And see, where yonder stalks, in crimson pride, The tall flamingo, by the river's side, Stalks, in his richest plumage bright array'd, With snowy neck superb, and legs of length'ning shade. ROGERS. THE OLD HOUSE. MARK yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trees, See, through the fractur'd pediment reveal'd, Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! The chair of justice held the grave debate. Giants and genii claim'd each wondering ear; Oft, fancy led, at midnight's fearful hour With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower; Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. The storied arras, source of fond delight, With old achievements charms the wilder'd sight; Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro' their dust; MOTHER AND CHILD. THE day arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd: Oh! grant the cherub to her To her bosom prest, He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest. Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows ; How soon by his the glad discovery shows! As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy, What answering looks of sympathy and joy! When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise. But soon a nobler task demands her care, His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat. Released, he chases the bright butterfly; Oh, he would follow-follow through the sky! Climbs the gaunt mastiff slumbering in his chain, And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane ; Then runs, and kneeling by the fountain-side, Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide, A dangerous voyage; or, if now he can, If now he wears the habit of a man, Flings off the coat so much his pride and pleasure, His tiny spade in his own garden plies, She looks, and looks, and still with new delight. |