Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/242
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NATURE.
Tell us a tale of wonder. They recall,
To Fancy's vision many a lordly scene,
What time chivalrous England's virgin queen
Graced martial tournament, and festive hall,
A sovereign and a guest! Instructive pile!
We learn, while musing 'mid thy ruined maze,
The story of thy former greatness—while
On every breeze there comes a voice which says,
"Though earthly grace and grandeur have their day,
Their night, like thine, will come—their darkness and decay!"
To Fancy's vision many a lordly scene,
What time chivalrous England's virgin queen
Graced martial tournament, and festive hall,
A sovereign and a guest! Instructive pile!
We learn, while musing 'mid thy ruined maze,
The story of thy former greatness—while
On every breeze there comes a voice which says,
"Though earthly grace and grandeur have their day,
Their night, like thine, will come—their darkness and decay!"
Nature.
I love to sit upon some steep
That overhangs the billowy deep,
And hear the waters roar;
I love to see the big waves fly,
And swell their bosoms to the sky,
Then burst upon the shore.
That overhangs the billowy deep,
And hear the waters roar;
I love to see the big waves fly,
And swell their bosoms to the sky,
Then burst upon the shore.
I love, when seated on its brow,
To look o'er all the world below,
And eye the distant vale;
From thence to see the waving corn,
With yellow hue the hills adorn,
And bend before the gale.
To look o'er all the world below,
And eye the distant vale;
From thence to see the waving corn,
With yellow hue the hills adorn,
And bend before the gale.
I love far downward to behold
The shepherd with his bleating fold,
And hear the tinkling sound
Of little bell and mellow flute,
Wafted on zephyrs, soft, now mute,
Then swell in echoes round.
The shepherd with his bleating fold,
And hear the tinkling sound
Of little bell and mellow flute,
Wafted on zephyrs, soft, now mute,
Then swell in echoes round.
I love to range the valleys too,
And towering hills from thence to view,
Which rear their heads so high;
When nought beside, around, is seen
But one extended space between,
And overhead the sky.
And towering hills from thence to view,
Which rear their heads so high;
When nought beside, around, is seen
But one extended space between,
And overhead the sky.
I love to see, at close of day,
Spread o'er the hills the sun's broad ray,
While rolling down the west;
When every cloud in rich attire
And half the sky, that seems on fire,
For purple robes is drest.
Spread o'er the hills the sun's broad ray,
While rolling down the west;
When every cloud in rich attire
And half the sky, that seems on fire,
For purple robes is drest.