Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; O blessed Vision! happy Child! That art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. Oh! too industrious folly! Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of tomorrow? Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks; Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth; A Gem that glitters while it lives, And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life Among all lovely things my Love had been; A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew. While riding near her home one stormy night Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay, To bear it with me through the stormy night: Albeit putting forth a fainter light. When to the Dwelling of my Love I came, And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name, The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear; I travell❜d among unknown Men, Nor England! did I know till then 'Tis past, that melancholy dream!. Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And She I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire. |