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The small birds build there; and at summer-noon
Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers,
As in the shining grass she sate concealed,
Sing to herself.


Love, under Friendship’s vesture white,
Laughs, his little limbs concealing;
And oft in sport, and oft in spite,
Like Pity meets the dazzled sight,
Smiles thro' his tears revealing.

But now as Rage the God appears !
He frowns, and tempests shake his frame ! -
Frowning, or smiling, or in tears,
'Tis Love; and Love is still the same.


As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals,
And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals ;
Her softer charms, but by their influence known,
Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own.


WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs,
And my step falters on the faithless floor,
Shades of departed joys around me rise,
With many a face that smiles on me no more;
With many a voice that thrills of transport gave,
Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave !


Go—you may call it madness, folly;
You shall not chase my gloom away.
There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not, if I could, be gay.

Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,
You would not rob me of a treasure
Monarchs are too poor to buy.

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TRUNK of a Giant now no more! Once did thy limbs to heaven aspire ; Once, by a track untried before, Strike as resolving to explore

Realms of infernal fire.*

* Radice in Tartara tendit. - VIRG.


Round thee, alas, no shadows move!
From thee no sacred murmurs breathe !
Yet within thee, thyself a grove,
Once did the eagle scream above,

And the wolf howl beneath.

There once the red-cross knight reclined,
His resting place, a house of prayer ;
And, when the death-bell smote the wind
From towers long fled by human kind,

He knelt and worshipped there !

Then Culture came, and days serene;
And village-sports, and garlands gay.
Full many a pathway crossed the green ;
And maids and shepherd-youths were seen

To celebrate the May.

Father of many a forest deep,
Whence many a navy thunder-fraught !
Erst in thy acorn-cells asleep,
Soon destined o'er the world to sweep,

Opening new spheres of thought !

Wont in the night of woods to dwell,
The holy Druid saw thee rise ;
And, planting there the guardian-spell,
Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swell

Of human sacrifice !

Thy singed top and branches bare
Now straggle in the evening-sky;
And the wan moon wheels round to glare
On the long corse that shivers there

Of him who came to die !

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