Page:Poems Cook.djvu/259

Thou wert nigh when the mountain streams gladden'd the sight,
 When the autumn's blast smote the proud tree;
In the corn-field of plenty, or desert of blight,
 I was sure, bonnie bird, to see thee.

I sang to thee then as thou sing'st to me now,
 And my strain was as fresh and as wild;
Oh, what is the laurel Fame twines for the brow,
 To the wood-flowers pluck'd by the child!

Oh, would that, like thee, I could meet with all change,
 And ne'er murmur at aught that is sent!
Oh, would I could bear with the dark and the fair;
 And still hail it with voice of content!

How I wish I could welcome the spring, bonnie bird,
 With a carol as joyous as thine;
Would my heart were as light as thy wing, bonnie bird,
 And thy beautiful spirit-song mine!

 

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FRAGMENT.

Man, Man, thou art too vain! Look round, and see
Mountain o'er mountain rising, till thine eye
Fails to observe the ether-circled tops,
Whose every atom is a work of might
And mystery as complex as thyself.
Gaze on the flood of waters rolling on
In strength and freshness. Billow after billow
Spreading in sudden fury to contend
With wind and cloud, or, hush'd in glassy rest,
Scarce ripples loud enough against the ship,
To lull the drowsy sea-boy to his sleep.

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