And happiness that never flies, (How can it where love never dies ?)— What mortal form, what earthly face, 'Mid that soft air, those long-lost bowers, Thanks to this tell-tale sheaf of corn, From Heaven, and feel what they repeat, 1828. VI. TO A REDBREAST- (IN SICKNESS). STAY, little cheerful Robin! stay, Though I, alas! may ne'er enjoy A charm, that thought cannot destroy, Methinks that in my dying hour Then, little Bird, this boon confer: Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting Spring. VII. I KNOW an aged Man constrained to dwell In a large house of public charity, S. H. Where he abides, as in a Prisoner's cell, When he could creep about, at will, though poor There, at the root of one particular tree, Dear intercourse was theirs, day after day; What signs of mutual gladness when they met ! Think of their common peace, their simple play, The parting moment and its fond regret. Months passed in love that failed not to fulfil, Thus in the chosen spot a tie so strong Wife, children, kindred, they were dead and gone; But, if no evil hap his wishes crossed, One living Stay was left, and on that one O that the good old Man had power to prove, 1846. VIII. SONNET. (TO AN OCTOGENARIAN.) AFFECTIONS lose their object; Time brings forth No successors; and, lodged in memory, If love exist no longer, it must die, Wanting accustomed food, must pass from earth, To thousands, share not thou; howe'er bereft, One to whom Heaven assigns that mournful part Still shall be left some corner of the heart Where Love for living Thing can find a place. 1846. IX. FLOATING ISLAND. These lines are by the Author of the Address to the Wind, &c., published heretofore along with my Poems. Those to a Redbreast are by a deceased female Relative. HARMONIOUS Powers with Nature work Once did I see a slip of earth (By throbbing waves long undermined) Loosed from its hold; how, no one knew, But all might see it float, obedient to the wind; Might see it, from the mossy shore Dissevered, float upon the Lake, Float with its crest of trees adorned On which the warbling birds their pastime take. Food, shelter, safety, there they find; And thus through many seasons' space But Nature, though we mark her not, Will take away, may cease to give. |