. Poems . d the wood sends up its , gathering round his bed, they climb to shareHis kisses, and with gentle violence thereBreak in upon a dream not half so fair,Up to the hill-top leads their little feet;Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meetThe stag-herd on its march, perchance to hearThe otter rustling in the sedgy mere;Or to the echo near the Abbots tree,That gave him back his words of pleasantry—When the House stood, no merrier man than he!And, as they wander with a keen but a leveret catch their quicker sightDown a green alley, or a squirrel thenClimb the gnarled
. Poems . d the wood sends up its , gathering round his bed, they climb to shareHis kisses, and with gentle violence thereBreak in upon a dream not half so fair,Up to the hill-top leads their little feet;Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meetThe stag-herd on its march, perchance to hearThe otter rustling in the sedgy mere;Or to the echo near the Abbots tree,That gave him back his words of pleasantry—When the House stood, no merrier man than he!And, as they wander with a keen but a leveret catch their quicker sightDown a green alley, or a squirrel thenClimb the gnarled oak, and look and climb but a moth flit by, an acorn turns their thoughts to Him who made them all;These with unequal footsteps following clinging by his cloak, unwilling to be last. 80 The shepherd on Tornaros misty brow,And the swart seaman, saihng far undeUghted watch the morning rayPurphng the orient—till it breaks away,And burns and blazes into glorious day!. 81 But happier still is he who bends to traceThat sun, the soul, just dawning in the face;The burst, the glow, the animating strife,The thoughts and passions stirring into life;The forming utterance, the inquiiing glance,The giant waking from his ten-fold trance,Till up he starts as conscious whence he came,And all is light within the trembling frame! What then a Fathers feelings ? Joy and FearIn turn prevail, Joy most; and through the yearTempering the ardent, urging night and dayHim who shrinks back or wanders from the way,Praising each highly—from a wish to raiseTheir merits to the level of his Praise,Onward in their observing sight he of wrong, in awe of whom he loves !Their sacred presence who shall dare profane ?Who, when He slumbers, hope to fix a stain ?He lives a model in his life to show,That, when he dies and through the world they go,Some men may pause and say, when some admire, They are his sons, and worthy of their sire! But Man is born to suffe
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrogerssamue, bookcentury1800, bookidpoemssam00rogerich
