XXI. A FRAGMENT. BETWEEN two sister moorland rills A thing no storm can e'er destroy, In clouds above, the Lark is heard, No Beast, no Bird hath here his home; Pass high above those fragrant bells To other flowers; - to other dells Their burthens do they bear; The Danish Boy walks here alone: A Spirit of noon-day is he; He seems a Form of flesh and blood; A regal vest of fur he wears, In colour like a raven's wing; It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew; But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue As budding pines in Spring; Fresh as the bloom upon his face. A harp is from his shoulder slung; Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill And often, when no cause appears, There sits he: in his face you spy So steady or so fair. The lovely Danish Boy is blest And happy in his flowery cove: From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; And yet he warbles songs of war, That seem like songs of love, For calm and gentle is his mien ; Like a dead Boy he is serene. XXII. THE PILGRIM'S DREAM; OR, THE STAR AND THE GLOW-WORM. A PILGRIM, when the summer day A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof; Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield, Or lofty wood, shower-proof. He paced along; and, pensively, Halting beneath a shady tree, Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or seat, Fixed on a Star his upward eye; Then, from the tenant of the sky He turned, and watched with kindred look, A Glow-worm, in a dusky nook, Apparent at his feet. The murmur of a neighbouring stream A pregnant dream within whose shadowy bounds And That which glittered from afar ; And (strange to witness!) from the frame Much did it taunt the humbler Light That now, when day was fled, and night Hushed the dark earth - fast closing weary eyes, A very Reptile could presume To show her taper in the gloom, As if in rivalship with One Who sate a Ruler on his throne "Exalted Star!" the Worm replied, |