So sang a little clod of clay, Warbled out these metres meet : < Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to Its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.' HOLY THURSDAY Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land— Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song ? And their sun does never shine, And their fields are bleak and bare, For where'er the sun does shine," Babe can never hunger there, THE LITTLE GIRL LOST In futurity I prophetic see That the earth from sleep Shall arise, and seek In the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old She had wandered long, 'Sweet sleep, come to me 'Lost in desert wild "If her heart does ache, 'Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright Let thy moon arise, While I close my eyes.' Sleeping Lyca lay While the beasts of prey, VOL. 1. ALL the night in woe Lyca's parents go While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Arm in arm, seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see their child Pale through pathless ways F To this day they dwell In a lonely dell, Nor fear the wolvish howl THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER A LITTLE black thing among the snow, 'And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his priest and king, Who make up a heaven of our misery.' NURSE'S SONG WHEN the voices of children are heard on the And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. green, Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Your spring and your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise. THE SICK ROSE O ROSE, thou art sick! |