And beauty too were more complete,
Appearing on the native stem,
In midst of buds and blossoms sweet,
And catching graces, charms from them.
Or blooming under eyes like thine,
Whose fond, soft gaze, whose tender tear,
Must also, losing power divine,
Awake no answering sweetness here.
For much of loveliness must sleep,
E'en when inspir'd and led by truth;
The faithful pencil aims to keep
Mildness and innocence and youth.
XVI.
To MRS. A.
An Hour was before me, no creature more bright,
More airy, more joyous, e'er sprang on my sight.
To catch and to fetter I instantly tried,
And "thou art my slave, pretty vagrant," I cried.
I had hold, and securely I thought, of its wing,
O! how I shall glory, so lovely a thing
To place by the cradle of friendship, and see,
With the aid of my captive, if I can be free.
Oh! while she is with me, some means may be found
To temper the air and to hallow the ground--
To make those entangling bind-weeds decay,
Drive Suspicion, who rear'd them, for ever away,
And leave all around, kind, and healthful, and gay!
When this can be compass'd, I'll build me a bower,
And twine in the trellice each sweet-scented flower--
Rare, delicate plants, whose large, fresh leaves shall fling
Green shadows, where birds in the stillness may sing.
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