ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM On the 1st of February, 1796. SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Month Till Disappointment came, and pelting wrong *Chatterton. Beat it to Earth? or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud? Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master! And the warm wooings of this sunny day. Tremble along my frame and harmonize Th' attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument. THE EOLIAN HARP. Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire. My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd! The stilly murmur of the distant Sea Tells us of Silence. And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs. Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing! Not to love all things in a world like this, And thus, my love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst thro' my half-closed eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversly fram'd, At once the Soul of each, and God of All? But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honor'd Maid! VOL. II. |