TO THE MARQUIS OF NORTHAMPTON.
WHAT Milton, in his plenitude of fame,
Promised to him who kept his house from harms,
Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms!"*
Kind friend, thy courtesy from me might claim:
And if not mine the power to bid thy name
Have for remote posterity such charms,
An equal gratitude my bosom warms,
Giving my humbler verse as proud an aim!
purer meed than wealth or rank can seize
Is won by him-who hath an eye to see,
A heart to feel the worth of song, like thee;
To him the immortal Muse herself decrees,
What thou hast done unto the least of these
My votaries-shall survive as done to me!
* See Milton's Sonnet, written by him "when the assault was intended to the city."
A SONG, BY A SUFFOLK VILLAGER.
O SAD yellow-hammer! that singest to me,
While blows by my window the swinging birch tree;
That sorrowful cadence is sweet to mine ear,
For it seeks the forgotten, and summons them here.
O sad yellow-hammer! what long years ago Through the old woody places we two used to go; Just that very note falling from bough after bough, It seemed the same bird that sits singing here now.
O sad yellow-hammer! there was a dun cow
Used to be always grazing, where space would allow The tall grass to shoot up, and primrose leaves green, Beside the park palings the tree stems between.
O sad yellow-hammer! a little black dog
Used to flit like a spirit through brier and bog;
The violets all purple bent under its tread,
And the rose-leaves fell down on its beautiful head.
You may go to those woody lanes day after day,
But the cow and the dog they are always away;
I hear in the dim shade, un-life-lighted now,
But the sad yellow-hammer that sings on the bough.
When Summer was Summer, beneath those green trees,
A musical voice used to blend with the breeze ;
I never went roaming the hazel-wood's side,
dark eye flashed by me, a step at my side.
I've outgrown the childhood when we wandered so,
And for hazel-nuts caring have left long ago;
But, sad yellow-hammer, within the birch bough,
I care for the tones thou art bringing back now!
O sad yellow-hammer! while thou sing'st to me,
A carol comes floating far over the sea;
A light laugh is ringing where billows gleam pale,
And a distant voice singing to dare the wild gale.
O sweet yellow-hammer! that singest to me,
An anxious heart's blessing thy recompence be;
Ay, shake the light birch bough, and cheerly sing on,
For cheerly thou bringest back them that are gone!
MEMORY OF ELIZABETH HODGKIN.
LILIES, spotless in their whiteness,
Fountains, stainless in their brightness,
Suns, in cloudless lustre sinking,
Fragrant flowers, fresh breezes drinking,
Music, dying while we listen,
Dew-drops, falling as they glisten;
All things brief, and bright, and fair,
Many might with thee compare.
Symbols these of time and earth;
Not of thy more hidden worth!
Charms, THY memory which endear,
Were not of this lower sphere;
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