She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, and Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
_A Phantom of Delight._
A gentle maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer.
_A Farewell._
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
_A Phantom of Delight._
Sister ... Thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies.
_Tintern Abbey._
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.
_The Sparrow's Nest._
'Tis her's to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of faith, and 'round the sufferer's temples bind
Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
_Weak is the Will of Man._
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due
Is praise....
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold;
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent.
_The Matron of Jedborough._
A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning due....
Her brow was smooth and white....
* * * * *
No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free,
She seemed as happy as a wave,
That dances on the sea.
_The Two April Mornings._
The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see,
Even in the motions of the storm,
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place,
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell.
_Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower._
How blest the Maid whose heart--yet free
From Love's uneasy sovereignty--
Beats with a fancy running high,
Her simple cares to magnify;
Whom Labour, never urged to toil,
Hath cherished on a healthful soil;
Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;
Whose heaviest sin it is to look
Askance upon her pretty self
Reflected in some crystal brook;
Whom grief hath spared,--who sheds no tear
But in sweet pity; and can hear
Another's praise from envy clear.
_The Three Cottage Girls._
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.
_A Phantom of Delight._
She was happy,
Like a spirit of air she moved,
Wayward, yet by all who knew her
For her tender heart beloved.
_The Westmoreland Girl._
This light-hearted Maiden....
High is her aim as Heaven above,
And wide as either her good-will;
And, like the lowly reed, her love
Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill;
Insight as keen as frosty star
Is to her charity no bar,
Nor interrupts her frolic graces.
_The Triad._
O Lady bright,
Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined
By favouring Nature, and a saintly mind,
To something purer and more exquisite
Than flesh and blood!
_Sonnet._
A maid whom there wore none to praise
And very few to love;
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.
_Poems of the Affections, 8._
Whether in the semblance drest
Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west,
Come with each anxious hope subdued,
By woman's gentle fortitude,
Each grief, through weakness, settling into rest.
_The Triad._
How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
_Poems of the Affections, 17._
Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth
To crush the mountain dew-drops,--soon to melt
On the flower's breast; as if she felt
That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue,
With all their fragrance, all their glistening,
Call to the heart for inward listening.
_The Triad._
Let other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing;
Rejoice that thou art not!
Heed not though none should call thee fair;
So, Mary, let it be
If naught in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart to heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.
_Poems of the Affections, 15._
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,
Through my very heart they shine;
And, if my brow gives back their light,
Do thou look gladly on the sight;
As the clear moon with modest pride
Beholds her own bright beams
Reflected from the mountain's side
And from the headlong streams.
_Poems of the Affections, 18._
How beautiful when up a lofty height
Honour ascends.
* * * * *
A Widow ...
She wasted no complaint, but strove to make
A just repayment, both for conscience's sake
And that herself and hers should stand upright
In the world's eye.
_The Widow._
The Maiden grew
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,
Though young, so wise, though meek, so resolute.
_Grace Darling._
In her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness he beheld,
Without a veil between.
_The Russian Fugitive._
We her discretion have observed,
Her just opinions, delicate reserve,
Her patience, and humility of mind.
Unspoiled by commendation....
_The Borderers._
O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne!
Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit
Beside an unambitious hearth to sit
Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown;
What living man could fear
The worst of Fortune's malice, wert thou near,
Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek,
That its fair flowers may from his cheek
Brush the too happy tear!
_The Triad._
Queen, and handmaid lowly!
Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares,
And banish melancholy
By all that mind invents or hand prepares;
* * * * *
Who that hath seen thy beauty could content
His soul with but a glimpse!
_The Triad._
Dear girl ...
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine;
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
_Sonnet._
I knew a maid,
A young enthusiast ...
Her eye was not the mistress of her heart;
Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste
Or barren, intermeddling subtleties,
Perplex her mind; but wise as women are
When genial circumstance hath favoured them,
She welcomed what was given, and craved no more,
Whate'er the scene presented to her view.
That was the best, to that she was attuned
By her benign simplicity of life,
... God delights
In such a being; for her common thoughts
Are piety, her life is gratitude.
_The Prelude._
Sweet girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!...
Never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and homebred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
* * * * *
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about three plays.
_To A Highland Girl._
A maiden ...
Lovely as spring's first note ... Pure
As beautiful, and gentle and benign.
* * * * *
A Flower....
Fairest of all flowers was she....
She hath an eye that smiles into all hearts,
* * * * *
Soon would her gentle words make peace.
_The Borderers._
Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved
To scorn the declaration,
That sometimes I in thee have loved
My fancy's own creation.
Imagination needs must stir;
Dear Maid, this truth believe,
Minds that have nothing to confer,
Find little to perceive.
Be pleased that Nature made thee fit
To feed my heart's devotion,
By laws to which all forms submit
In sky, air, earth, and ocean.
_Poems of the Affections, 16._