"I CANNOT FORGET." 145 "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION." I CANNOT forget with what fervid devotion I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame: Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean, To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. And deep were my musings in life's early blossom, 'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened, All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene; Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing, N Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded; In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain, Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken, years. TO A MUSQUITO. 147 TO A MUSQUITO. FAIR insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint: I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, Has not the honour of so proud a birth,- For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along; The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, And as its grateful odours met thy sense, They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway— By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite! Thou wailest, when I talk of beauty's light, Thou art a wayward being-well-come near, TO A MUSQUITO. What sayst thou-slanderer!-rouge makes thee sick? And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood? That bloom was made to look at, not to touch; Thou'rt welcome to the town-but why come here And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet: Go to the men for whom, in ocean's hall, The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls. 149 |