Her plumy mantle's living hues, And, sooth to say, an apter Mate Of feathered thing most delicate But, exiled from Australian bowers, And singleness her lot, She trills her song with tutored powers, Or mocks each casual note. No more of pity for regrets With which she may have striven! Now but in wantonness she frets, Or spite, if cause be given; Arch, volatile, a sportive bird And pleased to be admired! II. THIS moss-lined shed, green, soft, and dry, Not shunning man's abode, though shy, Strange places, coverts unendeared, She never tried; the very nest In which this Child of Spring was reared, Is warmed, thro' Winter, by her feathery breast. To the bleak winds she sometimes gives A slender, unexpected strain ; Proof that the hermitess still lives, Though she appear not, and be sought in vain. Say, Dora! tell me, by yon placid moon, Caressed, applauded, upon dainties fed, Or Nature's DARKLING of this mossy shed? XXII. THE DANISH BOY. A FRAGMENT. I. BETWEEN two sister moorland rills There is a spot that seems to lie 1825. And in this smooth and open dell A thing no storm can e'er destroy, II. In clouds above, the lark is heard, No beast, no bird, hath here his home; The Danish Boy walks here alone : III. A Spirit of noonday is he; Yet seems a form of flesh and blood; A regal vest of fur he wears, It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew; As budding pines in Spring; IV. A harp is from his shoulder slung; Of flocks upon the neighboring hill And often, when no cause appears, V. There sits he; in his face you spy No trace of a ferocious air, Nor ever was a cloudless sky So steady or so fair. The lovely Danish Boy is blest And happy in his flowery cove: From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; Like a dead Boy he is serene. XXIII. SONG FOR THE WANDERING JEW. THOUGH the torrents from their fountains Clouds that love through air to hasten, Helmet-like themselves will fasten What, if through the frozen centre And the Sea-horse, though the ocean If on windy days the Raven |