LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odors lavishing On the soft West-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER.
With a selection from the Poems of Anne, Countess of Wir.chilsea; and extracts of similar character from other Writers, transcribed by a female friend.
LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave
(But seldom trod) of mildly gleaming ore; And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave
The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore Dim shades-for relics, upon Lethe's shore, Cast up at random by the sullen wave. To female hands the treasures were resigned; And lo this Work! a grotto bright and clear From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere ; Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined To holy musing, it may enter here.
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove While I was shaping beds for winter flowers; While I was planting green unfading bowers, And shrubs, to hang upon the warm alcove, And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove The dream, to time and nature's blended powers I gave this paradise for winter hours,
A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom Or of high gladness you shall hither bring; And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Be gracious as the music and the bloom And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.
THERE is a pleasure in poetic pains
Which only Poets know ;-'t was rightly said; Whom could the Muses else allure to tread Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains? When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains. How oft the malice of one luckless word Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board, Haunts him belated on the silent plains! Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear, At last, of hindrance and obscurity,
Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn; Bright, speckless, as a softly moulded tear
The moment it has left the virgin's eye, Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn.
THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said. "Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!" Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread And penetrated all with tender light, She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Uncovered; dazzling the beholder's sight As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd. Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, Went floating from her, darkening as it went; And a huge mass, to bury or to hide,
Approached this glory of the firmament; Who meekly yields, and is obscured, -- content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.
WHEN haughty expectations prostrate lie, And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring Mature release, in fair society
Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try; Like these frail snowdrops that together cling, And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by. Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; And so the bright immortal Theban band, Whom onset fiercely urged at Jove's command Might overwhelm, but could not separate!
HAIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour! Not dull art thou as undiscerning Night; But studious only to remove from sight Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient Power! Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was
The selfsame Vision which we now behold,
At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;
a spectacle as old As the beginning of the heavens and earth!
WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky, "How silently, and with how wan a face!" Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race! Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sight Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chase, Must blow to-night his bugle-horn. Had I The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be: And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven, Should sally forth, to keep thee company, Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven;
But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given, Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
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