[They were a present from Miss Jewsbury, of whom mention is made in the note at the end of the next poem. The fish were healthy to all appearance in their confinement for a long time, but at last, for some cause we could not make out, they languished, and, one of them being all but dead, they were taken to the pool under the old pollard-oak. The apparently dying one lay on its side unable to move. I used to watch it, and about the tenth day it began to right itself, and in a few days more was able to swim about with its companions. For many months they continued to prosper in their new place of abode; but one night by an unusually great flood they were swept out of the pool, and perished to our great regret.--I. F.] One of the "Miscellaneous Poems."--ED. The soaring lark is blest as proud When at heaven's gate she sings;[597] The roving bee proclaims aloud Her flight by vocal wings; While Ye, in lasting durance pent, 5 Your silent lives employ For something more than dull content, Though haply less than joy.[598] Yet might your glassy prison seem A place where joy is known, 10 Where golden flash and silver gleam Have meanings of their own; While, high and low, and all about, Your motions, glittering Elves! Ye weave--no danger from without, 15 And peace among yourselves. Type of a sunny human breast Is your transparent cell; Where Fear is but a transient guest, No sullen Humours dwell; 20 Where, sensitive of every ray That smites this tiny sea, Your scaly panoplies repay The loan with usury. How beautiful!--Yet none knows why 25 This ever-graceful change, Renewed--renewed incessantly-- Within your quiet range. Is it that ye with conscious skill For mutual pleasure glide; 30 And sometimes, not without your will, Are dwarfed, or magnified? Fays, Genii of gigantic size! And now, in twilight dim, Clustering like constellated eyes, 35 In wings of Cherubim, When the fierce orbs abate their glare;--[599] Whate'er your forms express, Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are-- All leads to gentleness. 40 Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure; Your birthright is a fence From all that haughtier kinds endure Through tyranny of sense. Ah! not alone by colours bright 45 Are Ye to heaven allied, When, like essential Forms of light, Ye mingle, or divide.