Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees, Yet seeming still to hover; There! where the flutter of his wings My dazzled sight he oft deceives, As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain X. TO A SKYLARK. Up with me! up with me into the clouds! Up with me! up with me into the clouds ! With clouds and sky about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! 1803. I have walked through wildernesses dreary, And to-day my heart is weary; Had I now the wings of a Faery, Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine ; Lift me, guide me high and high To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, Drunken Lark! thou wouldst be loth To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. 1 XI. TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.* PANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'T is the little Celandine. Eyes of some men travel far Up and down the heavens they go, Modest, yet withal an Elf Bold, and lavish of thyself; Since we needs must first have met, I have seen thee, high and low, Thirty years or more, and yet *Common Pilewort. 'T was a face I did not know; Thou hast now, go where I may, Fifty greetings in a day. Ere a leaf is on a bush, When we 've little warmth, or none. Poets, vain men in their mood! Travel with the multitude: Never heed them; I aver That they all are wanton wooers; But the thrifty cottager, Who stirs little out of doors, Comfort have thou of thy merit, But 't is good enough for thee. Ill befall the yellow flowers, They have done as worldlings do, Prophet of delight and mirth, Herald of a mighty band, XII. TO THE SAME FLOWER. PLEASURES newly found are sweet February last, my heart First at sight of thee was glad; All unheard of as thou art, 1803. |