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But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:
Tears flow'd in torrents from her eyes,
She could not blame him, or chastise:
She was too happy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased, and reconciled
To live in peace on shore.


The May is come again:—how sweet

To sit upon my Orchard-seat!

And Birds and Flowers once more to greet,

My last year's Friends together:
My thoughts they all by turns employ;
A whispering Leaf is now my joy,
And then a Bird will be the toy

That doth my fancy tether.

One have I mark'd, the happiest Guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion,
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May,

And this is thy dominion.

While Birds, and Butterflies, and Flowers
Make all one Band of Paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,

Art sole in thy employment;
A Life, a Presence like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness without care.
Too bless'd with any one to pair,

Thyself thy own enjoyment;

Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies,

Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,

That cover him all over.

While thus before my eyes he gleams, A Brother of the Leaves he seems; When in a moment forth he teema

His little song in gushes: As if it pleas'd him to disdain And mock the Form which he did feign, While he was dancing with the train

Of Leaves among the bushes.


Who had been reproached for taking long
Walks its the Country.

Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!

—There is a nest in a green dale,

A harbour and a hold,

Where thou a Wife and Friend, shalt see

Thy own delightful days, and be

A light to young and old.

There, healthy as a Shepherd-boy,

As if thy heritage were joy,

And pleasure were thy trade,

Thou, while thy Babes around thee cling,

Shalt shew us how divine a thing

A Woman may be made.

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