A MORNING PICTURE. As a dreamy thought, and withouten dread JOHN WILSON. 115 116 YOUTH AND AGE. YOUTH AND AGE. PERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young! ah, woeful when! On winding lakes and rivers wide; That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Nought cared this body for wind or weather, Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; Oh, the joys that came down shower-like, Ere I was old! Ere I was old? ah, mournful ere, O Youth! for years so many and sweet, I'll think it but a fond conceit; THE CHILD AND DOVE. Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled; COLERIDGE. THE CHILD AND DOVE. HOU art a thing on our dreams to rise, 'Midst the echoes of long-lost melodies, And to fling bright dew from the morning back, Thou art a thing to recall the hours When the love of our souls was on leaves and flowers; Are they gone? can we think it, while thou art there, Is it not spring that indeed breathes free, And fresh o'er each thought, as we gaze on thee? No! never more may we smile, as thou Sheddest round smiles from thy sunny brow! 117 118 ODE. Yet something it is, in our hearts to shrine, To have met the joy of thy speaking face, To have felt the spell of thy breezy grace; To have lingered before thee, and turned, and borne MRS. HEMANS. ODE. HERE was a time, when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. ODE. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief; A timely utterance gave that thought relief, The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss I feel—I feel it all. Oh, evil day! if I were sullen, This sweet May-morning, And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, 119 |