Poems In Two Volumes, vol 2 | Page 8

is the triumph of his joy!
The
bravest Traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so bless'd. 140
And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For,
if good Angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,
This Child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament,
Which from the crowd on shore was
sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the
English tongue,
Are stifled--all is still. 150
And quickly with a silent crew
A Boat is ready to pursue;
And from
the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running Lake
They follow the blind Boy.
With sound the least that can be made
They follow, more and more
afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness
he can hear,
And guesses their intent. 160
"Lei-gha--Lei-gha"--then did he cry
"Lei-gha--Lei-gha"--most
eagerly;
Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,
And what he meant was,
"Keep away,
And leave me to myself!"
Alas! and when he felt their hands--
You've often heard of magic
Wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest
shew,
Or melt it into air. 170
So all his dreams, that inward light
With which his soul had shone so
bright,
All vanish'd;--'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter
loss,
As he had ever known.
But hark! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice:
'Tis
from the crowd, who tremblingly
Had watch'd the event, and now can

see
That he is safe at last. 180
And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy
band,
Which gathering round did on the banks
Of that great Water
give God thanks,
And welcom'd the poor Child.
And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little Dog took part;

He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation. 190
But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,

Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust
her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy.
She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:

Tears flow'd in torrents from her eyes,
She could not blame him, or
chastise:
She was too happy far. 200
Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was
saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased,
and reconciled
To live in peace on shore.
THE GREEN LINNET.
The May is come again:--how sweet
To sit upon my Orchard-seat!

And Birds and Flowers once more to greet,

My last year's Friends together:
My thoughts they all by turns employ;

A whispering Leaf is now my joy,
And then a Bird will be the toy
That doth my fancy tether.
One have I mark'd, the happiest Guest
In all this covert of the blest:
10 Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion,
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,

Presiding Spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May,
And this is thy dominion.
While Birds, and Butterflies, and Flowers
Make all one Band of
Paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment; 20 A Life, a Presence like the Air,

Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too bless'd with any one to pair,
Thyself thy own enjoyment.
Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,

Behold him perch'd in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings

Upon his back and body flings 30 Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.
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 shore come the notes
To their Mill where it floats,
To
their House and their Mill tether'd fast;
To the small wooden isle
where