’Twould tame the most malicious sprite To watch those eyes so azure bright, Upon the faëry pleasaunce bent With wishes gay as innocent; Or mark her, with more serious air, Tend her flower-darlings rich and rare; Or feed the bird that at her voice Would in its prison-cage rejoice; Or when in other mood she came To stoop above her easel’s frame, As true her taper fingers sped To trace the scene before her spread; Or view her, in green garden nook, Bend thoughtful o’er some gentle book; Or hear when, blithe as bird of spring, She half unconsciously would sing A lay like this—O ne’er again Those woods will hear so sweet a strain! SONG. O Nature! let me dwell with thee, The happy playmate of the bee; Thou bringest back the golden Spring,— I cannot choose but gaily sing! Old Winter’s gone with clouds and rain, And flowers are on the earth again, And birds fly forth with gladsome wing;— I cannot choose but gaily sing! The insects chirp as blithe they pass Among the dew-gemmed waving grass, Fresh verdure clothes each fairy-ring;— I cannot choose but gaily sing! O Nature! let me dwell with thee; Thou ne’er art stern and harsh to see, But mark’st each day by some bright thing, That makes thy children gaily sing. What wonder that a maid like this, With heart so pure, so full of bliss, The sternest only named to bless!— Nay—even her cold staid governess Forgot her formal rules, and smiled, As she—half woman, half a child— Would break her studies grave and long, With carolled snatch of such a song; Or fragment of the blithest dance, That ever Sylph had stolen from France; Or through the opened window hie, To chase the gorgeous butterfly! Delicious time! when life is new, And Pleasure opens wide to view Her paths of sunshine and of bloom, That in far distance hide the tomb; Ere one illusion false is known, Or one affection chilled, or flown. O Youth! how passing fair art thou, Ere care hath worn that open brow, Ere the fresh roses on thy cheek Sad tears have dewed—when but to speak Of joy, with rapture uncontrolled, Thy lips their coral gates unfold! Ere yet one bright and cherub trace Of Heaven hath parted from thy face, O Youth! so passing blithe and fair! Why should not Time thy gladness spare?