While thus before my eyes he gleams, A Brother of the Leaves he seems; When in a moment forth he teems His little song in gushes: As if it pleas'd him to disdain And mock the Form which he did feign, While he was dancing with the train Of Leaves among the bushes. 40

_TO A YOUNG LADY_, Who had been reproached for taking long Walks in the Country.

Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!

--There is a nest in a green dale, A harbour and a hold, Where thou a Wife and Friend, shalt see Thy own delightful days, and be A light to young and old.

There, healthy as a Shepherd-boy, As if thy heritage were joy, And pleasure were thy trade, Thou, while thy Babes around thee cling, Shalt shew us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.

Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave But an old age, alive and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.

"--_Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find_."

By their floating Mill, Which lies dead and still, Behold yon Prisoners three!

The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames; The Platform is small, but there's room for them all; And they're dancing merrily.

From the sh.o.r.e come the notes To their Mill where it floats, To their House and their Mill tether'd fast; To the small wooden isle where their work to beguile 10 They from morning to even take whatever is given;-- And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the Spires All alive with the fires Of the Sun going down to his rest, In the broad open eye of the solitary sky, They dance,--there are three, as jocund as free, While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Man and Maidens wheel, They themselves make the Reel, 20 And their Music's a prey which they seize; It plays not for them,--what matter! 'tis their's; And if they had care it has scattered their cares, While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"

They dance not for me, Yet mine is their glee!

Thus pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find; Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind, Moves all nature to gladness and mirth. 30

The Showers of the Spring Rouze the Birds and they sing; If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight, Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss, Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his Brother; They are happy, for that is their right!

_STAR GAZERS_.

What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pa.s.s it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a Barber's Poll, or Mast of little Boat, Some little Pleasure-Skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.

The Show-man chuses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square; And he's as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; Calm, though impatient is the Crowd; Each is ready with the fee, And envies him that's looking--what an insight must it be!

Yet, Show-man, where can lie the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame, A Boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? 10 Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault?

Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is this resplendent Vault?

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, Do they betray us when they're seen? and 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?

Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had, And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad? 20

Or must we be constrain'd to think that these Spectators rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the mult.i.tude, Have souls which never yet have ris'n, and therefore prostrate lie?

No, no, this cannot be--Men thirst for power and majesty!

Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, That doth reject all shew of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!

Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry & pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: 30 One after One they take their turns, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.

_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 name.

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 a.s.sembly! what an empire is this!

The weary have life and the hungry have bliss; 10 The mourner is cheared, and the anxious have rest; And the guilt-burthened Soul is no longer opprest.

As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, So he where he stands is a center of light; It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-faced Jack, And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.

That errand-bound 'Prentice was pa.s.sing in haste-- What matter! he's caught--and his time runs to waste-- The News-man is stopped, though he stops on the fret, And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's in the net! 20

The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore; The La.s.s with her barrow wheels. .h.i.ther her store;-- If a Thief could be here he might pilfer at ease; She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees!

He stands, back'd by the Wall;--he abates not his din; His hat gives him vigour, 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 Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a Band; 30 I am glad for him, blind as he is!--all the while If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile.

That tall Man, a Giant in bulk and in height, Not an inch of his body is free from delight; Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he!

The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.

There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower That long has lean'd forward, leans hour after hour!-- Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. 40

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 for you, Nor what ye are flying, or what ye pursue!