And now his struggling feet are foil’d,
And scorch’d, entangled, burnt, and soil’d,
His fragile form is lost — the wretched insect dies! 30
Emblem too just of one, whose way
Thro the calm vale of life might lay,
Yet lured by vanity’s illusive fires
Far from that tranquil vale aside,
Like this poor insect suicide 35
Follows the fatal light, and in its flame expires.
TO THE SNOW-DROP
Like pendant flakes of vegetating snow,
The early herald of the infant year,
Ere yet the adventurous Crocus dares to blow
Beneath the orchard boughs, thy buds appear.
While still the cold north-east ungenial lowers, 5
And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse
Or sallows shew their downy powder’d flowers,
The grass is spangled with thy silver drops.
Yet, when those pallid blossoms shall give place
To countless tribes of richer hue and scent, 10
Summer’s gay blooms, and Autumn’s yellow race,
I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament.
So journeying onward in life’s varying track,
Even while warm youth its bright illusion lends,
Fond Memory often with regret looks back 15
To childhood’s pleasures, and to infant friends.
VIOLETS
Sweet Violets! from your humble beds
Among the moss, beneath the thorn,
You rear your unprotected heads,
And brave the cold and cheerless morn
Of early March; not yet are past 5
The wintry cloud, the sullen blast,
Which, when your fragrant buds shall blow,
May lay those purple beauties low.
Ah, stay awhile, till warmer showers
And brighter suns shall cheer the day; 10
Sweet Violets stay, till hardier flowers
Prepare to meet the lovely May.
Then from your mossy shelter come,
And rival every richer bloom;
For though their colours gayer shine, 15
Their odours do not equal thine.
And thus real merit still may dare to vie,
With all that wealth bestows, or pageant heraldry.
TO A BUTTERFLY IN A WINDOW
Escaped thy place of wintry rest,
And in the brightest colours drest,
Thy new-born wings prepared for flight,
Ah! do not, Butterfly, in vain
Thus flutter on the crystal pane, 5
But go! and soar to life and light.
High on the buoyant Summer gale
Thro’ cloudless ether thou may’st sail,
Or rest among the fairest flowers;
To meet thy winnowing friends may’st speed, 10
Or at thy choice luxurious feed
In woodlands wild, or garden bowers.
Beneath some leaf of ample shade
Thy pearly eggs shall then be laid,
Small rudiments of many a fly; 15
While thou, thy frail existence past,
Shall shudder in the chilly blast,
And fold thy painted wings and die!
Soon fleets thy transient life away;
Yet short as is thy vital day, 20
Like flowers that form thy fragrant food;
Thou, poor Ephemeron, shalt have fill’d
The little space thy Maker willed,
And all thou know’st of life be good.
WILD FLOWERS
Fair rising from her icy couch,
Wan herald of the floral year,
The Snow-drop marks the Spring’s approach,
Ere yet the Primrose groups appear,
Or peers the Arum from its spotted veil, 5
Or odorous Violets scent the cold capricious gale.
Then thickly strewn in woodland bowers
Anemonies their stars unfold;
There spring the Sorrels veined flowers,
And rich in vegetable gold 10
From calyx pale, the freckled Cowslip born,
Receives in amber cups the fragrant dews of morn.
Lo! the green Thorn her silver buds
Expands, to May’s enlivening beam;
Hottonia blushes on the floods; 15
And where the slowly trickling stream
Mid grass and spiry rushes stealing glides,
Her lovely fringed flowers fair Menyanthes hides.
In the lone copse or shadowy dale,
Wild cluster’d knots of Harebells blow,
And droops the Lily of the vale 20
O’er Vinca’s matted leaves below,
The Orchis race with varied beauty charm,
And mock the exploring bee, or fly’s aerial form.
Wound in the hedgerow’s oaken boughs, 25
The Woodbine’s tassels float in air,
And blushing, the uncultured Rose
Hangs high her beauteous blossoms there;
Her fillets there the purple Nightshade weaves,
And the Brionia winds her pale and scolloped leaves. 30
To later Summer’s fragrant breath
Clematis feathery garlands dance;
The hollow Foxglove nods beneath,
While the tall Mullein’s yellow lance,
Dear to the meally tribe of evening, towers, 35
And the weak Galium weaves its myriad fairy flowers.
Sheltering the coot’s or wild duck’s nest,
And where the timid halcyon hides,
The Willow-herb, in crimson drest,
Waves with Arundo o’er the tides; 40
And there the bright Nymphea loves to lave,
Or spreads her golden orbs upon the dimpling wave.
And thou! by pain and sorrow blest,
Papaver! that an opiate dew
Conceal’st beneath thy scarlet vest, 45
Contrasting with the Corn flower’ blue,
Autumnal months behold thy gauzy leaves
Bend in the rustling gale, amid the tawny sheaves.
From the first bud whose venturous head
The Winter’s lingering tempest braves, 50
To those which mid the foliage dead
Sink latest to their annual grave,
All are for food, for health, or pleasure given,
And speak in various ways the bounteous hand of Heaven.
THE CLOSE OF SUMMER
Farewell ye banks, where late the primrose growing,
Among fresh leaves its pallid stars display’d,
And the ground-ivy’s balmy flowers blowing,
Trail’d their festoons along the grassy shade.
Farewell! to richer scenes and Summer pleasures, 5
Hedge-rows, engarlanded with many a wreath,
Where the wild roses hang their blushing treasures,
And to the evening gale the woodbines breathe.
Farewell! the meadows, where such various showers
Of beauty lurked, among the fragrant hay;
Where orchis bloomed with freak’d and spotted flowers,
And lychnis blushing like the new born day.
The burning dog-star, and the insatiate mower,
Have swept or wither’d all this floral pride;
And mullein’s now, or bugloss’ lingering flower, 15
Scarce cheer the green lane’s parched and dusty side.
His busy sickle now the months-man wielding,
Close are the light and fragile poppies shorn,
And while the golden ears their stores are yielding,
The azure corn-flowers fall among the corn. 20
The woods are silent too, where loudly flinging
Wild notes of rapture to the western gale,
A thousand birds their hymns of joy were singing,
And bade the enchanting hours of Spring time hail!
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The stock-dove now is heard, in plaintive measure, 25
The cricket shrill, and wether’s drowsy bell,
But to the sounds and scents of vernal pleasure,
Music and dewy airs, a long farewell!
Yet tho’ no beauteous wreaths adorn the season,
Nor birds sing blythe, nor sweets the winds diffuse, 30
This riper period, like the age of reason,
Tho’ stript of loveliness, is rich in use.
THE WHEAT-EAR
From that deep shelter’d solitude,
Where in some quarry wild and rude,
Your feather’d mother reared her brood,
Why, pilgrim, did you brave
The upland winds so bleak and keen, 5
To seek these hills? — whose slopes between
Wide stretch’d in grey expanse is seen,
The Ocean’s toiling wave?
Did instinct bid you linger here,
That broad and resdess Ocean near, 10
And wait, till with the waning year
Those northern gales arise,
Which, from the tall cliff’s rugged side
Shall give your soft light plumes to glide,
Across the channel’s refluent tide, 15
To seek more favoring skies?
Alas! and has not instinct said
That luxury’s toils for you are laid,
And that by groundless fears betray’d
You ne’er perhaps may know 20
Those regions, where the embowering vine
Loves round the luscious fig to twine,
And mild the Suns of Winter shine,
And flowers perennial blow.
To take you, shepherd boys prepare 25
The hollow turf, the wiry snare,
Of those weak terrors well aware,
That bid you vainly dread
The shadows floating o’er the downs,
Or murmuring gale, that round the stones 30
Of some old beacon, as it moans,
Scarce moves the thistle’s head.
And if a cloud obscure the Sun
With faint and fluttering heart you run,
And to the pitfall you should shun 35
Resort in trembling haste;
While, on that dewy cloud so high,
The lark, sweet minstrel of the sky,
Sings in the morning’s beamy eye,
And bathes his spotted breast. 40
Ah! simple bird, resembling you
Are those, that with distorted view
Thro’ life some selfish end pursue,
With low inglorious aim;
They sink in blank oblivious night, 45
While minds superior dare the light,
And high on honor’s glorious height
Aspire to endless fame!
AN EVENING WALK BY THE SEA-SIDE
’Tis pleasant to wander along on the sand,
Beneath the high cliff that is hallowed in caves;
When the fisher has put off his boat from the land,
And the prawn-catcher wades thro’ the short rippling waves.
While fast run before us the sandling and plover, 5
Intent on the crabs and the sand-eels to feed,
And here on a rock which the tide will soon cover,
We’ll find us a seat that is tapestried with weed.
Bright gleam the white sails in the slant rays of even,
And stud as with silver the broad level main, 10
While glowing clouds float on the fair face of Heaven,
And the mirror-like water reflects them again.
How various the shades of marine vegetation,
Thrown here the rough flints and the pebbles among,
The feather’d conferva of deepest carnation, 15
The dark purple slake and the olive sea thong.
While Flora herself unreluctantly mingles
Her garlands with those that the Nereids have worn,
For the yellow horned poppy springs up on the shingles,
And convolvulas rival the rays of the morn. 20
But now to retire from the rock we have warning,
Already the water encircles our seat,
And slowly the tide of the evening returning,
The moon beam reflects in the waves at our feet.
Ah! whether as now the mild Summer sea flowing, 25
Scarce wrinkles the sands as it murmurs on shore,
Or fierce wintry whirlwinds impetuously blowing
Bid high maddening surges resistlessly roar;
That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion,
Then bid the vast billows repose at His word; 30
Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Ocean,
Alike of the universe speak him the Lord.
THE HEATH
Even the wide Heath, where the unequal ground
Has never on its rugged surface felt
The hand of Industry, though wild and rough,
Is not without its beauty; here the furze,
Enrich’d among its spines, with golden flowers 5
Scents the keen air; while all its thorny groups
Wide scatter’d o’er the waste are full of life;
For ‘midst its yellow bloom, the assembled chats
Wave high the tremulous wing, and with shrill notes,
But clear and pleasant, cheer the extensive heath.
Linnets in numerous flocks frequent it too,
And bashful, hiding in these scenes remote
From his congeners, (they who make the woods
And the thick copses echo to their song)
The heath-thrush makes his domicile; and while 15
His patient mate with downy bosom warms
Their future nestlings, he his love lay sings
Loud to the shaggy wild. — the Erica here,
That o’er the Caledonian hills sublime
Spreads its dark mantle (where the bees delight 20
To seek their purest honey), flourishes,
Sometimes with bells like Amethysts, and then
Paler, and shaded like the maiden’s cheek
With gradual blushes — Other while, as white
As rime that hangs upon the frozen spray. 25
Of this, old Scotia’s hardy mountaineers
Their rustic couches form; and there enjoy
Sleep, which beneath his velvet canopy
Luxurious idleness implores in vain!
Between the matted heath and ragged gorse 30
Wind natural walks of turf, as short and fine
As clothe the chalky downs; and there the sheep
Under some thorny bush, or where the fern
Lends a light shadow from the Sun, resort,
And ruminate or feed; and frequent there 35
Nourish’d by evening mists, the mushroom spreads
From a small ivory bulb, his circular roof,
The fairies’ fabled board. — Poor is the soil,
And of the plants that clothe it few possess
Succulent moisture; yet a parasite 40
Clings even to them; for its entangling stalk
The wire[-]like dodder winds; and nourishes,
Rootless itself, its small white flowers on them.
So to the most unhappy of our race
Those, on whom never prosperous hour has smiled, 45
Towards whom Nature as a step-dame stern
Has cruelly dealt; and whom the world rejects,
To these forlorn ones, ever there adheres
Some self-consoling passion; round their hearts
Some vanity entwines itself; and hides, 50
And is perhaps in mercy given to hide,
The mortifying sad realities
Of their hard lot.
ODE TO THE MISSEL THRUSH
The Winter Solstice scarce is past,
Loud is the wind, and hoarsely sound
The mill-s
treams in the swelling blast,
And cold and humid is the ground;
When, to the ivy, that embowers 5
Some pollard tree, or sheltering rock,
The troop of timid warblers flock,
And shuddering wait for milder hours.
While thou! the leader of their band,
Fearless salut’st the opening year; 10
Nor stay’st, till blow the breezes bland
That bid the tender leaves appear:
But, on some towering elm or pine,
Waving elate thy dauntless wing,
Thou joyst thy love notes wild to sing, 15
Impatient of St. Valentine!
Oh, herald of the Spring! while yet
No harebell scents the woodland lane,
Nor starwort fair, nor violet,
Braves the bleak gust and driving rain, 20
’Tis thine, as thro’ the copses rude
Some pensive wanderer sighs along,
To soothe him with thy cheerful song,
And tell of Hope and Fortitude!
For thee then, may the hawthorn bush, 25
The elder, and the spindle tree,
With all their various berries blush,
And the blue sloe abound for thee!
For thee, the coral holly glow
Its arm’d and glossy leaves among, 30
And many a branched oak be hung
With thy pellucid missletoe.
Still may thy nest, with lichen lin’d,
Be hidden from the invading jay,
Nor truant boy its covert find, 35
To bear thy callow young away;
So thou, precursor still of good,
O, herald of approaching Spring,
Shalt to the pensive wanderer sing
Thy song of Hope and Fortitude. 40
ODE TO THE OLIVE TREE
Altho’ thy flowers minute, disclose
No colours rivalling the rose,
And lend no odours to the gale;
While dimly thro’ the pallid green
Of thy long slender leaves, are seen 5
Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works Page 16
