At break of day I ventured forth, The storm had fallen upon the Oak, And whirled, and whirled him far away ; The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day." VI. 1800 TO A SEXTON. LET thy wheelbarrow alone! In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid d; These died in peace each with the other, Father, sister, friend, and brother. Mark the spot to which I point! Take not even a finger-joint: Andrew's whole fireside is there. Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness now and pain defended, Look but at the gardener's pride, - By the heart of Man, his tears, Thus then, each to other dear, Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there, and Susan here, Neighbors in mortality. And should I live through sun and rain, VII. TO THE DAISY. "Her divine skill taught me this, I could some instruction draw, G. WITHER IN youth from rock to rock I went, Most pleased when most uneasy; Thee Winter in the garland wears * His Muse. Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Nor grieved, if thou be set at naught: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Be violets in their sacred mews The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, If to a rock from rains he fly, VOL. II. And wearily at length should fare; He needs but look about, and there Thou art! a friend at hand, to scare His melancholy. A hundred times, by rock or bower, Some steady love; some brief delight; If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds ; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure. Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, With kindred gladness: And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest |