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TO A SKY-LARK.

THEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye.
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

1825.

THE PET-LAMB.

A PASTORAL.

THE 'HE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature,

drink!"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its

side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,

And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden

kneel,

While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening

meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

took,

Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a

tone

That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!

I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away: But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers

bring,

Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:

"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?

Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young One, rest; what is 't that aileth thee?

What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong?

thou art;

And beautiful

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st

not fear,

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

my

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was

gone.

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee

home:

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ?

A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee

yean

Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with

dew,

I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and

new.

Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are

now,

Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the

plough ;

My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is

cold

Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be That 't is thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?

Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come

there;

The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,-our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again !"

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was her's, and one half of it was

mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must

belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

1800.

SONNET.

WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;

Some lying fast at anchor in the road,

Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly Vessel did I then espy

Come like a giant from a haven broad;

And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
This Ship was naught to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look;

This Ship to all the rest did I prefer :

When will she turn, and whither? She will brook No tarrying; where She comes the winds must stir: On went She, and due north her journey took.

ODE TO DUTY.

"Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eò perductus, ut non tantum rectè facere possim, sed nisi rectè facere non possim."

STERN Daughter of the voice of God!

O Duty if that name thou love

Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove;

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