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Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor
New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth:
And all the happy Souls that rode
Transfigured through that fresh abode,
Had heretofore, in humble trust,
Shone meekly mid their native dust, se i wawed with kindred look,
The Glow-worms of the earth! se husky nook,
This knowledge, from an Angel's voice
Proceeding, made the heart rejoice the road w holghbouring stream
Of Him who slept upon the open lea : # Brand svt and slumbrous dream,
Waking at morn he murmured not;
Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared,
Where by that dream he had been cheered Will we to witness !) from the frame
Beneath the shady tree. the whewal Orb, there came luw dwible sounds.
Concealed from friends who might disturb Preserves her beauty mid autumnal leaves
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.
When files of stateliest plants have ceased to bloom, On barbarous plunder bent,
One after one submitting to their doom,
When her coevals each and all are fled, Rest, Mother-bird ! and when thy young What keeps her thus reclined upon her lonesome Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
bed ? When withered is the guardian Flower, And empty thy late home,
The old mythologists, more impress'd than we
Of this late day by character in tree
Or herb, that claimed peculiar sympathy,
Or by the silent lapse of fountain clear,
By bird or beast made vocal, sought a cause 1833.
To solve the mystery, not in Nature's laws
But in Man's fortunes. Hence a thousand tales
Sung to the plaintive lyre in Grecian vales.
Nor doubt that something of their spirit swayed
The fancy-stricken Youth or heart-sick Maid, You call it, “ Love lies bleeding,”-80 you may, Who, while each stood companionless and eyed Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops, | This undeparting Flower in crimson dyed, As we have seen it here from day to day,
Thought of a wound which death is slow to cure,
SYLPH was it? or a Bird more bright
Than those of fabulous stock ? Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
A second darted by ;- and lo!
Another of the flock,
To nestle in the rock.
Transient deception ! a gay freak Did press this semblance of unpitied smart
Of April's mimicries ! Into the service of his constant heart,
Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy His own dejection, downcast Flower ! could share
Among the budding trees, With thine, and gave the mournful name which Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray thou wilt ever bear.
To frolic on the breeze.
To be confounded with live growths,
Most dainty, most admired, Were only blossoms dropped from twigs
Of their own offspring tired.
Not such the World's illusive shows;
Her wingless flutterings,
The floweret as it springs,
Are melancholy things :
With ever-varying wiles,
So well she reconciles,
Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer ; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd ? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure !
'Tis a pretty baby-treat ; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space, And this vale so blithe a place ; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day : Some are sleeping ; some in bands Travelled into distant lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood ; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside.
THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES.
THAT way look, my Infant, lo ! What a pretty baby-show ! See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Withered leaves one-two-and threeFrom the lofty elder-tree ! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly: one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or Faery hither tending, To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. - But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts ! First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow ; There are many now---now oneNow they stop and there are none : What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire ! With a tiger-leap half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again :
Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree ; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out ; Hung-head pointing towards the groundFluttered, perched, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! Prettiest Tumbler ever seen! Light of heart and light of limb; What is won become of Him ? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill,