IV. Meek quietness without offence; V. Associates of thy name, sweet child! VI. So, when her tale of days all flown, When Heaven at length shall claim its own VII. Some hoary-headed friend, perchance, And oft, in momentary trance, VIII. E'en thus a lovely rose I view'd, In summer-swelling pride; Nor mark'd the bud that, green and rude, Peep'd at the rose's side. IX. It chanced, I pass'd again that way, In autumn's latest hour, And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray X. Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud, Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud, LINES WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGE-WATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRIstol. Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better For what so sweet can labored lay impart As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?-Anon. NOR travels my meandering eye Move with " green radiance" through the grass, O ever present to my view! And soothes your boding fears: Beloved Woman! did you fly Or Mirth's untimely din? But why with sable wand unblest I felt it prompt the tender dream, As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans Through yon reft house! O'er rolling stones In bold ambitious sweep, The onward-surging tide supply With mimic thunders deep. Dark reddening from the channell❜d Isle* The watch-fire, like a sullen star, Rude cradled on the mast. Even there-beneath that light-house towerIn the tumultuous evil hour Ere Peace with Sara came, Time was, I should have thought it sweet And watch the storm-vexed flame. And there in black soul-jaundiced fit When mountain surges bellowing deep Plunged foaming on the shore. Then by the lightning's blaze to mark And when a second sheet of light But Fancy now more gaily sings; The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel. As sky-larks 'mid the corn, On summer fields she grounds her breast: O mark those smiling tears, that swell Blest visitations from above, Such are the tender woes of Love When stormy Midnight howling round The tears that tremble down your cheek And from your heart the sighs that steal How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet I seize you in the vacant air, 'Tis said, in Summer's evening hour Flashes the golden-colored flower A fair electric flame: And so shall flash my love-charged eye, When all the heart's big ecstasy |