destined, whate'er their earthly doom,
For mercy and immortal bloom?

1817.

XX.

GYPSIES.

YET are they here, the same unbroken knot
Of human beings, in the selfsame spot!
Men, women, children, yea, the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!

Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the coloring of night,
That on their Gypsy faces falls,

Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.

Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone,

while I'

Have been a traveller under open sky,

Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left I find them here!

The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,