As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals; Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own.
Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake When the hern screams along the distant lake, Her little heart oft flutters to be free, Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key....
And dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl'd) Still sit as on the fragment of a world; Surviving all, majestic and alone?...
There, in that bed so closely curtain'd round, Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay, A father sleeps! Oh hush'd be every sound! Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away! ...