Or on the brooklet's margin laid,

Do

To watch its bright meanderings?

you love the hour of Nature's rest,

The sun-set of the summer day,

When each tiny cloud of the gorgeous west Is melting in that sun's last ray;

And earth too looks her loveliest,

As anxious to persuade his stay?

And do you love, the best of all,

The deep and pulseless hush of night?

To list the voice of the waterfall,

That dimly glimmers into sight;

And to view the vast sky's shadowy pall,

Bedropped with all its gems of light?

Oh, lov'st thou these?-then earth to thee
Is not of all her joy bereft ;
And whatsoe'er thy grief may be,
Her purest, holiest charm is left:

Thou still hast Nature's sympathy,

Though every other tie be cleft.

And be it so !-how merciful

Is the great Lord of earth and sky, To leave us still such flowers to cull From the dark fields of destiny! Else life would prove a thing so full Of pain-the wish might rise to die.

West Bilney Lodge,

Sept. 18, 1828.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY,

WITH A SPEEDWELL.

"I send the lilies given to me,

Tho' long before thy hand they touch,

I know that they must wither'd be,
But yet reject them not as such;

For I have cherish'd them as dear,

Because they yet may meet thine eye,

And guide thy soul to mine e'en here,

When thou behold'st them drooping nigh."

CHILDE HAROLD.-CANTO III.

KNOW'ST thou the flower of the green hill's side,

The flower of the sunny lea?

Oh, its name is tender as eventide;

But it's all too sad for me:

For it speaks of a fond, but deep regret

O'er feelings' dull decay;

As if those who lov'd could e'er forget

The friends that are far away!

And ne'er, oh ne'er, could I bear to distress thee

By breathing so harsh a thought;

Nor send the loveliest flower, my Jessie,

To bid thee forget me not.

But I send you this bright and beautiful blossom

Of heaven's most summer hue,

To speak of a thought that inhabits my bosom,

A prayer for a blessing on you.

Thy silken sail, on the world's wide sea,

To the changeful wind is given;

And blest be the flower that asks for thee

The breath and the light of heaven.

Soft be the breeze that wanders o'er thee,

Soft be the wavelet curled,

Till the far blue hills are capped with glory,

The light of another world.

Beautiful hills !-when all is past

The spirit's fond endeavour

Thence be thy welcome sung at last,
And there be thy home for ever!

Speed on; speed well; the fickle flower

Hath lost its charm to me;

I hoped it true-perchance its power

May prove more kind to thee.