[From Poetical Sketches.]

TO THE EVENING STAR.

Thou fair-haired Angel of the Evening,

Now whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love-thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves; and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes

In timely sleep. Let thy West Wind sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes
And wash the dusk with silver.-Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest,
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew; protect them with thine influence!

SONG.

How sweet I roamed from field to field,

And tasted all the summer's pride;

Till I the Prince of Love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He showed me lilies for my hair,

And blushing roses for my brow;
And led me through his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;

He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then laughing sports and plays with me,

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

SONG.

My silks and fine array,

My smiles and languished air, By love are driven away;

And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heaven

When springing buds unfold; Oh, why to him was 't given Whose heart is wintry cold?

His breast is love's all-worshipped tomb Where all love's pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding sheet; When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempest beat; Then down I'll lie as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!

SONG.

Memory, hither come

And tune your merry notes;

And while upon the wind

Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream

Where sighing lovers dream,

And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song,
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along;

And when night comes I'll go

To places fit for woe,

Walking along the darkened valley,

With silent Melancholy.

MAD SONG.

The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold,
Come hither, Sleep,

And my griefs enfold:
But lo! the morning peeps

Over the eastern steeps,

And the rustling beds of dawn

The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault

Of paved heaven

With sorrow fraught

My notes are driven;

They strike the ear of night,

Make weak the eyes of day;

They make mad the roaring winds
And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud

With howling woe After night I do crowd

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east

From whence comforts have increased;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain.

TO THE MUSES.

Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun that now
From ancient melody have ceased;
Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the Earth,
Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove
Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove;
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry:

How have you left your ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few.

[From Songs of Innocence.]

INTRODUCTION.

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me :-

'Pipe a song about a lamb:'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again :'
So I piped; he wept to hear.

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
Sing thy songs of happy cheer :'
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read '-
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.

THE LAMB.

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life and bade thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb I'll tell thee;

Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb;
He is meek and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.

Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

NIGHT.

The sun descending in the west,

The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,

And I must seek for mine.