Imagens das páginas

Yet with harmonious pulses thrilled throughout,
That with one spirit inform the closing scene.

Lady, and thou my brother, ye whose hearts Have feeling, thankfulness, perceptions deep, Proportionate to that which ye enjoy, Well are ye matched; domesticated here, And linked harmoniously in golden chains, That make sweet music as ye walk along Your path in life, without discordant fears, Long may this cherished spot be blessed, and long May all the grove and all the day be yours.



EE, dearest girl, this image bright !

Why starts my fair one at the sight ? It mounts not on obtrusive wing, Nor threatens thee with angry sting. Admire, as close the insect lies, Its thin-wrought plume, and honeyed thighs, Whilst on this flowret's velvet breast, It seems as though 'twere lulled to rest, Nor might its fairy wings unfold, Enchained in aromatic gold. Think not to set the captive free: 'Tis but the picture of a bee.

Yet wonder not that Nature's power
Should paint a bee upon a flower;
And stoop to means that bear in part
Resemblance to imperfect art:
Nature, who could that form inspire
With strength and swiftness, life and fire;
And bid it search each spicy vale
Where flowers their fragrant souls exhale ;

And labouring well to store the hive,
With murmurs make the wild alive.

For when in Parian stone wę trace
Some best-remembered form and fące ;
Or bid on radiant canvass rise
An imitative Paradise ;
And feel the warm affections glow
Pleased with the pencil's mimic show;
'Tis but obedience to the plan
By Nature first proposed to man;
Who, lest her choicest sweets in vain
Should blossom for a thankless train;
Lest beauty pass

unheeded by
Like cloud upon the summer sky;
Lest memory of the brave and just
Should sleep with them, consigned to dust;
With leading hand the expedient proves,
And paints for us the form she loves.




THE favourite fawn is gliding to and fro,

With all the grace of Rylstone's famous doe, Down the green lane, and through the half-wild glade By over-arching birch and hazel made; Whose boughs subdue, but shut not out, the ray That chequers with soft light her sides of bay. Her every motion regular and free As liquid lapse of summer waves can be; Yet slow and stately, as a cloud goes by When only one is in the summer sky; And now she stands foreshortened, and at rest, A perfect model for some sculptured knightly crest.

But if her mistress should appear,
And in her hand an offering bear
Of apple, carrot, bread, or cake,
What sudden change that sight will make !
Upright she jumps on all four feet,
And hastes with bleating cry to greet
The hand that feeds her and caresses,
And with fantastic garlands dresses:

With eager neck, and nostril wide,
She begs and snuffs from side to side :
Where is the staid demeanour now-
The pace so stately and so slow ?
Sweet fawn, but thou art lovely still ;
Come without fear, and eat thy fill:
I care not, though thy wayward manners prove
Romance too often ends in cupboard love.


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