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_SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT_

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  She was a Phantom of delight
  When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
  A lovely Apparition, sent
  To be a moment's ornament;
  Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
  Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
  But all things else about her drawn
  From May-time and the chearful Dawn;
  A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
  To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

  I saw her upon nearer view,
  A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
  Her household motions light and free,
  And steps of virgin liberty;
  A countenance in which did meet
  Sweet records, promises as sweet;
  A Creature not too bright or good
  For human nature's daily food;
  For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
  Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

  And now I see with eye serene
  The very pulse of the machine;
  A Being breathing thoughtful breath;
  A Traveller betwixt life and death;
  The reason firm, the temperate will,
  Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;
  A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd,
  To warn, to comfort, and command;
  And yet a Spirit still, and bright
  With something of an angel light.



_The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY_.

  Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best,
  The pious Bird with the scarlet breast,
      Our little English Robin;
  The Bird that comes about our doors
  When Autumn winds are sobbing?
  Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
      Their Thomas in Finland,
      And Russia far inland?
  The Bird, whom by some name or other
  All men who know thee call their Brother,
  The Darling of Children and men?
  Could Father Adam open his eyes,
  And see this sight beneath the skies,
  He'd wish to close them again.

  If the Butterfly knew but his friend
  Hither his flight he would bend,
  And find his way to me
  Under the branches of the tree:
  In and out, he darts about;
  His little heart is throbbing:
  Can this be the Bird, to man so good,
      Our consecrated Robin!
  That, after their bewildering,
  Did cover with leaves the little children,
      So painfully in the wood?

  What ail'd thee Robin that thou could'st pursue
      A beautiful Creature,
  That is gentle by nature?
  Beneath the summer sky
  From flower to flower let him fly;
  'Tis all that he wishes to do.

  The Chearer Thou of our in-door sadness,
  He is the Friend of our summer gladness:
  What hinders, then, that ye should be
  Playmates in the sunny weather,
  And fly about in the air together?
  Like the hues of thy breast
  His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
  A brother he seems of thine own:
  If thou would'st be happy in thy nest,
  O pious Bird! whom Man loves best,
  Love him, or leave him alone!



_THE SAILOR'S MOTHER_.

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    One morning (raw it was and wet,
    A foggy day in winter time)
    A Woman in the road I met,
    Not old, though something past her prime:
    Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
  And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

    The ancient Spirit is not dead;
    Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
    Proud was I that my country bred
    Such strength, a dignity so fair:
    She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate;
  I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.

    When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
    With the first word I had to spare
    I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
    What's that which on your arm you bear?"
    She answer'd soon as she the question heard,
  "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."

    And, thus continuing, she said,
    "I had a Son, who many a day
    Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead;
    In Denmark he was cast away;
    And I have been as far as Hull, to see
  What clothes he might have left, or other property."

    "The Bird and Cage they both were his;
    'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim
    He kept it: many voyages
    This Singing-bird hath gone with him;
    When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind;
  As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind."

    "He to a Fellow-lodger's care
    Had left it, to be watch'd and fed,
    Till he came back again; and there
    I found it when my Son was dead;
    And now, God help me for my little wit!
  I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."



_TO THE SMALL CELANDINE_
           [Footnote: Common Pilewort.]

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  Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
  Let them live upon their praises;
  Long as there's a sun that sets
  Primroses will have their glory;
  Long as there are Violets,
  They will have a place in story:
  There's a flower that shall be mine,
  'Tis the little Celandine.

  Eyes of some men travel far
  For the finding of a star;
  Up and down the heavens they go,
  Men that keep a mighty rout!
  I'm as great as they, I trow,
  Since the day I found thee out,
  Little flower!--I'll make a stir
  Like a great Astronomer.

  Modest, yet withal an Elf
  Bold, and lavish of thyself,
  Since we needs must first have met
  I have seen thee, high and low,
  Thirty years or more, and yet
  'Twas a face I did not know;
  Thou hast now, go where I may,
  Fifty greetings in a day.

  Ere a leaf is on a bush,
  In the time before the Thrush
  Has a thought about its nest,
  Thou wilt come with half a call,
  Spreading out thy glossy breast
  Like a careless Prodigal;
  Telling tales about the sun,
  When we've little warmth, or none.

  Poets, vain men in their mood!
  Travel with the multitude;
  Never heed them; I aver
  That they all are wanton Wooers;
  But the thrifty Cottager,
  Who stirs little out of doors,
  Joys to spy thee near her home,
  Spring is coming, Thou art come!

  Comfort have thou of thy merit,
  Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
  Careless of thy neighbourhood,
  Thou dost shew thy pleasant face
  On the moor, and in the wood.
  In the lane--there's not a place,
  Howsoever mean it be,
  But 'tis good enough for thee.

  Ill befal the yellow Flowers,
  Children of the flaring hours!
  Buttercups, that will be seen,
  Whether we will see or no;
  Others, too, of lofty mien;
  They have done as worldlings do,
  Taken praise that should be thine,
  Little, humble Celandine!

  Prophet of delight and mirth,
  Scorn'd and slighted upon earth!
  Herald of a mighty band,
  Of a joyous train ensuing,
  Singing at my heart's command,
  In the lanes my thoughts pursuing,
  I will sing, as doth behove,
  Hymns in praise of what I love!