THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

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One morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter time) A Woman in the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient Spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Proud was I that my country bred Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10 She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate; I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke, With the first word I had to spare I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak What's that which on your arm you bear?" She answer'd soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said, "I had a Son, who many a day 20 Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead; In Denmark he was cast away; And I have been as far as Hull, to see What clothes he might have left, or other property."

"The Bird and Cage they both were his; 'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages This Singing-bird hath gone with him; When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind; As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind." 30

"He to a Fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watch'd and fed, Till he came back again; and there I found it when my Son was dead; And now, God help me for my little wit! I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE [Footnote: Common Pilewort.]

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Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far For the finding of a star; 10 Up and down the heavens they go, Men that keep a mighty rout! I'm as great as they, I trow, Since the day I found thee out, Little flower!—I'll make a stir Like a great Astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an Elf Bold, and lavish of thyself, Since we needs must first have met I have seen thee, high and low, 20 Thirty years or more, and yet 'Twas a face I did not know; Thou hast now, go where I may, Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the Thrush Has a thought about its nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast Like a careless Prodigal; 30 Telling tales about the sun, When we've little warmth, or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood! Travel with the multitude; Never heed them; I aver That they all are wanton Wooers; But the thrifty Cottager, Who stirs little out of doors, Joys to spy thee near her home, Spring is coming, Thou art come! 40

Comfort have thou of thy merit, Kindly, unassuming Spirit! Careless of thy neighbourhood, Thou dost shew thy pleasant face On the moor, and in the wood. In the lane—there's not a place, Howsoever mean it be, But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befal the yellow Flowers, Children of the flaring hours! 50 Buttercups, that will be seen, Whether we will see or no; Others, too, of lofty mien; They have done as worldlings do, Taken praise that should be thine, Little, humble Celandine!

Prophet of delight and mirth, Scorn'd and slighted upon earth! Herald of a mighty band, Of a joyous train ensuing, 60 Singing at my heart's command, In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love!