The Sailor's Mother. ONE morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime : And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Such strength, a dignity so fair : She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, "What treasure," said I, "do you bear, Beneath the covert of your cloak, Protected from the cold damp air?” She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing-bird." And, thus continuing, she said, And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. "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 had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. "IIe to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety ;-there I found it when my son was dead; And now, God help me for my little wit! I bear it with me, Sir, he took so much delight The Daffodils. WANDER'D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, A host of golden daffodils; The waves beside them danced, but they In such a jocund company: I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, Lucy Gray. FT I had heard of Lucy Gray : No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;· The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night— And take a lantern, child, to light "That, father! will I gladly do; The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon." At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot band; He plied his work ;-and Lucy took Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night, At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept and, turning homeward, cried, "In Heaven we all shall meet : -When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Half breathless from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; |