I.Pensive at eve on thehardworld I mus'd,Andmy poorheart was sad: so at the MoonI gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd!—for, ah! how soonEve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'dWith tearful vacancy thedampygrassWhich wept and glitter'd in thepalyray;AndI did pause meon my lonely way,Andmused meon thosewretched oneswho passO'er the black heathof Sorrow. But, alas!Most ofMyselfI thought: when it befellThat thesoothSpirit of the breezy woodBreath'd in mine ear—'All this is very well;But much ofonething is fornothing good.'Ah! mypoor heart'sINEXPLICABLE SWELL!
I.Pensive at eve on thehardworld I mus'd,Andmy poorheart was sad: so at the MoonI gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd!—for, ah! how soonEve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'dWith tearful vacancy thedampygrassWhich wept and glitter'd in thepalyray;AndI did pause meon my lonely way,Andmused meon thosewretched oneswho passO'er the black heathof Sorrow. But, alas!Most ofMyselfI thought: when it befellThat thesoothSpirit of the breezy woodBreath'd in mine ear—'All this is very well;But much ofonething is fornothing good.'Ah! mypoor heart'sINEXPLICABLE SWELL!
Pensive at eve on thehardworld I mus'd,Andmy poorheart was sad: so at the MoonI gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd!—for, ah! how soonEve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'dWith tearful vacancy thedampygrassWhich wept and glitter'd in thepalyray;AndI did pause meon my lonely way,Andmused meon thosewretched oneswho passO'er the black heathof Sorrow. But, alas!Most ofMyselfI thought: when it befellThat thesoothSpirit of the breezy woodBreath'd in mine ear—'All this is very well;But much ofonething is fornothing good.'Ah! mypoor heart'sINEXPLICABLE SWELL!
Pensive at eve on thehardworld I mus'd,
Andmy poorheart was sad: so at the Moon
I gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd!—for, ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd
With tearful vacancy thedampygrass
Which wept and glitter'd in thepalyray;
AndI did pause meon my lonely way,
Andmused meon thosewretched oneswho pass
O'er the black heathof Sorrow. But, alas!
Most ofMyselfI thought: when it befell
That thesoothSpirit of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear—'All this is very well;
But much ofonething is fornothing good.'
Ah! mypoor heart'sINEXPLICABLE SWELL!
II.To Simplicity.O! I do love thee, meekSimplicity!For of thy lays the lulling simplenessGoes to my heart and soothes each small distress,Distress though small, yet haply great to me!'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest padI amble on; yet, though I know not why,Sosad I am!—but should a friend and IGrow cool andmiff, O! I amverysad!And then with sonnets and with sympathyMy dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,Now raving at mankind in general;But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,All very simple, meek Simplicity!
II.To Simplicity.O! I do love thee, meekSimplicity!For of thy lays the lulling simplenessGoes to my heart and soothes each small distress,Distress though small, yet haply great to me!'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest padI amble on; yet, though I know not why,Sosad I am!—but should a friend and IGrow cool andmiff, O! I amverysad!And then with sonnets and with sympathyMy dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,Now raving at mankind in general;But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,All very simple, meek Simplicity!
To Simplicity.
O! I do love thee, meekSimplicity!For of thy lays the lulling simplenessGoes to my heart and soothes each small distress,Distress though small, yet haply great to me!'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest padI amble on; yet, though I know not why,Sosad I am!—but should a friend and IGrow cool andmiff, O! I amverysad!And then with sonnets and with sympathyMy dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,Now raving at mankind in general;But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,All very simple, meek Simplicity!
O! I do love thee, meekSimplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress,
Distress though small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
Sosad I am!—but should a friend and I
Grow cool andmiff, O! I amverysad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general;
But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek Simplicity!
III.On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country.And this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,Yetayeshe haunts the dale whereerstshe stray'd;Andayebeside her stalks her amorous knight!Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noonPeeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!
III.On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country.And this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,Yetayeshe haunts the dale whereerstshe stray'd;Andayebeside her stalks her amorous knight!Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noonPeeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!
On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country.
And this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,Yetayeshe haunts the dale whereerstshe stray'd;Andayebeside her stalks her amorous knight!Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noonPeeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!
And this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yetayeshe haunts the dale whereerstshe stray'd;
Andayebeside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!