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ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.*
TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said,
* Inscribed on an arn in the flower-garden at Hafod.
DEAR is little native vale,
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy!
-Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept. And such is man; soon from his cell of clay To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!
THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND,
SEPTEMBER 2, 1812.
BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone,
the dial stands; That dial so well-known to me!
-Tho' many a shadow it had shed,
The fairy-isles fled far away ;
songs are heard at close of day;