THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND. ALL the night in woe Lyca's parents go Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see their child Starved in desert wild. Pale through pathless ways Rising from unrest, The trembling woman pressed She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, armed with sorrow sore; Till before their way A couching lion-lay. Turning back was vain : Smelling to his prey ; When he licks their hands, Then they followed Where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell, Nor fear the wolvish how! A LITTLE black thing among the snow, Crying' weep weep !' in notes of woe! 'Where are thy father and mother? Say! 'They are both gone up to the church to pray. . Because I was happy upon the heath, And smiled among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taugh me to sing the notes of woe. '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 green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. 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, THE SICK ROSE. O ROSE, thou art sick! In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, Does thy life destroy. THE FLY. LITTLE Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? A man like me? I dance, And drink, and sing, Till some blind hand If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death; Then am I A happy fly. If I live, Or if I die. THE ANGEL. I DREAMT a dream!. What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled! And I wept both night and day, So he took his wings, and fled; I dried my tears, and armed my fears I was armed, he came in vain ; THE TIGER. TIGER, tiger, burning bright Could frame thy fearful symmetry? perfection In what distant deeps or skies On what wings dare he aspire? And what shoulder and what art What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? Dare its deadly terrors clasp? |