Poems In Two Volumes, vol 2 | Page 9

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 pass 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 multitude,
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 assembly! 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 passing 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 Lass with her
barrow wheels hither 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,