O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.

V.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

WITHIN our happy Castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took.
Here on his hours he hung as on a book;
On his own time here would he float away,

As doth a fly upon a summer brook;

But go to-morrow-or belike to-day

Seek for him, he is fled; and whither none can say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home

And find elsewhere his business or delight;

Out of our Valley's limits did he roam :

Full many a time, upon a stormy night,

His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:

!

Oft did we see him driving full in view

At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this man

When he came back to us, a withered flower,—
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.

Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:

And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,

Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;

And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew ;
For happier soul no living creature has
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo;

Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong:

But Verse was what he had been wedded to;

And his own mind did like a tempest strong

Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.

With him there often walked in friendly guise
Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree
A noticeable Man with large grey eyes,
And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
As if a blooming face it ought to be;
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear

Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;

Profound his forehead was, though not severe;

Yet some did think that he had little business here:

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right;
Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;

His limbs would toss about him with delight

Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.

Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy
To banish listlessness and irksome care;

He would have taught you how you might employ
Yourself; and many did to him repair,—

And, certes, not in vain; he had inventions rare.

Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried:

Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,

Made to his ear attentively applied

A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play;
Glasses he had, that little things display,-
The beetle with hisradiance manifold,

A mailed angel on a battle day;

And cups of flowers, and herbage green and gold; And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.

He would entice that other Man to hear
His music, and to view his imagery:

And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,
As far as love in such a place could be;

There did they dwell-from earthly labour free,
As happy spirits as were ever seen;

If but a bird, to keep them company,

Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,

As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden Queen.