HOW MANY BARDS GILD THE LAPSES OF TIME

How many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy,-I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude:

But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime. So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;

The songs of birds-the whisp'ring of the leaves-

The voice of waters-the great bell that heaves

With solemn sound,-and thousand others more,

That distance of recognizance bereaves, Make pleasing music, and not wild up91816. 1817.

roar.

KEEN, FITFUL GUSTS ARE WHISPERING HERE AND THERE

KEEN, fitful gusts are whispering here and there

Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on
high,

Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:

For I am brimful of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously
crown'd.
71816. 1817.

TO ONE WHO HAS BEEN LONG IN CITY PENT

To one who has been long in city pent
Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,--to breathe a
prayer

Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,

Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair

Of luxury, and my young spirit follow The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo

Like a fresh sacrifice; or if I can bear The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring me to the fair

Visions of all places: a bowery nook Will be elysium-an eternal book Whence I may copy many a lovely saying About the leaves, and flowers-about the playing

Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid

And many a verse from so strange influence

That we must ever wonder how, and whence

It came. Also imaginings will hover Round my fireside, and haply there dis

Cover

Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander

In happy silence, like the clear meander Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot

Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot, Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dress

In breezy rest among the nodding stalks. The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks

To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear

Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,
Passing along before a dusky space
Made, by some mighty oaks as they
would chase

Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.
Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and
smile, and weep:
Some with upholden hand and mouth

severe;

Some with their faces muffled to the ear Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, Go glad and smilingly athwart the gloom;

Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways Flit onward-now a lovely wreath of girls Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;

And now broad wings. Most awfully intent

The driver of those steeds is forward bent,

And seems to listen: O that I might know [glow. All that he writes with such a hurrying