88 TO A HAWK. And, while I gaze, my spirit flies, Gentle, yet bold, my greyhounds play ; On silver grass, or heather brown, And gild with young, poetic eye, The meanest flower that blossoms nigh; Or people the wild hills again With thousand fairy forms,-Titania's peerless train. III. Ah, happy home! and must it be To wander, restless, far from thee,— I will not make thee sport again : Patient I'll suffer on, and look to thee no more! BARNARD. GLORIOUS remnant of the Gothic pile, (While yet the church was Rome's), stood half apart In a grand arch, which once screened many an aisle ; These last had disappeared-a loss to art: The first yet frowned superbly o'er the soil, And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, 88 TO A HAWK. And, while I gaze, my spirit flies, Gentle, yet bold, my greyhounds play; Again, at noon I throw me down On silver grass, or heather brown, And gild with young, poetic eye, The meanest flower that blossoms nigh; Or people the wild hills again. With thousand fairy forms,-Titania's peerless train. III. Ah, happy home! and must it be To wander, restless, far from thee,- Vain hope! thy fierce delusion's o'er, Patient I'll suffer on, and look to thee no more! BARNARD. |