DESCRIPTION OF HAMPSTEAD.
A STEEPLE issuing from a leafy rise, With farmy fields in front, and sloping green, Dear Hampstead, is thy southern face serene, Silently smiling on approaching eyes.
Within, thine ever-shifting looks surprise,
Streets, hills, and dells, trees overhead now seen, Now down below, with smoking roofs between,A village, revelling in varieties.
Then northward what a range, with heath and pond, Nature's own ground; woods that let mansions
And cottaged vales with pillowy fields beyond, And clump of darkening pines, and prospects blue, And that clear path through all, where daily meet Cool cheeks, and brilliant eyes, and morn-elastic feet.
ON HER MODELLING A BUST OF THE AUTHOR.
Aн, Marian mine, the face you look on now Is not exactly like my wedding day's: Sunk is it's cheek, deeper-retired it's gaze, Less white and smooth it's temple-flattened brow. Sorrow has been there with his silent plough, And strait, stern hand. No matter, if it raise Aught that affection fancies it may praise, Or make me worthier of Apollo's bough. Loss, after all,-such loss especially,- Is transfer, change, but not extinction,—no ; Part in our children's apple cheeks I see; And, for the rest, while you look at me so, Take care you do not smile it back to me, And miss the copied furrows as you go.
WHO NEVER FOUGHT EITHER FOR BUONAPARTE OR THE ALLIES.
'Tis like thy patient valour thus to keep, Great Kosciusko, to the rural shade,
While Freedom's ill-found amulet still is made Pretence for old aggression, and a heap
Of selfish mockeries. There, as in the sweep
Of stormier fields, thou earnest with thy blade, Transformed, not inly altered, to the spade, Thy never-yielding right to a calm sleep.
Nature, 'twould seem, would leave to man's worse wit The small and noisier parts of this world's frame, And keep the calm green amplitudes of it Sacred from fopperies and inconstant blame.
Cities may change, and sovereigns; but 'tis fit, 'Thou, and the country old, be still the same.
TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET.
GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both though small are
your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.
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