Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! My father's family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey-with leaps and springs But she, God love her! feared to brush III. THE SPARROW'S NEST. BEHOLD, within the leafy shade, I started, seeming to espy The home and sheltered bed, The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by My Father's house, in wet or dry, My sister Emmeline and I Together visited. 1801 She looked at it and seemed to fear it ; A little Prattler among men. She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; IV. FORESIGHT. THAT is work of waste and ruin- We must spare them here are many: Small and low, though fair as any: I am older, Anne, than you. Pull the primrose, sister Anne! Here are daisies, take your fill; Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower: 1801 Of the lofty daffodil Make your bed, or make your bower: Primroses, the Spring may love them, Withered on the ground must lie; Daisies leave no fruit behind God has given a kindlier power Lurking berries, ripe and red, Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower! 1802 V. CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD. LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild; To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes; Mock-chastisement and partnership in play. Not less if unattended and alone, Than when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity; Even so this happy Creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-flowers, 1811. VI. ADDRESS TO A CHILD, DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING. BY MY SISTER. WHAT way does the Wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and, o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight; He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see; He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, And ring a sharp 'larum ; but, if you should look, Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock ; -Yet seek him, and what shall you find in the place? Nothing but silence and empty space; Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, That he 's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves! As soon as 't is daylight to-morrow, with me twig That looked up at the sky so proud and big All last summer, as well you know, Studded with apples, a beautiful show! |