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In all beholders deep they mark,
Thou pretty art and fair,
well. But when I look on thee, I only know There lived a pretty maid some hundred years
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LIONARDO
ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA VINCI,
CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS.
The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lover's fears,
The greater Infant's feet, “O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly The Mother standing by, with trembling life ye lead.”
passion Blanch look'd on a rose-bud and little seem'd to Of devout admiration, heed.
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty She look'd on the rose-bud, she look'd round, adoration; and thought
Nor knows as yet the full event On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun Of those so low beginnings, had taught.
From whence we date our winnings, “I am worshipp'd by lovers, and brightly shines But wonders at the intent
Of those new rites, and what that strange child. “ All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's
But at her side “ Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud An angel doth abide, from the tree,
With such a perfect joy “My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's As no dim doubts alloy, gone from me.
Passing the dark condition
As if he surely knew “ This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly All the blest wonder should ensue, fear,
Or he had lately left the upper sphere, “ It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp'd And had read all the sovran schemes and divine here."
ON THE SAME.
ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE PLACE
FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN.
Who art thou, fair one, who usurp'st the place
MATERNAL lady with the virgin grace,
TO MISS KELLY.
METHINKS how dainty sweet it were, reclined
Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high
Nor of the busier scenes we left behind
With thy free tresses all a summer's day,
Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade. As tributes due unto your natural vein.
Or we might sit and tell some tender tale Your tears have passion in them, and a grace
Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn, Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow;
A tale of true love, or of friend forgot; Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot And I would teach thee, hady, how to rail trace,
In gentle sort, on those who practise not
When last I roved these winding wood-walks green,
Green winding walks, and shady pathways sweet,
Oft-times would Anna seek the silent scene,
Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat.
No more I hear her footsteps in the shade
Meets me self-wandering, where in happier days Lest the white mother wandering feet molest :
I held free converse with the fair-hair'd maid. Shrined are your offspring in a crystal cradle,
I pass'd the little cottage which she loved, Brighter than Helen's ere she yet had burst
The cottage which did once my all contain ; Her shelly prison. They shall be born at first
It spake of days which ne'er must come again, Strong, active, graceful, perfect, swan-like able
Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. To tread the land or waters with security.
Now fair befall thee, gentle maid !” said I,
And from the cottage turn'd me with a sigh.
THE FAMILY NAME.
What reason first imposed thee, gentle name,
Name that my father bore, and his sire's sire,
In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks,
Betwixt our ages, which then seem'd so great
And still by rightful custom you retain IF from my lips some angry accents fell,
Much of the old authoritative strain, Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind, And keep the elder brother up in state. 'Twas but the error of a sickly mind
0! you do well in this. 'Tis man's worst deed And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well, To let the “things that have been" run to waste, And waters clear, of Reason; and for me And in the unmeaning present sink the past : Let this my verse the poor atonement be In whose dim glass even now I faintly read My verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined Old buried forms, and faces long ago, Too highly, and with a partial eye to see Which you, and I, and one more, only know. No blemish. Thou to me didst ever show Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend An ear to the desponding love-sick lay, Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay
O! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,
That, rushing on its way with careless sweep, Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.
Scatters the ocean waves. And I could weep
O winged bark ! how swift along the night
Pass'd thy proud keel ! nor shall I let go by As loath to meet the rudeness of men's sight, Yet shedding a delicious lunar light,
Lightly of that drear hour the memory, That steeps in kind oblivious ecstacy
When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood, The care-crazed mind, like some still melody:
Unbonnetted, and gazed upon the flood, Speaking most plain the thoughts which do Even till it seem'd a pleasant thing to die,
To be resolv'd into th' elemental wave, possess
Or take my portion with the winds that rave. Her gentle sprite : peace, and meek quietness, And innocent loves, and maiden purity : A look whereof might heal the cruel smart Of changed friends, or fortune's wrongs unkind;
We were two pretty babes, the youngest she, Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart
The youngest, and the loveliest far, I ween, Of him who hates his brethren of mankind. Turu'd are those lights from me, who fondly yet we two did love each other's company;
And INNOCENCE her name. The time has been, Past joys, vain loves, and buried hopes regret.
Time was, we two had wept to have been apart
And my first love for man's society,
Defiling with the world my virgin heart-
My loved companion dropp'd a tear, and fled,
In what delicious Eden to be foundThough time has made the difference disappear That I may seek thee the wide world around!
That reverend form bent down with age and
pain, In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse
And rankling malady. Yet not for this Upon the days gone by; to act in thought
Ceased she to praise her Maker, or withdrew Past seasons o'er, and be again a child ;
Her trust in him, her faith, an humble hope To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slopo,
So meekly had she learn’d to bear her crossDown which the child would roll; to pluck gay For she had studied patience in the school flowers,
Of Christ ; much comfort she had thence derived, Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand
And was a follower of the NAZARENE.
THE SABBATH BELLS.
Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims
Tidings of good to Zion: chiefly when On the green hill top, Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof, Of the contemplant, solitary man, And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn, Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced Save by a slender-tapering length of spire,
No clue to his research, the lonely man
Him, thus engaged, the sabbath bells salute Her reverend image; I remember, too,
Sudden/ his heart awakes, his ears drink in
And softens with the love of human kind.
FANCY EMPLOYED ON DIVINE SUBJECTS.
The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever, Of friends offended, family disgraced
A lone enthusiast maid. She loves to walk Maiden high-born, but wayward, disobeying In the bright visions of empyreal light, Parental strict injunction, and regardless By the green pastures, and the fragrant meads, Of unmix'd blood, and ancestry remote,
Where the perpetual flowers of Eden blow; Stooping to wed with one of low degree. By crystal streams, and by the living waters, But these are not thy praises ; and I wrong Along whose margin grows the wondrous tree Thy honour'd memory, recording chiefly
Whose leaves shall heal the nations; underneath Things light or trivial. Better 'twere to tell, Whose holy shade a refuge shall be found How with a nobler zeal, and warmer love, From pain and want, and all the ills that wait She served her heavenly Master. I have seen On mortal life, from sin and death for ever.
Hath o'er-stock'd hell with devils, and brought COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT.
down From broken visions of perturbèd rest
By her enormous fablings and mad lies, I wake, and start, and fear to sleep again.
Discredit on the gospel's serious truths How total a privation of all sounds,
And salutary fears. The man of parts, Sights, and familiar objects, man, bird, beast,
Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch Herb, tree, or flower, and prodigal light of Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates heaven.
A heaven of gold, where he, and such as he, 'Twere some relief to catch the drowsy cry
Their heads encompassèd with crowns, their Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise
heels Of revel reeling home from midnight cups.
With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars Those are the moanings of the dying man,
Beneath their feet, heaven's pavement, far reWho lies in the upper chamber; restless moans,
moved And interrupted only by a cough
From damnèd spirits, and the torturing cries Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs. Of men, his breth'ren, fashion'd of the earth, So in the bitterness of death he lies,
As he was, nourish'd with the self-same bread, And waits in anguish for the morning's light.
Belike his kindred or companions onceWhat can that do for him, or what restore ? Through everlasting ages now divorced, Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices,
In chains and savage torments to repent And little images of pleasures past,
Short years of folly on earth. Of health, and active life-health not yet slain,
unheard Nor the other grace of life, a good name, sold
In heav'n, the saint nor pity feels, nor care,
Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,
Betwixt the sinner and the saint, to doom 'Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond ; Such disproportion'd fates. Compared with him, Weak Nature fears, though Charity must hope, No man on earth is holy call’d: they best And Fancy, most licentious on such themes Stand in his sight approved, who at his feet Where decent reverence well had kept her Their little crowns of virtue cast, and yield mute,
To him of his own works the praise, his due.