Where was it that the famous Flower His bed perchance was yon smooth mound Delicious is the Lay that sings The path that leads them to the grove, And pity sanctifies the verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy: The grace of forest charms decay'd, And pastoral melancholy. That region left, the vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated Nature; And rising from those lofty groves Behold a ruin hoary, The shatter'd front of Newark's Towers, Renown'd in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in, For manhood to enjoy his strength, And age to wear away in! Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, Of studious ease and generous cares How sweet on this autumnal day And on my true-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather! "T were no offence to reason; The sober hills thus deck their brows I see but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe The vapours linger round the heights, They melt, and soon must vanish; W. WORDSWORTH B CCLIX THE INVITATION EST and Brightest, come away, Fairer far than this fair day, Which, like thee, to those in sorrow The brightest hour of unborn Spring Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, Strew'd flowers upon the barren way, Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear. Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Radiant Sister of the Day To the wild woods and the plains, Of sapless green, and ivy dun, Where the melting hoar-frost wets And the multitudinous Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In the universal Sun. CCLX P. B. SHELLEY THE RECOLLECTION OW the last day of many days NOW All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead: Up, do thy wonted work! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled, For now the earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. |