THE EXCURSION.

BONE-WEARY, many-childed, trouble-tried!
Wife of my bosom, wedded to my soul !
Mother of nine that live, and two that died!

This day, drink health from Nature's mountain bowl;

Nay, why lament the doom which mocks control? The buried are not lost, but gone before.

Then, dry thy tears, and see the river roll

O'er rocks, that crown'd yon time-dark heights of

yore,

Now, tyrant-like, dethroned, to crush the weak no

more.

The young are with us yet, and we with them: O thank the Lord for all He gives or takesThe wither'd bud, the living flower, or gem! And He will bless us when the world forsakes! Lo! where thy fisher-born, abstracted, takes, With his fix'd eyes, the trout he cannot see! Lo, starting from his earnest dream, he wakes! While our glad Fanny, with raised foot and knee, Bears down at Noe's side, the bloom-bow'd hawthorn tree.

Dear children! when the flowers are full of bees; When sun-touch'd blossoms shed their fragrant

snow;

When song speaks like a spirit, from the trees Whose kindled greenness hath a golden glow; When, clear as music, rill and river flow, With trembling hues, all changeful, tinted o'er By that bright pencil which good spirits know Alike in earth and heaven-'tis sweet, once more, Above the sky-tinged hills to see the storm-bird

soar.

'Tis passing sweet to wander, free as air,

Blythe truants in the bright and breeze-bless'd day,
Far from the town-where stoop the sons of care
O'er plans of mischief, till their souls turn grey,
And dry as dust, and dead-alive are they—
Of all self-buried things the most unbless'd:
O Morn! to them no blissful tribute pay!

O Night's long-courted slumbers! bring no rest To men who laud man's foes, and deem the basest best!

God! would they handcuff Thee? and, if they

could

Chain the free air, that, like the daisy, goes

To every field; and bid the warbling wood
Exchange no music with the willing rose

For love-sweet odours, where the woodbine blows
And trades with every cloud, and every beam
Of the rich sky! Their gods are bonds and blows,
Rocks, and blind shipwreck; and they hate the

stream

That leaves them still behind, and mocks their changeless dream.

They know ye not, ye flowers that welcome me,
Thus glad to meet, by trouble parted long!
They never saw ye-never may they see

Your dewy beauty, when the throstle's song
Floweth like starlight, gentle, calm, and strong!
Still, Avarice, starve their souls! still, lowest Pride,
Make them the meanest of the basest throng!
And may they never, on the green hill's side,
Embrace a chosen flower, and love it as a bride!

Blue Eyebright!* loveliest flower of all that grow In flower-loved England! Flower, whose hedge-side gaze

Is like an infant's! What heart doth not know Thee, cluster'd smiler of the bank! where plays The sunbeam with the emerald snake, and strays

* The Germander Speedwell.

The dazzling rill, companion of the road

Which the lone bard most loveth, in the days

When hope and love are young? O come abroad, Blue Eyebright! and this rill shall woo thee with an ode.

Awake, blue Eyebright! while the singing wave Its cold, bright, beauteous, soothing tribute drops From many a grey rock's foot, and dripping cave; While yonder, lo, the starting stone-chat hops! While here the cotter's cow its sweet food crops; While black-faced ewes and lambs are bleating there; And, bursting through the briers, the wild ass stopsKicks at the strangers-then turns round to stare— Then lowers his large red ears and shakes his long dark hair.

SONG.

WHAT! canst thou smile, thou heart of ice? Thou who would'st basely sacrifice,

To pet thy meanest prejudice,

The holiest hopes of man?

Or dost thou sneer, in rage and fear,
Because the hated day is near,
When gods like thee must disappear,
Or have no worshippers!

Well, smile or sneer, and worship still
Old fraud's supremacy of ill;

But bow not unto Dagon's will

The hearts of honest men.

Thy slave-adored Abaddon's name

May none but lips like thine proclaim !
And ignominious be thy fame,

Even as thy virtues are!