XII. ΤΟ SLEEP. O GENTLE SLEEP! do they belong to thee, This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove Upon a fretful rivulet, now above Now on the water vexed with mockery. I have no pain that calls for patience, no; O gentle Creature! do not use me so, XIII. TO SLEEP. FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! XIV. TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! XV. THE WILD DUCK'S NEST. THE imperial Consort of the Fairy-king Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down, I gazed-and, self-accused while gazing, sighed VOL. III. XVI. 66 WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN THE COMPLETE ANGLER." WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live thy name, meek Walton: Sage benign! To reverent watching of each still report O, nobly versed in simple discipline— Who found'st the longest summer day too short, Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook— Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book, Are cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree; And the fresh meads-where flowed, from every nook Of thy full bosom, gladsome Piety! |