In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, [Leaving the soft bed to her sister] Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, * Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, In the smooth, scarcely moving + river-pool. She would resign one half of that dear name, * Adown the meadow to the woodbine bower-1802. † Scarcely-flowing-Il. THE DAY-DREAM.* FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE. F thou wert here, these tears were tears of light! But from as sweet a vision did I start As ever made these eyes grow idly bright! And though I weep, yet still around my heart A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, Touching my heart as with an infant's finger. My mouth half open, like a witless man, I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling— Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father, Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm! * Printed in The Morning Post, October 19, 1802. And lo! I seem'd to see a woman's form Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were ! I gazed with stifled breath, and fear'd to stir it, No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit! And now, when I seem'd sure thy face to see, Thy own dear self in our own quiet home; There came an elfish laugh, and waken'd me: 'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb, And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping. I bless'd him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping! TO A YOUNG LADY. ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER. WHY need I say, Louisa dear! How glad I am to see you here, A lovely convalescent; Risen from the bed of pain and fear, The sunny showers, the dappled sky, * * Printed in The Morning Post, December 9, 1799, and in The Annual Anthology, vol. ii., Bristol, 1800. The lines are there entitled "To a Young Lady on her first appearance after a dangerous illness," written in the spring, 1799. The young lady is named Ophelia in the original version of the poem.-ED. + The breezy air, the sun, the sky, The little birds that sing on high-1799. Their vernal loves commencing, Will better welcome you than I With their sweet influencing. Believe me, while in bed you lay, Besides, what vex'd us worse, we knew SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL. WRITTEN IN GERMANY. ‡ F I had but two little wings But thoughts like these are idle things, * Your danger taught us how to pray; ‡ Annual Anthology, Bristol, 1800. But in my sleep to you I fly : I'm always with you in my sleep! But then one wakes, and where am I? Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, HOME-SICK. WRITTEN IN GERMANY.* is sweet to him who all the week 'Tis Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. And sweet it is in summer bower, But what is all to his delight Who having long been doom'd to roam, * Annual Anthology, Bristol, 1800, |