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THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight
appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for
three years :
Poor. Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.
'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.
She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her eyes!
POWER OF MUSIC.
An Orpheus ! an Orpheus ! yes, Faith may grow
bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ;Near the stately Pantheon you 'll meet with the
same In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its
His station is there; and he works on the crowd, He
sways them with harmony merry and loud ; He fills with his power all their hearts to the
brim,Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this ! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ; The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have
And the guilt-burdened soul is no longer opprest.
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the
night, So He, where he stands, is a centre of light; It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack, And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound'Prentice was passing in haste,What matter! he's caught, — and his time runs to
waste ; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the
fret; And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter, --he's in
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore ; The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her
store ; If a thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease ; She sees the Musician, 't is all that she sees !
He stands, backed by the wall ; - he abates not
his din ; His hat gives him vigor, with boons dropping in, From the old and the young, from the poorest ;
and there! The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand
band ! I am glad for him, blind as he is ! - all the while, If they speak ’t is to praise, and they praise with
That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height,
Can he keep himself still, if he would ? O not he! The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.
Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch ; like
a tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after
hour! That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the
Now, coaches and chariots ! roar on like a stream ; Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream: They are deaf to your murmurs, — they care not
Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue !
What crowd is this? what have we here? we must
not pass it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat, Some little pleasure skiff, that doth on Thames's The Showman chooses well his place, 't is Leices
ter's busy Square, And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are
blue and fair; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands
ready with the fee, And envies him that 's looking; — what an insight
must it be !
Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause ? Shall
thy Implement have blame, A boaster, that, when he is tried, fails, and is put
to shame? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in
fault ? Their eyes, or minds ? or, finally, is yon resplendent
Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have
here? Or gives a thing but small delight that never can
be dear ? The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of
mightiest fame, Doth she betray us when they're seen? or are
they but a name?
Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and
strong, And bounty never yields so much but it seems to
do her wrong?