I'll build an Indian bower; I know 55 The leaves that make the softest bed:

They reached the foot of one tall rock, and stood within the shade, Where thousand thousand ivy leaves a bower of beauty made.

Who he was That piled these stones and with the mossy sod First covered, and here taught this aged Tree 10 With its dark arms to form a circling bower, I well remember.

the dusky hour She seeks with pensive step the mountain-bower, [Pleas'd Lichfield.

But ere they reached the pleasant bower, they saw before them stand, Armed to the teeth, with frowning face, a strange and savage band.

Jerusalem erects her stately towers, Displays her windows, and adorns her bowers;

Yet come here again, two months hence, and you shall find all this desolation clothed with beauty and with fragrance, one vast bower of soft green leaves and graceful tendrils, while summer-birds chirp and flutter amid these sunny arches all the livelong day.

Conquest, Avarice, and Pride, To sweep where Pleasure decks her guilty bowers And dark Oppression builds her thick-ribbed towers!

H. Now please my king to enter Robin's bower, And take such homely welcome as he finds, It shall be reckon'd as my happiness. KING.

"Up! quit thy bower," a song, undated, circa 1830.

"And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, An Indian from his bark approach their bower, Of buskin'd limb and swarthy lineament; The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, And bracelets bound the arm that help'd to light A boy, who seem'd, as he beside him went, Of Christian vesture and complexion bright, Led by his dusty guide, like morning brought by night.

"Not yet, not yet; it is not time; for see The hands have far to travel to the hour; Yet time is scarcely left for telling thee The past and present, and the coming power Of the great darkness that will fall on me: Roses and jasmine twine the bridal bower If ever bower and bridal joy be mine, Horror and darkness must that bower entwine.

She round thy sweet, domestic bower The wreath of changeless love shall twine, Watch for thy step at vesper hour, And blend her holiest prayer with thine.

There is poor jesting got by the poet from a comic Sir Trusty, who keeps Rosamond's bower, and has a scolding wife.

For the sound may break the hours In a dark and gloomy mood, As the wind breaks up the bowers Of the brooding sunless wood.

He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night.

But what the heavens assign, that do I still think best: My fame was never yet by Fortune's frown opprest: Here, therefore, will I rest in this my homely bower, With patience to abide the storms of every shower.

my castle, my country-seat, which I called my bower, and my enclosure in the woods: nor did I look after this for any other use than as an enclosure for my goats; for the aversion which nature gave me to these hellish wretches was such, that I was as fearful of seeing them as of seeing the Devil himself.

[Or o'er your mountains creep, in awful gloom:] Then will I dress once more the faded bower.

I turned to the cloud-bedappled sky, To bare-shorn field and gleaming water; To frost-night herbage, and perishing flower; While the Robin haunted the yellow bower; With his faery plumage and jet-black eye, Like an unlaid ghost some scene of slaughter: All mournful was the sight.

Nothing is known with certainty of the lady who inhabited this delightful bower, but she must have been one of Akbar's favourites.

Sit, while I do gather flowers And depopulate the bowers.

[A] When I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!am I to be blamed?

Too boastful Britain, please thyself no more, That beasts of prey are banish'd from thy shore: The Bear, the Boar, and every savage name, Wild in effect, though in appearance tame, Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissful bower, And, muzzled though they seem, the mutes devour.

But now from you at distance plac'd Where Epping spreads a woody waste; Tho' unrestrain'd my fancy flies, And views in air her fabrics rise, And paints with brighter bloom the flowers, Bids Dryads people all the bowers, And Echoes speak from every hill, And Naiads pour each little rill, And bands of Sylphs with pride unfold Their azure plumage mix'd with gold,