MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. What more felicity can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with liberty? Fate of the Butterfly.-SPENSER. DEDICATION. TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. GLORY and loveliness have pass'd away; No crowds of nymphs soft-voiced and young and gay, A leafy luxury, seeing I could please With these poor offerings, a man like thee. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Places of nestling green for poets made.-Story of Rimini. I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. shorn, And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had play'd upon my heels: I was light-hearted, A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them; And let long grass grow round the roots, to keep them Moist, cool, and green; and shade the violets, A filbert-hedge with wild-briar overtwined, And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind Upon their summer thrones; there too should be The frequent-chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of light green brethren shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots: Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters, Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters, |