Within this nook the lonesome bird
Did never build her nest.

No beast, no bird hath here his home;
Bees, wafted on the breezy air,
Pass high above those fragrant bells
To other flowers; to other dells
Their burthens do they bear;
The Danish boy walks here alone :
The lovely dell is all his own.

A spirit of noon-day is he ;

He seems a form of flesh and blood;
Nor piping shepherd shall he be,
Nor herd-boy of the wood.
A regal vest of fur he wears,
In colour like a raven's wing;
It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew
But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue
As budding pines in spring;
His helmet was a vernal grace,
Fresh as the bloom upon his face

A harp is from his shoulder slung
He rests the harp upon his knee;
And there, in a forgotten tongue,
He warbles melody.

Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill
He is the darling and the joy ;
And often, when no cause appears,
The mountain ponies prick their ears,
They hear the Danish boy,
While in the dell he sits alone
Beside the tree and corner-stone..

There sits he: in his face you spy
No trace of a ferocious air,
Nor ever was a cloudless sky
So steady or so fair.

The lovely Danish boy is blest
And happy in his flowery cove:
From bloody deeds his thoughts are far:
And yet he warbles songs of war,
That seem like songs of love,

For calm and gentle is his mien;
Like a dead boy he is serene.

By their floating mill,

That lies dead and still, Behold yon prisoners three,

The miller with two dames, on the breast of the Thames!

[them all; The platform is small, but gives room for And they're dancing merrily.

From the shore come the notes
To their mill where it floats,
To their house and their mill tethered fast;
To the small wooden isle where, their work
to beguile,
[given;-
They from morning to even take whatever is
And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the spires,
All alive with the fires

Of the sun going down to his rest,
In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,
'They dance,-there are three, as jocund as
free,

While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Men and maidens wheel, They themselves make the reel, And their music's a prey which they seize; It plays not for them,--what matter? 'tis theirs; [cares, And if they had care, it has scattered their While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"

They dance not for me, Yet mine is their glee! Thus pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts, to be claimed by whoever shall find; [kind,

Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.

The showers of the spring Rouse the birds, and they sing; If the wind do but stir for his proper delight, Each leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss; [his brother; Each wave, one and t'other, speeds after They are happy, for that is their right!

ADDRESS TO MY INFANT

DAUGHTER,

Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours! Even now-To solemnize thy helpless state, And to enliven in the mind's regard

MONTH OLD ON THAT DAY.

HAST thou then survived,

Mild offspring of infirm humanity,
Meek infant! among all forlornest things
The most forlorn, one life of that bright star,
The second glory of the heavens?- Thou
hast:

Already hast survived that great decay; That transformation through the wide earth felt,

And by all nations. In that Being's sight
From whom the race of human kind proceed,
A thousand years are but as yesterday;
And one day's narrow circuit is to Him
Not less capacious than a thousand years.
But what is time? What outward glory?
Neither

A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend
Through "heaven's eternal year."-Yet
hail to thee,
[methinks,
Frail, feeble monthling!-by that name,
Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Not idly.-Hadst thou been of Indian birth,
Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,
And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed
On the blank plains,-the coldness of the
night,

Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned,
Would, with imperious admonition, then
Have scored thine age, and punctually
timed

Thine infant history, on the minds of those Who might have wandered with thee.Mother's love,

Nor less than mother's love in other breasts, Will, among us warm clad and warmly housed,

Do for thee what the finger of the heavens
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds
Where fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or.refine;
And the maternal sympathy itself,
Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.

Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect, Within the region of a father's thoughts, Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky. And first;-thy sinless progress, through a world

By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed, Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds,

Moving untouched in silver purity, And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. [stain:

Fair are ye both, and both are free from But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn With brightness - leaving her to post along,

And range about-disquieted in change, And still impatient of the shape she wears. Once up, once down the hill, one journey, babe,

That will suffice thee; and it seems that now Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine;

Thou travell'st so contentedly, and sleep'st In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon Hath this conception, grateful to behold, Changed countenance, like an object sullied

o'er

By breathing mist! and thine appears to be A mournful labour, while to her is given Hope-and a renovation without end. That smile forbids the thought;-for on thy face [dawn,

Smiles are beginning, like the beams of To shoot and circulate;-smiles have there been seen,

Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers Thy loneliness;--or shall those smiles be

called

Feelers of love,-put forth as if to explore This untried world, and to prepare thy way Through a strait passage intricate and dim? Such are they,- and the same are tokens, signs, [arrived,

Which, when the appointed season hath Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt; And reason's godlike power be proud to

own.