Volume Ii Part 4 (1/2)

Look, five blue eggs are gleaming there!

Few visions have I seen more fair, Nor many prospects of delight More pleasing than that simple sight!

I started seeming to espy The home and shelter'd bed, The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by My Father's House, in wet or dry, My Sister Emmeline and I Together visited. 10

She look'd at it as if she fear'd it; Still wis.h.i.+ng, dreading to be near it: Such heart was in her, being then A little Prattler among men.

The Blessing of my later years Was with me when a Boy; She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love, and thought, and joy. 20

10. _GIPSIES_.

Yet are they here?--the same unbroken knot Of human Beings, in the self-same spot!

Men, Women, Children, yea the frame Of the whole Spectacle the same!

Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light: Now deep and red, the colouring of night; That on their Gipsy-faces falls, Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.

--Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I Have been a Traveller under open sky, 10 Much witnessing of change and chear, Yet as I left I find them here!

The weary Sun betook himself to rest.

--Then issued Vesper from the fulgent West, Outs.h.i.+ning like a visible G.o.d The glorious path in which he trod.

And now, ascending, after one dark hour, And one night's diminution of her power, Behold the mighty Moon! this way She looks as if at them--but they 20 Regard not her:--oh better wrong and strife, Better vain deeds or evil than such life!

The silent Heavens have goings on; The stars have tasks--but these have none.

11. _TO THE CUCKOO_.

O blithe New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice: O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the gra.s.s, I hear thy restless shout: From hill to hill it seems to pa.s.s, About, and all about!

To me, no Babbler with a tale Of suns.h.i.+ne and of flowers, 10 Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me No Bird; but an invisible Thing, A voice, a mystery.

The same whom in my School-boy days I listen'd to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways; In bush, and tree, and sky. 20

To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still long'd for, never seen!

And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain.

And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.