THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. O LEAVE this barren spot to me! Thrice twenty summers I have seen Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, FIELD FLOWERS. YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet wildings of Nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of birchen glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note Made music that sweeten'd the calm. Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, When the magic of nature first breathed on my mind, And your blossoms were part of her spell. Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore. Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, Had scathed my existence's bloom; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And I wish you to grow on my tomb. SONG. TO THE EVENING STAR. STAR that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free! That send'st it from above, Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Star of love's soft interviews, By absence from the heart. STANZAS TO PAINTING. O THOU by whose expressive art And sweeter by reflection please! In whose creative hand the hues Fresh from yon orient rainbow shine; I bless thee, Promethèan muse! And call thee brightest of the Nine ! Possessing more than vocal power, From Love, the Sire of Nature, sprung; Does Hope her high possession meet? But oh! thou pulse of pleasure dear, Lone absence plants a pang severe, |