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To which the living spirit in our frame,
That loves not to behold a lifeless thing,
Transfuses its own pleasures, its own will.
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gaz'd upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place; and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,[errata 1])
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild[errata 2]) pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gaz'd I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lull'd me to sleep, and sleep prolong'd my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Aw'd by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fix'd with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half open'd, and I snatch'd
A hasty glance, and still my heart leapt up,
For still I hop'd to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were cloth'd alike!
p 2
Errata
