Poems in Two Volumes, vol 1 | Page 6

attend thy name?
Seven years, alas, to have received
No tidings of an only child;
To
have despair'd, and have believ'd, 10 And be for evermore beguil'd;


Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!
I catch at them, and then I
miss;
Was ever darkness like to this?
He was among the prime in worth,
An object beauteous to behold;

Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:

If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were
not base; 20 And never blush was on my face.
Ah! little doth the Young One dream,
When full of play and childish
cares,
What power hath even his wildest scream,
Heard by his
Mother unawares!
He knows it not, he cannot guess:
Years to a
Mother bring distress;
But do not make her love the less.
Neglect me! no I suffer'd long
From that ill thought; and being blind,
30 Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong;
Kind mother have I been,
as kind
As ever breathed:" and that is true;
I've wet my path with
tears like dew,
Weeping for him when no one knew.
My Son, if thou be humbled, poor,
Hopeless of honour and of gain,

Oh! do not dread thy mother's door;
Think not of me with grief and
pain:
I now can see with better eyes; 40 And worldly grandeur I
despise,
And fortune with her gifts and lies
Alas! the fowls of Heaven have wings,
And blasts of Heaven will aid
their flight;
They mount, how short a voyage brings
The Wanderers
back to their delight!
Chains tie us down by land and sea;
And
wishes, vain as mine, may be
All that is left to comfort thee.
Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 50 Maim'd, mangled by
inhuman men;
Or thou upon a Desart thrown
Inheritest the Lion's
Den;
Or hast been summoned to the Deep,
Thou, Thou and all thy
mates, to keep
An incommunicable sleep.
I look for Ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me; 'tis falsely
said
That there was ever intercourse
Betwixt the living and the dead;

60 For, surely, then I should have sight
Of Him I wait for day and
night,
With love and longings infinite.
My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass;

The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they
pass:
I question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my
mind;
And all the world appears unkind. 70
Beyond participation lie
My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any
chance to heave a sigh
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come
to me, my Son, or send
Some tidings that my woes may end;
I have
no other earthly friend.
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.

That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby show!
See the
Kitten on the Wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Wither'd
leaves, one, two, and three,
From the lofty Elder-tree!
Through the
calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round
and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think, 10 From the
motions that are made,
Every little leaf convey'd
Sylph or Faery
hither tending,
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and
mute,
In his wavering parachute.
--But the Kitten, how she starts,

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts;
First at one and then it's fellow

Just as light and just as yellow; 20 There are many now--now one--

Now they stop; and there are none--
What intenseness of desire

In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half way
Now she
meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her
power again:

Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian
Conjuror; 30 Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics play'd in the eye
Of a thousand Standers-by,

Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care

For the plaudits of the Crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over

wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40
'Tis a pretty Baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet:
Here, for
neither Babe or me,
Other Play-mate can I see.
Of the countless
living things,
That with stir of feet and wings,
(In the sun or under
shade
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,

Chirp and song, and murmurings, 50 Made this Orchard's narrow space,

And this Vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never
more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in Bands

Travell'd into distant Lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far
from human neighbourhood,
And, among the Kinds that keep
With
us closer fellowship, 60 With us openly abide,
All have laid their
mirth aside,
--Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his
colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the
apple-tree,
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms
inside out,
Hung with head towards the ground,
Flutter'd, perch'd;
into a round 70 Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest
Harlequin,
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen,
Light of heart, and light of
limb,
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the
mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in
it's prime,
They are sober'd by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,
80 If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring Rill;
That
from out the