Then first I felt the parting pang;—
Sure the worst pang the Lover feels!
His Horse unruly from me sprang,
The pebbles flew beneath his heels;
Then down the road his vigour tried,
His rider gazing, gazing still;
'My dearest, I'll be true,' he cried:—
And, if he lives, I'm sure he will.
Then haste, ye hours, haste, Eve and Morn,
Yet strew your blessings round my home:
Ere Winter's blasts shall strip the thorn
My promis'd joy, my love, will come.
LINES OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO WHITTLEBURY FOREST,
NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, IN AUGUST, 1800.
ADDRESSED TO MY CHILDREN.
Genius of the Forest Shades!
Lend thy pow'r, and lend thine ear!
A Stranger trod thy lonely glades,
Amidst thy dark and bounding Deer;
Inquiring Childhood claims the verse,
O let them not inquire in vain;
Be with me while I thus rehearse
The glories of thy Sylvan Reign.
Thy Dells by wint'ry currents worn,
Secluded haunts, how dear to me!
From all but Nature's converse borne,
No ear to hear, no eye to see.
Their honour'd leaves the green Oaks rear'd,
And crown'd the upland's graceful swell;
While answering through the vale was heard
Each distant Heifer's tinkling bell.
Hail, Greenwood shades, that stretching far,
Defy e'en Summer's noontide pow'r,
When August in his burning Car
Withholds the Cloud, withholds the Show'r.
The deep-ton'd Low from either Hill,
Down hazel aisles and arches green,
(The Herd's rude tracks from rill to rill)
Roar'd echoing through the solemn scene.
From my charm'd heart the numbers sprung,
Though Birds had ceas'd the choral lay:
I pour'd wild raptures from my tongue,
And gave delicious tears their way.
Then, darker shadows seeking still,
Where human foot had seldom stray'd,
I read aloud to every Hill
Sweet Emma's Love, 'the Nut-brown Maid.'