Trembling with joy, a while she stood, And balanced oft her broidered wings, Through fields of air prepared to sail; Then on her venturous journey springs, And floats along the rising gale. Go, child of pleasure, range the fields; Share all the joys that spring can give; Partake what bounteous summer yields,. And live, while yet 'tis thine to live! Go, sip the rose's fragrant dew, The lily's honeyed cup explore; From flower to flower the search renew, And rifle all the woodbine's store! And let me trace thy vagrant flight, Thy moments, too, of short repose; And mark thee then, with fresh delight, Thy golden pinions ope and close. But, hark! - whilst thus I musing stand, They cease; but still a voice I hear,- 66 "Shall the poor worm that shocks thy sight,The humblest form in nature's train, Thus rise in new-born lustre bright And yet the emblem teach in vain ? "Ah! where were once her golden eyes, "Like thee the hapless reptile lived; Like thee he toiled, like thee he spun ; Like thine his closing hour arrived; His labors ceased, his web was done. "And shalt thou, numbered with the dead, "Is this the bound of power divine, "Go, mortal, in thy reptile state, Enough to know to thee is given; Go, and the joyful truth repeat, Frail child of earth,— high heir of heaven." LESSON LXVIII. To the Comet of 1811. HOGG. How lovely is this wildered scene, All hail, ye hills, whose towering height, Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky! And thou, mysterious guest of night, Dread traveller of immensity! Stranger of heaven! I bid thee hail! Broad pennon of the King of Heaven! Art thou the flag of woe and death, No; from that pure, pellucid beam, That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone, No latent evil we can deem, Bright herald of the eternal throne ! Whate'er portends thy front of fire, Where hast thou roamed these thousand years? And when thou scal'st the milky way, O, on thy rapid prow to glide! To sail the boundless skies with thee, And plough the twinkling stars aside, Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea! To brush the embers from the sun, Where other moons and planets roll! Stranger of heaven! O, let thine eye And long, long may thy silver ray Then, wheeling to the east away, LESSON LXIX. A Parental Ode to my Son, aged Three Years and Five Months. HOOD. THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop-first let me kiss away that tear) (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) With spirits feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air- (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Fit playfellow for fays by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) |