4.

Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere,

To those who on my leisure would intrude
Reserved and rude,

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

5.

And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show,

All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away,

Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

6.

And as when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,

The Holly leaves a sober hue display

Less bright than they,

But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree?

7.

So serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng,

So would I seem amid the young and gay
More grave than they,

That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly Tree.

Westbury, 1798.

THE EBB TIDE.

SLOWLY thy flowing tide

Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes,
As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side,
Perceive its gentle rise.

With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, Yet little way they made, though labouring long Between thy winding shores.

Now down thine ebbing tide
The unlabour'd boat falls rapidly along;
The solitary helm's-man sits to guide,
And sings an idle song.

Now o'er the rocks that lay
So silent late, the shallow current roars;
Fast flow thy waters on their seaward way
Through wider-spreading shores.

Avon! I gaze and know

The lesson emblem'd in thy varying way;
It speaks of human joys that rise so slow,
So rapidly decay.

VOL. II.

Kingdoms which long have stood,

And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood They ebb to ruin fast.

Thus like thy flow appears

Time's tardy course to manhood's envied stage; Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years

Then hasten to old age!

Westbury, 1799.

THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR.

AND wherefore do the Poor complain?
The Rich Man ask'd of me; ...
Come walk abroad with me, I said,
And I will answer thee.

'Twas evening, and the frozen streets
Were cheerless to behold,

And we were wrapt and coated well,
And yet we were a-cold.

We met an old bare-headed man,
His locks were thin and white;

I ask'd him what he did abroad
In that cold winter's night;

The cold was keen indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he,
And therefore he had come abroad
To ask for charity.

We met a young bare-footed child,
And she begg'd loud and bold;

I ask'd her what she did abroad
When the wind it blew so cold;

She said her father was at home,

And he lay sick a-bed,

And therefore was it she was sent
Abroad to beg for bread.

We saw a woman sitting down
Upon a stone to rest,

She had a baby at her back

And another at her breast;

I ask'd her why she loiter'd there When the night-wind was so chill; She turn'd her head and bade the child That scream'd behind, be still;

Then told us that her husband served,
A soldier, far away,

And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.

We met a girl, her dress was loose
And sunken was her eye,
Who with a wanton's hollow voice
Address'd the passers-by;

I ask'd her what there was in guilt
That could her heart allure

To shame, disease, and late remorse;
She answer'd she was poor.