Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore The Show-man chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than XVII. LYRE! though such power do in thy magic live Assist me to detain The lovely Fugitive: Check with thy notes the impulse which, betrayed By her sweet farewell looks, I longed to aid. But if no wish be hers that we should part, Where all things are so fair, And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy Faint and somewhat pensively; With its upright living tree Mid silver clouds, and openings of blue sky Nor less the joy with many a glance Or watch, with mutual teaching, The current as it plays In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps Or note (translucent summer's happiest chance!) XVIII. BEGGARS. SHE had a tall man's height or more; No bonnet shaded, but she wore And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. Her skin was of Egyptian brown: To lead those ancient Amazonian files; Advancing, forth she stretched her hand And begged an alms with doleful plea And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature I left her, and pursued my way; A pair of little Boys at play, The taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land. The other wore a rimless crown In their fraternal features I could trace Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit Wings let them have, and they might flit Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween, To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level green. They dart across my path-but lo, 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. XX. XIX. The thoughts with which it then was cheered; That they, so happy and so fair Through your sweet influence, and the care 1817. GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Men, women, children, yea the frame 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, The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;- The glorious path in which he trod. As on their silent tasks they move! XXI. RUTH. WHEN Ruth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will Went wandering over dale and hill, In thoughtless freedom, bold. And she had made a pipe of straw, 1807. |