Conversations introducing poetry chiefly on subjects of natural history. For the use of children and young persons. By Charlotte Smith |
 | I. |
 | II. |
| 6. |
| 7. | CONVERSATION THE SEVENTH. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
 | Conversations introducing poetry |  |
CONVERSATION THE SEVENTH.
46
THE HUMMING BIRD.
Minutest of the feather'd kind,
Possessing every charm combin'd,
Nature, in forming thee, design'd
That thou should'st be
A proof within how little space,
She can comprise such perfect grace,
Rendering thy lovely fairy race,
Beauty's epitome.
Possessing every charm combin'd,
Nature, in forming thee, design'd
That thou should'st be
A proof within how little space,
She can comprise such perfect grace,
Rendering thy lovely fairy race,
Beauty's epitome.
Those burnish'd colours to bestow,
Her pencil in the heavenly bow
She dipp'd; and made thy plumes to glow
With every hue
That in the dancing sun-beam plays;
And with the ruby's vivid blaze,
Mingled the emerald's lucid rays
With halcyon blue.
Her pencil in the heavenly bow
She dipp'd; and made thy plumes to glow
With every hue
47
And with the ruby's vivid blaze,
Mingled the emerald's lucid rays
With halcyon blue.
Then placed thee under genial skies,
Where flowers and shrubs spontaneous rise,
With richer fragrance, bolder dyes,
By her endued;
And bade thee pass thy happy hours
In tamarind shades, and palmy bowers,
Extracting from unfailing flowers
Ambrosial food.
Where flowers and shrubs spontaneous rise,
With richer fragrance, bolder dyes,
By her endued;
And bade thee pass thy happy hours
In tamarind shades, and palmy bowers,
Extracting from unfailing flowers
Ambrosial food.
There, lovely Bee-bird! may'st thou rove
Thro' spicy vale, and citron grove,
And woo, and win thy fluttering love
With plume so bright;
There rapid fly, more heard than seen,
Mid orange-boughs of polished green,
With glowing fruit, and flowers between
Of purest white.
Thro' spicy vale, and citron grove,
And woo, and win thy fluttering love
With plume so bright;
There rapid fly, more heard than seen,
Mid orange-boughs of polished green,
With glowing fruit, and flowers between
Of purest white.
There feed, and take thy balmy rest,
There weave thy little cotton nest,
And may no cruel hand molest
Thy timid bride;
Nor those bright changeful plumes of thine
Be offer'd on the unfeeling shrine,
Where some dark beauty loves to shine
In gaudy pride.
There weave thy little cotton nest,
And may no cruel hand molest
Thy timid bride;
Nor those bright changeful plumes of thine
Be offer'd on the unfeeling shrine,
Where some dark beauty loves to shine
In gaudy pride.
48
Nor may her sable lover's care
Add to the baubles in her hair
Thy dazzling feathers rich and rare;
And thou, poor bird,
For this inhuman purpose bleed;
While gentle hearts abhor the deed,
And mercy's trembling voice may plead,
But plead unheard!
Add to the baubles in her hair
Thy dazzling feathers rich and rare;
And thou, poor bird,
For this inhuman purpose bleed;
While gentle hearts abhor the deed,
And mercy's trembling voice may plead,
But plead unheard!
Such triflers should be taught to know,
Not all the hues thy plumes can show
Become them like the conscious glow
Of modesty:
And that not half so lovely seems
The ray that from the diamond gleams,
As the pure gem that trembling beams
In pity's eye!
Not all the hues thy plumes can show
Become them like the conscious glow
Of modesty:
And that not half so lovely seems
The ray that from the diamond gleams,
As the pure gem that trembling beams
In pity's eye!
53
THE HEATH.
Even the wide Heath, where the unequal groundHas never on its rugged surface felt
The hand of Industry, though wild and rough,
Is not without its beauty; here the furze,
Enrich'd among its spines, with golden flowers
Scents the keen air; while all its thorny groups
Wide scatter'd o'er the waste are full of life;
For 'midst its yellow bloom, the assembled chats
Wave high the tremulous wing, and with shrill notes,
But clear and pleasant, cheer the extensive heath.
54
And bashful, hiding in these scenes remote
From his congeners, (they who make the woods
And the thick copses echo to their song)
The heath-thrush makes his domicile; and while
His patient mate with downy bosom warms
Their future nestlings, he his love lay sings
Loud to the shaggy wild—The Erica here,
That o'er the Caledonian hills sublime
Spreads its dark mantle, (where the bees delight
To seek their purest honey,) flourishes,
Sometimes with bells like Amethysts, and then
Paler, and shaded like the maiden's cheek
With gradual blushes—Other while, as white,
As rime that hangs upon the frozen spray.
Of this, old Scotia's hardy mountaineers
Their rustic couches form; and there enjoy
Sleep, which beneath his velvet canopy
Luxurious idleness implores in vain!
Between the matted heath and ragged gorse
Wind natural walks of turf, as short and fine
As clothe the chalky downs; and there the sheep
Under some thorny bush, or where the fern
Lends a light shadow from the Sun, resort,
And ruminate or feed; and frequent there
Nourish'd by evening mists, the mushroom spreads
From a small ivory bulb, his circular roof
The fairies fabled board—Poor is the soil,
And of the plants that clothe it few possess
Succulent moisture; yet a parasite
55
The wire like dodder winds; and nourishes,
Rootless itself, its small white flowers on them.
So to the most unhappy of our race
Those, on whom never prosperous hour has smiled,
Towards whom Nature as a step-dame stern
Has cruelly dealt; and whom the world rejects
To these forlorn ones, ever there adheres
Some self-consoling passion; round their hearts
Some vanity entwines itself; and hides,
And is perhaps in mercy given to hide,
The mortifying sad realities
Of their hard lot.
61
ODE TO THE MISSEL THRUSH
The Winter Solstice scarce is past,
Loud is the wind, and hoarsely sound
The mill-streams in the swelling blast,
And cold and humid is the ground.
When, to the ivy, that embowers
Some pollard tree, or sheltering rock
The troop of timid warblers flock,
And shuddering wait for milder hours.
Loud is the wind, and hoarsely sound
The mill-streams in the swelling blast,
And cold and humid is the ground.
When, to the ivy, that embowers
Some pollard tree, or sheltering rock
The troop of timid warblers flock,
And shuddering wait for milder hours.
While thou! the leader of their band,
Fearless salut'st the opening year;
Nor stay'st, till blow the breezes bland
That bid the tender leaves appear:
But, on some towering elm or pine,
Waving elate thy dauntless wing,
Thou joy'st thy love notes wild to sing,
Impatient of St. Valentine!
Fearless salut'st the opening year;
Nor stay'st, till blow the breezes bland
That bid the tender leaves appear:
But, on some towering elm or pine,
Waving elate thy dauntless wing,
Thou joy'st thy love notes wild to sing,
Impatient of St. Valentine!
Oh, herald of the Spring! while yet
No harebell scents the woodland lane,
Nor starwort fair, nor violet,
Braves the bleak gust and driving rain,
'Tis thine, as thro' the copses rude
Some pensive wanderer sighs along,
To sooth him with thy chearful song,
And tell of Hope and Fortitude!
No harebell scents the woodland lane,
Nor starwort fair, nor violet,
Braves the bleak gust and driving rain,
'Tis thine, as thro' the copses rude
Some pensive wanderer sighs along,
To sooth him with thy chearful song,
And tell of Hope and Fortitude!
62
For thee then, may the hawthorn bush,
The elder, and the spindle tree,
With all their various berries blush,
And the blue sloe abound for thee!
For thee, the coral holly glow
Its arm'd and glossy leaves among,
And many a branched oak be hung
With thy pellucid missletoe.
The elder, and the spindle tree,
With all their various berries blush,
And the blue sloe abound for thee!
For thee, the coral holly glow
Its arm'd and glossy leaves among,
And many a branched oak be hung
With thy pellucid missletoe.
Still may thy nest, with lichen lined,
Be hidden from the invading jay,
Nor truant boy its covert find,
To bear thy callow young away;
So thou, precursor still of good,
O, herald of approaching Spring,
Shalt to the pensive wanderer sing
Thy song of Hope and Fortitude!
Be hidden from the invading jay,
Nor truant boy its covert find,
To bear thy callow young away;
So thou, precursor still of good,
O, herald of approaching Spring,
Shalt to the pensive wanderer sing
Thy song of Hope and Fortitude!
69
ODE TO THE OLIVE TREE.
Altho' thy flowers minute, disclose
No colours rivalling the rose,
And lend no odours to the gale;
While dimly thro' the pallid green
Of thy long slender leaves, are seen
Thy berries pale.
No colours rivalling the rose,
And lend no odours to the gale;
While dimly thro' the pallid green
Of thy long slender leaves, are seen
Thy berries pale.
70
Yet for thy virtues art thou known,
And not the Anana's burnish'd cone,
Or golden fruits that bless the earth
Of Indian climes, however fair,
Can with thy modest boughs compare,
For genuine worth.
And not the Anana's burnish'd cone,
Or golden fruits that bless the earth
Of Indian climes, however fair,
Can with thy modest boughs compare,
For genuine worth.
Man, from his early Eden driven,
Receiv'd thee from relenting Heaven,
And thou the whelming surge above,
Symbol of pardon, deign'd to rear
Alone thy willowy head, to cheer
The wandering dove.
Receiv'd thee from relenting Heaven,
And thou the whelming surge above,
Symbol of pardon, deign'd to rear
Alone thy willowy head, to cheer
The wandering dove.
Tho' no green whispering shade is thine,
Where peasant girls at noon recline,
Or, while the village tabor plays,
Gay vine-dressers, and goatherds, meet
To dance with light unwearied feet
On holidays;
Where peasant girls at noon recline,
Or, while the village tabor plays,
Gay vine-dressers, and goatherds, meet
To dance with light unwearied feet
On holidays;
Yet doth the fruit thy sprays produce,
Supply what ardent Suns refuse,
Nor want of grassy lawn or mead,
To pasture milky herds, is found,
While fertile Olive groves surround
The lone Bastide.
Supply what ardent Suns refuse,
Nor want of grassy lawn or mead,
To pasture milky herds, is found,
While fertile Olive groves surround
The lone Bastide.
71
Thou stillest the wild and troubled waves,
And as the human tempest raves
When Wisdom bids the tumult cease;
Thee, round her calm majestic brows
She binds; and waves thy sacred boughs,
Emblems of Peace!
And as the human tempest raves
When Wisdom bids the tumult cease;
Thee, round her calm majestic brows
She binds; and waves thy sacred boughs,
Emblems of Peace!
Ah! then, tho' thy wan blossoms bear
No odours for the vagrant air,
Yet genuine worth belongs to thee;
And Peace and Wisdom, powers divine,
Shall plant thee round the holy shrine
Of Liberty!
No odours for the vagrant air,
Yet genuine worth belongs to thee;
And Peace and Wisdom, powers divine,
Shall plant thee round the holy shrine
Of Liberty!
| Conversations introducing poetry | |