First on high a radiant sun he painted,Which upon mine eyes with splendour glisten'd,And he made the clouds with golden border,Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter;Painted then the soft and feathery summitsOf the fresh and quicken'd trees, behind themOne by one with freedom drew the mountains;Underneath he left no lack of water,But the river painted so like Nature,That it seem'd to glitter in the sunbeams,That it seem'd against its banks to murmur.
What strange wonder do I see?Can it be?All my limbs of power are reft.And all strength my hand has left.Can it he?None are strangers that I see!And our brethren 'tis who goOn before, the way to show!Oh, the reckless impious ones!How they, with their jarring tones,Beat the time, as on they hie!Quick, my brethren!--let us fly!
[The strong resemblance of this fine poem to Cowley's Ode bearingthe same name, and beginning "Happy insect! what can be," will beat once seen.]
How the infant sleeps!Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage,Stranger? Wouldst thou ratherIn the open air still linger?Now 'tis cool! take thou the childWhile I go and draw some water.Sleep on, darling! sleep!
I need scarcely add that I have availed myself of thisopportunity to make whatever improvements have suggestedthemselves to me in my original version of these Poems.
Spite of wind and weather too.When the great and little fish
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