POEMS. BY FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE o n 1 ' ' ''' OfJ' BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS M DCCC LIX. Eatered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by TiCKNOR AND FlELBS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: PRINTED BT H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. / s^ ^ CONTENTS. PAGB ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD . 9 LINES AFTER A SUMMER'S WALK 11 LINES ON A YOUNG WOMAN 13 LINES ON READING WITH DIFFICULTY SOME OF SCHILLER'S EARLY LOVE POEMS 15 ODE WRITTEN FOR THE BERKSHIRE JUBILEE 17 SONNET 25 TO , 26 SONNET WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE CAS- TLE AT HEIDELBERG 28 ON A HOLLOW FRIENDSHIP 29 EXPECTATION 30 SONNET 31 SONNET 32 SONNET, 33 FORSAKEN 34 TO FRIENDS AT PARTING 36 LINES , 37 SONNET 39 AN ANSWER 40 WINTER . 41 EXPOSTULATION 42 SONNET 43 SONNET 44 LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE 45 ]V CONTENTS. PAGE MORNING BY THE SEASIDE 46 NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE 48 EVENING BY THE SEASIDE 52 LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEA 54 LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE 55 ON THE PICTURE OF PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 56 TO SHAKSPEARE 58 TO SHAKSPEARE • • • 59 TO SHAKSPEARE 60 WRITTEN IN A DIARY 62 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD 63 A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 75 A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 76 A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 77 WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS 78 WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS 8 ) PARTING 83 TO WHO FELL FROM A PRECIPICE INTO A MOUNTAIN TORRENT 85 A NOONDAY VISION 87 LINES WRITTEN AT NIGHT 89 VENICE 91 TO MISS 93 THE WIND 95 EASTERN SUNSET 97 FAREWELL TO ITALY 99 THE RED INDIAN 101 SONG 103 LAMENT FOR ISRAEL 104 TO 105 A WISH 106 A WISH 107 SONG 108 CONTENTS. V PAGE TO MRS. 110 A spirit's voice 112 TO THE DEAD 114 TO 115 SONG 116 TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ 118 THE minstrel's GRAVE 120 ON A FORGET-ME-NOT, BROUGHT FROM SWITZER- LAND 122 A WISH 123 SONNET 1 24 SONNET 125 ON A MUSICAL BOX 126 TO THE PICTURE OF A LADY 129 FRAGMENT 130 SONNET 133 WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH 134 SONNET 136 FRAGMENT 137 SONNET 139 SONNET 140 A PROMISE J41 A PROMISE 143 SONNET 145 TO 146 SONNET : 147 THE VISION OF LIFE 148 SONNET, TO A LADY WHO WROTE UNDP:R MY LIKE- NESS • • • 152 TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL 153 SONNET, SUGGESTED BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE OBSERVING THAT WE NEVER DREAM OF OUR- SELVES YOUNGER THAN WE ARE 154 VI CONTENTS. PAGE SONNET 155 TO THE SPRING ' 156 TO THE NIGHTINGALE • 158 SONNET 159 TO 160 woman's love lt)2 TO MRS. 163 AN ENTREATY • • • 165 LINES FOR MUSIC 167 THE PARTING 168 TO • 169 SONG 170 FAITH 171 TO A STAR 172 SONNET • 1 74 SONNET 175 TO 176 SONNET, WRITTEN AFTER A BALL 177 IMPROMPTU, WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE SONNENBERG 1 78 LINES, IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION 1 79 LINES FOR MUSIC 181 A FAREWELL 182 IMPROMPTU 183 TO A PICTURE 184 SONNET • 185 AN INVITATION 186 SONG -. 188 LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD 189 SONNET 191 A RETROSPECT 192 AN INVOCATION 193 A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON 195 CONTENTS. vii PAGE LINES FOR MUSIC 198 TO THE WISSAHICCON 199 AN EVENING SONG 201 THE DEATH-SONG • 203 WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT 205 \ "'tis an old tale and OFTEN TOLD," 207 FRAGMENT FROM AN EPISTLE 210 AN APOLOGY 213 WRITTEN AFTER SPENDING A DAY AT WEST POINT 215 SONNET 217 SONG 218 TO MRS. DULANEY 220 LINES ADDRESSED TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMEN LEAV- ING THE ACADEMY AT LENOX, MASS. 222 THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART 226 ABSENCE 229 SONNET 231 RETURN 232 LINES WRITTEN IN LONDON • 234 TO 235 EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. TO Y WITH A BOWL OF BOHEMIAN GLASS 237 SONNET 242 SONNET 243 SONNET • 244 ARRIVAL IN ROME 245 IMPROMPTU 249 LINES 250 LIFE 251 LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI 252 siren's cave at TIVOLI 254 Hadrian's villa 259 the autumn cyclamen 262 Vlll CONTENTS. PAGE A ROOM IN THE VILLA TAVERNA 266 THE LANDGRAFF 268 THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS 276 SONNET 278 # GENIUS AND LOVE • 279 THE IDEAL 283 PAST HOURS 284 ON A SYMPHONY OF BEETHOVEN 285 EVENING 286 UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA 287 VERSES ON ROME 290 DESPAIR 296 SCRAPS 298 CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI 299 A SUMMONS 304 TORRE NUOVO 307 TO PIUS IX 309 A VISION OF THE VATICAN 310 DEPARTING • 312 POEMS. ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD. The voice of cMldliood blessed me — and methought It sounded like a solemn echo caught Out of that world of hght where angels dwell, And sainted souls, who've bid this earth farewell. Over the tempest rising in my breast It fell, and lulled each stormy thought to rest ; Back to their bitter spring my tears were driven, And my soul rose, serene and strong, to Heaven. Prayer of the innocent ! thou wilt prevail With tenfold might, at that high throne of grace. Where e'en the cry of sin is of avail. And where the vilest suppliant finds a place. 2 10 ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD. I'll bear thee with me as a spell of power, To shield me in temptation's fiery hour, To cheer me, when with spirit worn and weary, I gaze upon the path I'm doom'd to tread ; To point beyond that path, so dark and dreary, To the bright bourne where all is finished. And, oh dear child ! who on life's threshold now Stand'st with thy late left heaven all round thee still, May He who sent thee to this world of woe Guide, and o'ershadow thee, through every ill. And lead thee home when the dark dream is o'er. As bright, as pure, more glorious than before ! So prayeth one, whose dawn was overcast. Whose scorching noon of life is long since past. Who waits the rising of a better day. And bears her burthen weeping on her way. LINES AFTER A summer's WALK, IN WHICH MY COMPANION BENT OVER A CLEAR SPRING WHICH GREW TURBID WITHOUT ANY APPARENT CAUSE. Serene and pure the fountain flowed, Reflecting heaven's holiest blue, When over it thine image bowed — And the clear water turbid grew. I saw no cloud upon thy brow, To darken o'er the bright wave's rest, Say, could it mirror, thinkest thou. Some evil hid within thy breast ? Were thy lips guileless, thy heart true, When by the fairy well they bent ? Whence came the darkness, then, that drew Its veil across the element ? Yet tell me not — by that lone well 'Tis like we ne'er shall stand again, 12 LINES AFTBK, A SUMMER'S WALK. Then let the troubled fountain's spell A mystery still to me remain. Let me not know what I should mourn, Distrust of joy, and doubt of thee, Nor this sweet summer day return Clouded upon my memory : For o'er the surface of my soul, Thine image too hath cast a shade, And stirred beyond my own control The depths, that make myself afraid. LINES ON A YOUNG WOMAN, WHO, AFTER A SHORT AND WRETCHED MARRIAGE, WENT MAD AND DIED. Weep not, ye dear ones ! for I am at rest ; Short was the season of my misery, 'Tis past, and I am now among the blest, The blest for evermore — oh weep not ye ! Eemember how my happy childhood fled. Made bright by your fond love, and tender care ; Of the brief hours time numbered o'er my head Many were those of joy — few of despair. Think not of that sharp . torture that is past- Still I lay safe within my Father's arms. Even through that dark eclipse He held me fast. And bore me swiftly from all earthly harms. I waged with woe no long protracted strife, Nor dragged o'er disappointment's flinty path 14 LINES ON A YOUNG WOMAN. Year after year my bleeding feet ; for Life Struck me but once — and gave me o'er to Death, Mine eyes were not put out by ceaseless tears Blinding them hour by hour, and day by day ; The hideous vision of my future years Scared them but once— and all was swept away. Happier than in my girlhood's early home, Fairer than in the form that then I wore. To God, my Father's mansions, am I come, To dwell in peace and joy for evermore. So think of me as at His feet I stand, Led thither through how short an agony. How brief a task-hour in Time's labor land For one who rests through all eternity. And weep not, weep not ! hither shall ye come, Soon as our Father calls — and find the love Whose precious root was in our mortal home, Immortal blooming in the realms above. LINES ON READING WITH DIFFICULTY SOME OF SCHILLER'S EARLY LOVE POEMS. When of thy loves, and happy heavenly dreams Of early life, oh Bard ! I strive to read, Thy foreign utterance a riddle seems, And hardly can I hold thy thought's bright thread. When of the maiden's guilt, the mother's woe. And the dark mystery of death and shame. Thou speakest — then thy terrible numbers flow As if the tongue we think in were the same. Ah wherefore ? but because all joy and love Speak unfamiliar, unknown words to me, A spirit of wishful wonder they may move. Dreams of what might — ^but yet shall never be. But the sharp cry of pain — the bitter moan Of trust deceived — the horrible despair 16 ON BEADING SCHILLER'S LOVE POEMS, Of hope and love for ever overthrown — These strains of thine need no interpreter. Ah 'tis my native tongue ! and howsoe'er In foreign accents writ, that I did ne'er Or speak, or hear, a woman's agony Still utters a familiar voice to me. ODE WRITTEN FOR THE 22d OF AUGUST, 1834 — THE BERK- SHIRE JUBILEE. Darkness upon, the mountain and the vale — Forest and field are bathed in dewy sleep, And the night angels vigil o'er them keep. No sound, no motion ; over hill and dale, A calm and lovely Death seems to embrace Earth's fairest realms, and heaven's unmeasured space. * The dark wood slumbers; leaf, and branch, and bough. High feathery crest, and lowhest grassy blade ; All restless wandering wings are folded now. That swept the sky, and in the sunshine played. The lake's wild waves rest in their rocky bowl. 18 ODE. Harmonious silence breathes from nature's soul, And night's wide star-sown wings brood o'er the whole. In the deep trance of the hushed universe The dark death-mystery doth man rehearse. Now for awhile, cease the swift thoughts to run From task to task — tired labor, overdone With lighter toil than that of brain or heart, In the sweet pause of outward Hfe takes part ; And hope, and fear, — desire, love, joy, and sor- row. Wait, 'neath sleep's downy wings, the coming morrow. Peace upon earth, profoundest peace in heaven. Praises the God of Peace, by whom 'tis given. But hark ! the woody depths of green Begin to stir, Light thrills of life creep fresh between Oak, beech, and fir — ODE. 19 Faint rustling sounds of trembling leaves Whisper around, The world at waking slowly heaves A sigh profound. And showers of tears, Night gathered in her eyes, Fall from fair Nature's face as she doth rise. A ripple roughens on the lake. The cradled lilies shivering wake. Small crisping waves hft themselves up and break Along the laurelled shore ; And woods and waters, answering each other, make Silence no more. And lo ! the East turns pale — Night's dusky veil Thinner and thinner grows ; Till the bright morning star From hill to hill, afar. His fire glance throws. 20 ODE. Gold streaks run through the sky, Higher, and yet more high. The glory streams — Flushes of rosy hue, Long lines of palest blue, And amber gleams. From the green valleys rise The silver mists like spray, Catch and give back the ray In opal dyes ; Light floods the sky, Hght pours upon the earth. In glorious light the joyful day takes birth. Hail to the day that brings ye home, Ye distant wand'rers from the mountain land ! Hail to the day that bids ye come Again upon your native hills to stand ! Hail, hail ! from rocky peak, And wood-embowered dale, A thousand voices welcome speak. Hail, home-turned pilgrims, hail ! ODE. 21 Oh welcome ! from the meadow and the hill Glad greetings rise, From flowing river, and from bounding rill, Smooth sunny field, and gloomy wood-depth still, And the sharp thunder-splintered crag, that strikes Its rocky spikes, Into the skies ; Gray Lock, cloud-girdled, from his purple throne A shout of gladness sends. And up soft meadow slopes, a warbling tone The Housatonic blends. Welcome ye absent long, and distaint far ! Who from the roof-tree of your childhood turned. Have waged mid strangers life's relentless war. While at your hearts the ancient home-lpve burned. Ye that have ploughed the barren, briny foam. And reaped hard fortunes from the stormy sea, The golden grain-fields rippling round your home. Roll their ripe billows from fierce tempests free. 22 ODE. Ye, from those western deadly blooming fields Where Pestilence in Plenty's bosom lies, The sterner rock-soil of your mountains yields Health's rosy blossoms, to these purer skies. And ye, who on the accursed southern plain, Barren, not fruitful, with the sweat of slaves. Have breathed awhile the tainted air in pain, 'Mid human forms, their spirits living graves. Here fall the fetters — by his cottage door, Lord of the lordliest life, each peasant stands. Lifting to God, as did his sires of yore, A heart of love, and free laborious hands. On each bold granite peak, and forest crest. Each stony hill-path, and each lake's smooth shore. Blessings of noble exiled patriots rest,* Liberty's altars are they evermore. * Confalonieri, Foresti, and those who still survive them of the Italian patriots released from the fortress of Spiel- ODE. 23 And on this air there lingers yet the tone Of those last sacred words to freedom given, The parting utterance of that holy one,* Whose spirit from these mountains rose to Heaven. Ye that have prospered, bearing hence with ye The virtues that command prosperity, To the green threshold of your youth oh come, And hang your trophies round your early home Ye that have suffered, and whose weary eyes Have turned with sadness to your happier years,. Come to the fountain of sweet memories. And by its healing waters dry your tears Ye that departed young, and old return, Ye who went forth with hope, and hopeless come, — berg by a sentence of banishment, were among the for- eigners who have found among the hills of Berkshire all that can best assist an exile to forget his home. * Dr. Channing's last public address was delivered in Lenox, where he spent part of the summer of the year in which he died. 24 ODE. If still unquenclied within your hearts hath burned The sacred love and longing for your home — Hail, hail ! Bright hill and dale With mirth resound ; Join in the joyful strain, Ye have not wept in vain. The parted meet again. The lost are found ! i^nd may God guard thee, oh thou lovely land ! Evil, nor danger, nigh thy borders come ! Green towers of freedom may thy hills still stand. Still be thy valleys peace and virtue's home; The blessing of the stranger rest on thee, Unmoved ^s Heaven be thy prosperity ! SONNET. If in thy heart the spring of joy remains, All beauteous things, being reflected there, Most beautiful and joyful do appear ; But if that treasure hath been from thee ta'en,. If emptiness, and darkness, in thy heart Sit silent — ^from all nature doth depart Its joy and glory, and all beauty seems Hollow and strange. — The poet's noble dreams j The voice of music and of song, the sight Of evening shadows, and of morning light. Flowers, and bright faces— youth, and hope-, and love. Who hand in hand over life's threshold move Like conquerors to a triumph — all things fair, Shining upon thee darken thy despair. TO One after one, the shield, the sword, the spear, The panoply that I was wont to wear. My suit of proof, my wings that kept me free, These, full of trust, delivered I to thee. When, through all time, I swore that by thy side I would henceforward walk : — I since have tried, In hours of sadness, when my former life Shone on me through thick gathering clouds of strife. To wield my weapons bright, and wear again My maiden corslet and free wings — in vain 1 My hands have lost their strength and skill — my breast. Beneath my mail throbs with a wild unrest ; My pinions trail upon the earth — my soul. Quails 'neath the heavy spell of thy control. (26) TO 2T All that was living of my life seems fled, My mortal part alone is not yet dead. But since my nobler gifts have all been thine, Trophies, or sacrifices for thy shrine, Pierce not the breast that stripped itself for thee Of the fair means God gave it to be free ; Have yet some pity, and forbear to strike One without power to strive, or fly alike, Nor trample on a heart, which now must be Towards all defenceless— most of all towards thee. SONNET "WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE CASTLE AT HEIDELBERG. Weep'st thou to see the ruin and decay Which Time doth wreak upon earth's mighty things ? Temples of gods, and palaces of kings, Weep'st thou to see them crumbling all away ? Oh I could show thee such a woful ruin As doth surpass the worst of Time's undoing, A fortress strong of life, not wrecked by years, But overthrown by sighs, and sapped with tears ; A noble mansion, wherein youth did dwell. To which this palace were a lowly cell ; A goodly temple, in whose holiest shrine. Love had a worship hke himself divine ; And all these fabrics fair deserted be — A weed-grown heap, shimned even by memory. (28) ON A HOLLOW FRIENDSHIP. A BITTER cheat ! — and here at length it ends — And thou and I, who were to one another More closely knit than brother is to brother, Shall not be even as two common friends. Never again in our two hearts may grow The love whose root was bleeding torn away ; Sadly and darkly shall our spirits go, Companionless, through life's remaining way : What though still side by side — yet never more Each answering other, as they did before ; Lonelier by far, than those who ne'er have known Dear partnership of love such as we knew, Unpitied by our fellows, to whose view A seeming false must o'er our state be thrown — Thus shall we henceforth walk, together — yet alone. (29) EXPECTATION. Too bright the glance your wishes sent Into the future's day, Too sweet the trust on which you leant, Not to give way. Oh ever in this treacherous world. If you your peace would prize, Keep Expectation's quick wings furled. And veil Hope's eyes. Sad though it be to lose these gay Phantoms at least of bliss ; To watch them slowly fade away Is worse than this. (30) SONNET. What is my lady like ? thou fain would' st know— A rosj chaplet of fresh apple bloom, Bound with blue ribbon, lying on the snow : What is mj ladj like ? the violet gloom Of evening, with deep orange light below. She's like the noonday smell of a pine wood, She's like the sounding of a stormy flood, She's like a mountain-top high in the skies. To which the day its earhest light doth lend ; She's like a pleasant path without an end ; Like a strange secret, and a sweet surprise ; Like a sharp axe of doom, wreathed with blush roses, A casket full of gems whose key one loses ; Like a hard saying, wonderful and wise. (31) SONNET. Thou restless voice ! that wandering up and down These forest paths, where for this many a day, I come to dream the summer hours away — Mak'st answer to my voice with mocking tone, Echo ! thou air-born child of harmony, How oft in sunny field, or shadowy wood. By lone hill-side, or cavern-cradled flood, Have I held laughing converse, nymph, with thee. This is thy dwelling, and along the wide Oak-woven halls, that stretch on every side, Murmuring sweet lullabies, I hear thee stray. Hushing the dim-eyed Twilight, who all day. From searching sunbeams hid in these cool bowers. Sleeps on a bed of pale, night-blowing flowers. (32) SONNET. I KNOW that thou wilt read what here is writ, And yet not know that it is writ for thee ; To this cold page I have entrusted it, Which tells thee all, and jet is true to me. For oh ! this paper is not like my cheek, To blush, when o'er it thou shalt cast thine eye. These words can't falter, like the words I speak, With trembhng accents, still w^hen thou art nigh. Devoid of pity, doth this leaf receive The story of my sorrow and my love ; Yet while I trace the words, I half believe, That latent sympathy will in it move. All I would have thee learn, to teach to thee, And hold the rest in safest secrecy. m FORSAKEN. I STAND where thou hast stood, and I retrace Each look, each word, each gesture, and each tone. That marked thy speech, or Hghtened o'er thy face. And memory makes them o'er and o'er my own. I dream I hear thy voice — I start, and rise. And hsten, till my soul grows sick in vain, The wind flies laughing through the starry skies, And, save my throbbing heart, all's still again. I dream I see thy form — with eager clasp. My longing arms are round the phantom thrown. It fades, it withers, in my frantic grasp, I wake — I am alone — oh Heaven, alone ! (34) FORSAKEN. 35 Oh wilt thou ne'er return ! can no one day Give back those blessed hours that fled so fast! My life is rolling dark and fleet away, The downward wave will ne'er bring back the past. TO FRIENDS AT PARTING. When the glad sun looks smiling from the skj, Upon each shadowy glen, and sunny height, And that you tread those well-known paths, where I Have strayed with you, do not forget me quite. When the warm hearth throws its bright glow around. On many a smiling cheek, and glance of light. And the gay laugh wakes with its silver sound The soul of mirth — do not forget me quite. You will not miss me : for with you remain Hearts fond and warm, and spirits young and bright ; 'Tis but one word — " farewell," and all again Will seem the same, yet don't forget me quite. (36) LINES. In visions countless as the golden motes That dance upon the sun's earth-kissing beams, A phantom haunts my life, an image floats Through my day-thoughts, and through my mid- night dreams, Clothed in a thousand forms which fancy traces With quick creation, and as soon effaces. Sometimes, it slowly sweeps in silence by, Beneath some long Ionian colonnade, Through whose far vista I behold it fade. Girlish in form, in bearing sad and high. Sometimes, in some removed chamber lone, Where the sun's mellow radiance is thrown Around it, in a thousand varying hues, That melt and glow, it seems to sit and muse. Sometimes, upon a gray and stony shore, The lonely figure strays distractedly, (37) 38 LINES. Or stands, and gazes the wide water o'er, Stretching its arms above the cruel sea. And all this while, I never see the face Of this close haunting shape, that follows me ; And vainly do I strive, and pray for grace. To know if what I think it is — it be. Then with an accent by despair made wild, I call aloud upon thy name, my child, And I behold thine eyes — and suddenly I'm in the dark of utter misery. SONNET. I KNOW a maiden with a laughing face. And springing feet hke wings ;-— the light that flies Forth from the radiant dancing of her eyes, Is full of mischievous and mirthful grace. I know a maiden you might scarce think fair The first time that across your path she past, And suddenly you would be fettered fast In the thick meshes of her chestnut hair, And in her floating motions gay and glad, And in the sparkling triumph of her mirth : Like summer rain-showers twinkling to the earth. Through sudden sun-gleams, when the sky is sad. When all the shrubberies rock in rustling glee. And clouds of blossoms fall from every tree. (39) AN ANSWER. Could I be sure that I should die The moment you had ceased to love me, I would not turn so fearfully From those fond vows with which you move me. Could I be sure, when passion's light Had faded from your eyes away. My own would close in endless night, I would not shun their dangerous ray. 'Tis not your tenderness I dread. But that affection's drear decay ; Would fate indulgent strike me dead When its first glow of warmth was fled — I'd live and love you till that day. (40) WINTER. I SAW him on his throne far in the north Him we call Winter — picturing him ever, An aged carl, whose frame, with palsied shiver, Bows o'er the fierj element his foe : But him I saw was a stern god, whose brow Was crowned with jagged icicles, and forth From his keen sapphire eyes there shone a hght. Broad, glaring, pitilessly cold and bright. His breath like silver arrows pierced the air, The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet. His finger on all flowing waters sweet Forbidding lay — motion nor sound was there : — Nature was frozen dead, — ^and still and slow, A winding-sheet fell o'er her body fair. Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow. EXPOSTULATION. What though the sun must set, and darkness come, Shall we turn coldly from the blessed light, And o'er the heavens call an earlier gloom, Because the longest day must end in night ? What though the golden summer flies so fast. Shall we neglect the rosy wreaths she brings. Because their blooming sweetness may not last, And winter comes apace with snowy wings ? What though this world be but the journeying land, Where those who love but meet to part agam ; Where, as we clasp in welcome friendship's hand. That greeting clasp becomes a parting strain: 'Tis better to be blest for one short hour. Than never know dehght of love or joy, Friendship, or mirth, or happiness, or power, And all that Time creates, and must destroy. (42) SONNET. Thou who sitt'st listening to the midnight wind, Pale maiden moon ! 'tis said, that they who gaze Too long upon thj melancholy hght Are struck with madness, and that o'er their mind Thou shedd'st a mildew down, a withering blight If this were so, to some, thy barren rays Would be more welcome than the fruitful sun, To those who number none but happy days. If to be mad were to forget one's grief. Thy dewy finger-tips touching my brow Might to my misery bring such relief As misery such as mine can never know. Till my distracted thoughts shall cease to run From what once was— to all tHS^t must be now. (43) SONNET. Thou art to me like one, who in a dream Of pleasant fancies, is borne sleeping by The place, where a great treasure hid doth lie : Anon thou wilt awake, and thou'lt exclaim — " How was it that along this path I came. And left so great a treasure on my way ? I will make haste to seek it : " shalt thou say — And then, thou shalt re-measure thoughtfully The steps thou didst fly over in thy sleep ; But vainly shalt thou wander there, and weep. For while thou didst pass dreaming, careless, on. Another followed, and with digging deep, And diligent seeking, did the harvest reap That was held to thy hand — and thou would' st none. (44) LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE. Oh Lesbian ! if thy faith were mine, Then might I in that summer sea Seek for a slumber sound as thine. Beneath thy rock of Leucady. But though the waves, with death's control, Might still the fever in each vein, Alas ! they cannot drown my soul. The citadel of all my pain. This weary, wretched, restless strife I cannot bear — I cannot flee ; — 'Tis more than death — 'tis all of life — And parcel of Eternity. (45) MOENING BY THE SEASIDE. With these two kisses on thine eyes I melt thj sleep away — arise ! For look, my love, Phoebus his golden hand Hath laid upon the white mane of the sea, And springing from the fresh brine gloriously. He glances keen o'er the long level strand. Now come his horses up, all snorting fire, The lovely morning hours, hymning their choir Of triumph, circle round the royal sun. And the bright pageant of the day's begun. Come, let me lock in mine thy hand. Arid pace we with swift feet, this smooth and sparkling sand. See, how the swollen ridges of the waves Curl into crystal caves, (46) MORNING BY THE SEASIDE. 47 Rising and rounding, Rolling, rebounding. Echoing, resounding,^ And running into curves of creamy spray, Mark, with white wavy lines, the far-indented bay. The little bark, that by the sheltering shore. Folded her wings, and rocked herself to sleep, Shakes out her pinions to the breeze once more. And like a swallow, dips, and skims the deep. Hail, welcome day ! hail miracle of Hght ! Hail, wondrous resurrection from the night! Hail, glorious earth ! hail ocean, fearful fair ! Hail ye sweet kisses of fresh morning air ! Hail thou ! my love, my life, my air, my light. Soul of my day ! my morning, noon, and night! NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. The sea has left the strand — In their deep sapphire cup The waves lie gathered up, Off the hard-ribbed sand. From each dark rocky brim, The full wine-tinted billows ebbed away, Leave on the golden rim Of their huge bowl, not one thin line of spray. Above the shor1>grassed downs all broidered over With scarlet pimpernel, and silver clover, Like spicy incense quivers the warm air. With piercing fervid heat. The noonday sunbeams beat. On the red granite sea-slabs, broad and bare. (48) NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. 49 And prone along the shore, Basking in the fierce glare, Lie sun-bronzed Titans, covered o'er With shaggy, sea-weed hair. Come in, under this vault of brownest shade. By sea-worn arches made, Where all the air, with a rich topaz light, Is darkly bright. 'Neath these rock-folded canopies. Shadowy and cool, The crystal water lies In many a glassy pool. Whose green-veined sides, as they receive the light. Gleam like pale wells of precious malachite. In the warm shallow water dip thy feet, Gleaming like rose-hued pearls below the wave. And lying in this hollow, sea-smoothed seat. Gaze on the far-off white-sailed fisher fleet. Framed in the twilight portal of our cave ; 50 NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. While I lie here, and gaze on thee Fairer art thou to me Than Aphrodite, when the breathless deep Wafted her smiling in her rosy sleep, Towards the green-myrtled shore, that in de- light With starry fragrance, suddenly grew white. Or than the shuddering girl, Whose wide distended eyes. Glassy, with dread surprise. Saw the huge billow curl. Foaming and bristling, with its grisly freight ; While, twinkling from afar. With iris-feathered heels, and falchion bright, From the blue cope of heaven's dazzling height, Her lover swooped, a flashing noon-tide star. A mid-day dream hath hghted on thy brow. And gently bends it down ; thy fair eyes swim. In Hquid languor, lustreless and dim. And slowly dropping now. From the light loosened clasp of thy warm hand, NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. 51 Making a ruddy shadow on the sand, Falls a wine-perfumed rose, with crimson glow. Sleep my beloved ! while the sultry spell Of silent noon o'er sea and earth doth dwell : Stoop thy fair graceful head upon my breast. With its thick rolls of golden hair opprest, My Hly ! — and my breathing shall not sob With one tumultuous sigh — nor my heart throb With one irregular bound — that I may keep With tenderest watch, the treasure of thy sleep. Droop gently down, in slumb'rous, slow eclipse, Fair fringed lids ! beneath my seaHng lips. EVENING BY THE SEASIDE. The monsters of the deep do roar, And their huge manes upon the shore Plunge headlong, with a thundering sound. That shakes the hollow-hearted ground : And yet, amidst this din I hear Thj gentle voice close at mine ear, Whispering sweet words of love, that shake Mj soul with the soft sound they make. The cup of Heaven o'erflows with Hght, The sea's broad shield is burnished bright, And the whole earth doth glow and shine Like a red, radiant, evening shrine. (52) EVENING BY THE SEASIDE. 53» And in this splendor, all I see Are thy dear eyes beholding me, With such a tender, stedfast gaze, My life seems melting in their rays. LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEA. If tliou wert standing by yon tide, And I were standing by thy side, Methinks a death I could contrive, Pleasanter than the life I live. For I would lay me at thy feet, And like a snowy winding-sheet. The foaming fringes of the sea Should roll themselves all over me, . And draw me but a little way Into that cradle huge and gray. And rock me all so tenderly, And sing one sobbing lullaby. And then unwind their foldings deep. And lay me gently, fast asleep, At thy dear feet, where I would lie And sleep through all eternity. (54) LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE, If I believed in death, how sweet a bed For such a blessed slumber could I find, Beneath the blue and sparkling coverlid Of that smooth sea, stirred by no breath of wind. Oh if I could but die, and be at rest, Thou smiling sea ! in thj slow-heaving breast. But all thj thousand waves quench not the spark Immortal, woful, of one human soul ; Under thy sapphire vault, cold, still, and. dark, Deep down, below where tides and tempests roll. The spirit may not lose its deeper curse. It finds no death in the whole universe. (55) " Poeta volontieri Parlerei a que' duo che' insieme vanno, E pajon si al vento esser leggieri." Dell' Inferno, Canto 5. Seer of the triple realm invisible, When I behold that miserable twain, By Rimini's sudden sword of justice slain. Sweep through the howling hurricane of hell — Light seems to me to rest upon their gloom, More than upon this wretched earth above. Falls on the path of many a living love. Whose fate may envy their united doom. There be, who wandering in this world, with heart Riveted to some other heart for ever, Past power of all eternity to sever. The current of this life still drives apart. Who, with strained eyes, and outstretched arms, and cry (56) ON THE PICTURE OF PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. 57 Of bitterest longing, come each other nigh, To look, to love, and to be swept asunder. The breathless greeting of their agony Lost in the pitiless world-storm's ceaseless thun- der. TO SHAKSPEAKE. If from the height of that celestial sphere^ Where now thou dwell'st, spirit powerful and sweet ! Thou jet canst love the race that sojourn here, How must thou joy, with pleasure not unmeet For thy exalted state, to know how dear Thy memory is held throughout the earth. Beyond the favored land that gave thee birth. E'en in thy seat in Heaven, thou may'st receive Thanks, praise, and love, and wonder ever new, « From human hearts, who in thy verse perceive AH that humanity calls good, and true ; Nor dost thou for each mortal blemish grieve, They from thy glorious works have fall'n away, As from thy soul its outward form of clay. (58) TO SHAKSPEAKE. Oft, when mj lips I open to rehearse Thj wondrous spells of wisdom, and of power, And that my voice, and thy immortal verse, On listening ears, and hearts, I mingled pour, I shrink dismayed — and awful doth appear The vain presumption of my own weak deed ; Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near. That suddenly I tremble as I read — Thee an invisible auditor I fear: Oh, if it might be so, my master dear ! With what beseeching would I pray to thee, To make me equal to my noble task, Succor from thee, how humbly would I ask, Thy worthiest works to utter worthily. (59) TO SHAKSPEARE. Shelter and succor such as common men Afford the weaker partners of their fate, Have I derived from thee — from thee, most great And powerful genius ! whose subhme control, Still from thy grave governs each human soul, That reads the wondrous records of thy pen. From sordid sorrows thou hast set me free, And turned from want's grim ways my tottering feet, And to sad empty hours, given royally, A labor, than all leisure far more sweet: The daily bread, for which we humbly pray, Thou gavest me as if I were thy child, And still with converse noble, wise, and mild. Charmed from despair my sinking soul away ; (60) TO SHAKSPEARE. 61 Shall I not bless the need, to which was given Of all the angels in the host of heaven, Thee, for my guardian, spirit strong and bland ! Lord of the speech of my dear native land ! WRITTEN IN A DIARY. They who go down to the relentless deep, After long horrible death of cold and drought Ere the last spark of flickering life goes out, Give to the bitter waves that o'er them sweep. The secret of their agony to keep ; Hoping that when the never satiate sea. In its huge depths had swallowed them for ever. To human hands and eyes it shall dehver The record of their piteous misery. So I unto these pages do commend The story of my shipwreck dire for thee. Where thou shalt read, how long before the end, I strove, and clung, and prayed, and vainly cried. Trusting in thee and heaven, until I died. (62) THE WKECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD, A BRITISH TRANSPORT VESSEL LOST ON THE COAST OF AFRICA. A BALLAD. As well as I am able, I'll relate how it befell, And I trust, sirs, you'll excuse me, if I do not speak it well, I've lived a hard and wandering life, serving our gracious Queen, And have nigh forgot my schooling since a sol- dier I have been. But however in my untaught speech the tale I tell may thrive, I shall see the scene before me, to the latest day I hve ; (63) 64 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. And sometimes I have scarce the heart to thank God for saving me, When I think of my poor comrades, who went down in that dreadful sea, And my brother's drowning eyes and voice, as a monstrous swirling wave Rolled him right across my arms, 'twas his wind- ing sheet and grave — God forgive me ! but I wish he had been saved instead of me. He was a better, braver man, than ever I shall be. The night was still and silent, and the stars shone overhead. And all were sleeping in the ship, who in one hour were dead. A heavy swell was rolling in, upon the treach- erous shore. And the steersman steered off from the coast, four miles, and barely four. THE WRECK OP THE BIRKENHEAD. 65 Six hundred sleeping souls relied, upon that helmsman's care, Poor wretch ! the sea has saved him from a ter- rible despair ! For in that still and starlight night, on that smooth and silent sea, He sent four hundred sleeping men straight to eternity, He drove the ship upon the rocks that stretch the waves beneath, It has been called Point Danger — ^it should be the Reef of Death. I was dreaming of old Scotland, the home of my boyish years, And the sound of the village bagpipe was droning in my ears ; And across the purple heath, behind a screen of fir and oak, I saw from our low chimney curl the silver blue peat smoke ; 66 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. My foot was on the door-stone, and mj hand was on the lock, And I heard my mother's voice within — ^when, suddenly, a shock Went shuddering through the whole ship's frame, and then a grinding sound, And the cry was heard above, below, " Back her ! she is aground ! " We heard the water rushing, whence or where we did not know. And every face was darkened with terror and with woe ; But our officers did all that brave gentlemen could do, < And the sailors did their duty, — they were a gal- lant crew! And we poor soldiers, too, sirs, I dare think, did all we could. We had thought to die upon dry land, not choke in the weltering flood. But steady, as if we had been on our old parad- ing ground, THE WRECK OF THE BIKKENHEAD. 67 We stood till she went to pieces, — and the most of us were drowned. With the first shock the word was given to put the engine back, "For we saw, when the sea was sucked away, where the reef lay, bare and black, Right underneath the poor ship's prow, huge, hard, and without motion, Beneath the sweltering, seething surf, of the rest- less, rolling ocean ; And it was terrible to hear the engine heave and throb. Like the huge heart of a giant, with a sound like a heavy sob ; And it cast its shining arms aloft, and the wheels began to turn, And the mad waves flashed, and whirled, and hissed, as they felt the strong ship spurn. Another stroke, and we were off — but the black reef's stony teeth. Had bitten through her iron ribs, and the sea rushed in beneath. 68 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. And up and up, the water rose, fast, faster yet and Mgber, And leapt into our ship's warm heart, and danced above the fire, The shining arms fell motionless, and stopped the mighty breath. And the mad waves sucked us back again, into the jaws of death. Like horses plunging on the reef, we could see them through the dark, The flying of their wild white manes, made a long and shining mark, And beyond where the rolling blackness, ridge upon ridge was tost, Not four miles ofi", how near, and yet how dis- tant! was the coast. And now there came another shock, with a hid- eous crashing sound. The ship broke right in half — and whirling madly round and round. THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 69 Half was sucked down before our eyes, and the water far and near, Was strewed with hapless, helpless men, whose cries of pain and fear Drove us wild with terror and with grief, as we stood upon the wreck, The shivering, shattered, slippery planks, of that miserable deck. Our wives and children m the boats had been lowered from the side. And through the dark we heard them, as their wild farewells thej cried ; And many a brave man's heart grew sick, as silently he stood, And heard those bitter wailings rise and sink with the heaving flood : . But not one foot was stirred, and not one hand was raised to fly, We were bid to stand there on that deck — and we stood still there to die. 70 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. At length word of command was given : " Save yourselves all who can," And then, and not till then, away broke every boy and man, When a loud voice, like an angel's, rose above the infernal din, " Don't swamp your wives and children, hold back, if you are men ! " We looked into each other's eyes — the boats put off to shore — And suddenly above my head I felt the billows pour. I threw my arms abroad to swim — and found that they were cast (Lord what a gripe I closed them with !) around our gallant mast : As up the blessed shaft I clomb, shouting in frenzied glee. The mad waves' thundering voices seemed to call alone for me ; THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 71 But along the high main-topsail yard I climbed, and crawled, and clung. And out into the empty night, over the sea I swung ; And others followed in the dark, that fearful, slippery way. And there we held, and hung, and prayed, for the dear light of day ; And pray you, sirs, that never you may count such hideous hours. Or know the agony and dread of those speechless prayers of ours. All in a heap our hmbs were twined, holding by one another, And one man clutched my right arm fast, alas ! 'twas not my brother ; I wound my hands around the spar, tight, tight, with the grip of Death, And in my mortal fear I seized the wood fast in my teeth ; 72 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. And as each high wave struck the mast, and shook us to and fro. We could see the sharks' white belHes turn in the sea below. Just as the day was breaking, I grew dizzy, faint, and sick, And I heard the man who held me breathing heavily and quick. His Hmbs shd slowly down, while with one hand he still did clasp My arm, and I felt it yielding in the dead man's fatal grasp, I flung it loose, still holding by one arm alone, while he. With a heavy plunge fell fathoms down, into the churning sea — He was dead, sirs, he was dead, yet my eyes grew glazed and dim With horror, for I felt as if I just had murdered him, THE WEECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 73 And with that thought my wits gave way, for 'twas followed by another, At which I shrieked aloud — that I had cast away my brother. And this is all that I can tell — for I saw and heard no more, Till life came into me again, as I lay upon the shore ; I and a few poor fellows that a boat had fetched away, By God's grace, from that direful mast, with the blessed light of day. Our eyes were full of tears, as we looked towards the fatal reef. Where above the surf the swinging yard seemed to beckon for relief, For our comrades who lay rolling all round the sunken mast, — They were brave fellows, sirs, and did their duty to the last : 6 74 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. And I hope that I may say it without unbecoming pride, There are gallant soldiers, well I know, in many a land beside. But I think that none but Englishmen like those men would have died. A LOVER TO HIS MISTEESS. Oh make not light of love, my lady dear, For, from that sweetest source doth ever flow All that is likest heaven on earth below. Ill it beseems, who worthiest love appear, To scoff at their own worship ;— if to you All that a serving soul, tender and true, Can bring of best and holiest offering, Seems but a slight and unregarded thing- Then are you, with your grace and loveliness, A wicked phantom, with an evil spell. Luring warm human hearts to a cold hell, Where in a barren, bhghted emptiness. Self-love and vanity together dwell ; Companions curst, cruel, and comfortless. (75) A EEJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. Knowest thou not that of all human gifts God chooses love ? — alone, that may be laid Upon his altar, who hath all things made. And find acceptance : — to the hand that lifts That precious price, the gates of heaven give way, And wilt thou dare lightly to cast away My soul's best offering, thou cruel child ! With wanton wealth of youth and beauty wild. Who shall pray for thee, that there be not laid On thee, in days to come, the bitter load, Of love unrecognized and unrepaid ? Ah ! who shall comfort thee, for all thy scorn. When thou shalt wander, weeping and forlorn, Remembering me, along life's flinty road. (76) A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. The love that was too poor to purchase you, Is rich enough to buy each noble thing, That may be reached on the untiring wing Of patient, strong pursuit ; all that is true. Honest, and brave, and most adorns a man, I may achieve — and will : — and since I can So glorify the life that you rejected. E'en, fairest mistress ! for your sake, no prize That may proclaim me worthy, good, or wise, Shall by my best endeavor be neglected. So that this judgment you may yet decree. When from the height of your sweet excellence, You sentence pass, on my hope's bold offence — Such love was worthy to be offered me. (77) WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. Come down ! from where the everlasting hills Open their rocky gates to let thee pass, Child of a thousand rapid running rills, And still lakes, where the skies their beauty glass. With thy dark eyes, white feet, and amber hair, Of heaven and earth thou fair and fearful daugh- ter, Through thy wide halls, and down thy echoing stair. Rejoicing come — thou lovely " Leaping water ! " Shout ! tiU the woods beneath their vaults of green Resound, and shake their pillars on thy way ; Fling wide thy glittering fringe of silver sheen, And toss towards heaven thy clouds of dazzling spray. (78) WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 79 The sun looks down upon thee with delight, And weaves his prism around thee for a belt ; And as the wind waves thy thin robes of light, The jewels of thy girdle glow and melt. Ah ! where be they, w^ho first with human eyes Beheld thy glory, thou triumphant flood ! And through the forest, heard with glad surprise, Thy waters calling, hke the voice of God ? Far towards the setting sun, wandering they go. Poor remnant ! left, from exile and from slaughter. But still their memory, mingling with thy flow. Lives in thy name — thou lovely " Leaping Water." WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. When first I stood upon this rocky ledge, Beneatli whose brink the frenzied waters toil, And eager leaning from the dizzy edge, Gazed breathless in the caldron where they boil ; Love held my hand, and bade me nothmg fear, For life, and youth, and joy, and hope, were mine, And death and horror could not come me near, I was so compassed with their arms divine. Oh God ! how full of happiness I stood ! Looking into the eyes that were my day. And felt my soul, borne like that rushing flood, In eddying tumults of dehght away. When next I came unto this water's brink, A devil dragged me ruthless towards the wave. WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 81 And bowed my head, and bade me plunge, and sink. And thrust me downwards to that hideous grave ; Crying, " Go down ! into that clamorous death, That leaps, and rolls, and roars, to swallow thee. For what hast thou to do with living breath. Who hast outlived all life but agony ? " Oh God ! how full of misery I lay ! On the grim margin of that dreary well, Of love, and hope, wretchedest castaway, Longing in nothingness thenceforth to dwell. •But I have lived to come and stand again On the wild torrent's brim, with soul serene. And watch the foaming amber pour amain Down the steep chasm its glorious golden sheen. And by my side Heaven's holy angel stood, And in my heart the peace of Heaven shone. And as I gazed on the fair, fearful flood. My spirit sought the footstool of God's throne : 82 WRITTEN AT TKENTON FALLS. Oh God ! be blest that all thy floods have gone Over my head ! — that bitterness is past — Oh God ! be praised that though I stand alone, I stand upon thy stedfast rock at last ! Dear God ! be thanked that thou hast let me live Oji till this hour of hohest influence mild, And healed my heart, and saved my soul alive. And as thine angel given me back my child ! PARTING. The golden hinges of the year have turned — Spring, and the summer, and the harvest time Have come, and gone ; and on the threshold stands The withered Winter, stretching forth his hands. To take my rose from me ; — which he will wear On his bleak bosom, all the bitter months While the earth and I remain disconsolate. My rose ! — with the soft vesture of her leaves, Gathered all round the secrets of her heart. In crimson fragrant folds, ^within her bower Of fair fresh green, guarded with maiden thorns. Oh withered Winter ! keep my blossom safe ! Thou shalt not kiss her with thy blue cold lips. Nor pinch her in thy bony grip, — nor drop More than one tiny sparkhng diamond, (83) 84 PARTING. From thy cold carcanet, upon her cheek : But lay soft snow fur round her — and above Her precious head, make thy skies blue and clear, Aiid set her in the sun ; — oh withered Winter ! Be tender of my rose, and harm her not. Alas, my flower, farewell ! TO -, WHO FELL PROM A PRECIPICE INTO A MOUNTAIN TORRENT. What said to thee those angels terrible. Whose sudden pinions swept thee from our sight, When o'er us all the awful horror fell, That turned thy mid-day sunshine into night ? What mysteries ineffable and dread Flashed in that aching moment o'er thy soul. While with thee, 'twixt the living and the dead, Our spirits hung, 'neath God's supreme control ? " Look on me, I am Life ! " one angel cried— " Love me, and use me well, I yet am thine ! " " Look on me, I am Death ! " his peer replied — " Forget me nevermore, thou must be mine ! " (85) 86 TO . Oh snatched from Death ! may death to thee appear Henceforth famihar, from all terrors free : Oh given back to Life ! — be life more dear, Holier and happier, from this hour to thee. A NOONDAY VISION. I SAW one whom I love more than my life Stand on a perilous edge of slippery rock, Under her feet the water's furious strife, And all around the thunder of their shock ; She stood and smiled, while terror held mj breath, Nor dared I speak, or move, or call, or cry. Lest to wild measuring of the depth beneath, From her small foothold she should turn her eye. As in the tyrannous horror of a dream, I could not look away, but stony, still, Fastened my eyes on her, while she did seem Like one that fears, but hath a stedfast will. Around her, through green boughs, the sunlight flung Its threads of glory like a golden net. And all about the rock-wall where she clung, (87) 88 A NOONDAY VISION. The trembling crests of fern with stars were wet. Bright beads of crystal on a rainbow strung, Jewels of fire in drops of water set ; And while I gazed, a hand stretched forth to her. Beckoned her on — and holding firm and fast By this her unseen guide and monitor. Behind the rocks out of my sight she passed. And then the agony of all my fears Broke forth from out my eyes in sudden tears, And I fell weeping down upon the sod; But in my soul I heard a voice that said Be comforted — of what art thou afraid ? Nor for the hand she holds be thou dismayed, The hand that holds her is the hand of God. [The Poems which follow were published in a volume several years ago.] LINES WKITTEN AT NIGHT, August 9th, 1825. Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light ! Spirit of harmony ! that through the vast And cloud-embroidered canopy art spreading Thy wings, that o'er our shadowy earth hang brooding, Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon And the world's darker orb : beautiful, hail ! Hail to thee ! from her midnight throne of ether, Night looks upon the slumbering universe. There is no breeze on silver crowned tree. There is no breath on dew-bespangled flower, 7 90 LINES WKITTEN AT NIGHT. There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave^ There is no sound hangs in the solemn air. All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all, Save jon eternal eyes, that now shine forth Winking the slumberer's destinies. The moon Sails on the horizon's verge, a moving glory, Pure, and unrivalled ; for no paler orb Approaches, to invade the sea of light That lives around her ; save yon Httle star. That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds. Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow. VENICE. I!^IGHT in her dark array Steals o'er the ocean, And with departed day Hushed seems its motion. Slowly o'er yon blue coast Onward she's treading, 'Till its dark line is lost, 'Neath her veil spreading. The bark on the rippHng deep Hath found a pillow, And the pale moonbeams sleep On the green billow. Bound by her emerald zone Venice is lying. And round her marble crown Night winds are sighing. (91) 92 VENICE. From the high lattice now Bright eyes are gleaming, That seem on night's dark brow, Brighter stars beaming. Kow o'er the blue lagune Light barks are dancing, And 'neath the silver moon Swift oars are glancing. Strains from the mandolin Steal o'er the water, Echo replies between To mirth and laughter. O'er the wave seen afar Brilliantly shining, Gleams like a fallen star Venice reclining. TO MISS . Time beckons on the hours : the expiring year Already feels old Winter's icy breath ; As Tvith cold hands, he scatters on her bier The faded glories of her autumn wreath. As fleetly as the summer's sunshine past, The winter's snow must melt ; and the young Spring, Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last, And in her train the hour of parting bring. But, though I leave the harbor, where my heart Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place. Where it lay calmly moored ; though I depart. Yet, let not time my memory quite efface. 'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home To which you welcomed me, will be as gay. As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam. Once more, upon life's weary onward way. (93) 94 TO MISS — . But oh ! if ever by the warm hearth's blaze, Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met, Your fancy wanders back to former days. Let my remembrance hover round you yet. Then, while before you glides time's shadowy train, Of forms long vanished, days and hours long gone. Perchance my name will be pronounced again. In that dear circle where I once was one. Think of me then, nor break kind memory's spell. By reason's censure coldly o'er me cast. Think only, that I loved ye passing well ! And let my follies slumber with the past. THE WIND. Night comes upon the earth; and fearfully Arise the mighty winds, and sweep along In the full chorus of their midnight song. The waste of heavy clouds, that veil the sky, Roll Hke a murky scroll before them driven, And show faint glimpses of a darker heaven. No ray is there, of moon, or pale-eyed star, Darkness is on the universe ; save where The western sky lies glimmering, faint and far, With day's red embers dimly glowing there. Hark ! how the wind comes gathering in its course. And sweeping onward, with resistless force, Howls through the silent space of starless skies. And on the breast of the swoln ocean dies. Oh, thou art terrible, thou viewless power ! That rid'st destroying at the midnight hour ! (95) 96 THE WIND. We hear tliy mightj pinion, but the eye Knows nothing of thine awful majesty. We see all mute creation bow before Thy viewless wings, as thou careerest o'er This rocking world ; that in the boundless sky Suspended, vibrates, as tl^ou rushest by. There is no terror in the lightning's glare. That breaks its red track through the trackless air ; There is no terror in the voice that speaks From out the clouds when the loud thunder breaks Over the earth, like that which dwells in thee, Thou unseen tenant of immensity. EASTERN SUNSET. 'Tis only the nightingale's warbled strain, That floats through the evening sky : With his note of love, he replies again. To the muezzin's holy cry ; As it sweetly sounds on the rosy air, "Allah il allah! come to prayer!" Warm o'er the waters the red sun is glowing, 'Tis the last parting glance of his splendor and might. While each rippling wave on the bright shore is throwing Its white crest, that breaks into showers of light. Each distant mosque and minaret Is shining in the setting sun. Whose farewell look is brighter yet. Than that with which his course begun. (97) 98 EASTERN SUNSET. On the dark blue mountains his smile is bright, It glows on the orange grove's waving height, And breaks through its shade in long lines of hght. No sound on the earth, and no sound in the sky. Save murmuring fountains that sparkle nigh. And the rusthng flight of the evening breeze, Who steals from his nest in the orange trees, And a thousand dewy odors fling, As he shakes their white buds from his gossamer wing. And flutters away through the spicy air, At sound of a footstep drawing near. FAREWELL TO ITALY. Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy ! My lonely bark is launched upon the sea That clasps thy shore, and the soft evening gale Breathes from thy coast, and fills my parting sail. Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze will come. And bear me onward to my northern home ; That home, where the pale sun is not so bright, So glorious, at his noonday's fiercest height, As when he throws his last glance o'er the sea, And fires the heavens, that glow farewell on thee. Fair Italy ! perchance some future day Upon thy coast again will see me stray ; Meantime, farewell ! I sorrow, as I leave Thy lovely shore behind me, as men grieve When bending o'er a form, around whose charms, Unconquered yet, death winds his icy arms : (99) 100 FAREWELL TO ITALY. While leaving the last kiss on some dear cheek, Where beauty sheds her last autumnal streak, Life's rosy flower just* mantling into bloom, Before it fades forever in the tomb. So I leave thee, oh ! thou art lovely still ! , Despite the clouds of infamy and ill That gather thickly round thy fading form: Still glow thy glorious skies, as bright and warm, Still memory lingers fondly on thy strand, And genius hails thee still her native land. Land of my soul's adoption ! o'er the sea. Thy sunny shore is fading rapidly : Fainter and fainter, from my gaze it dies, 'Till like a line of distant light it lies, A melting boundary 'twixt earth and sky. And now 'tis gone ; — farewell, fair Italy ! THE EED INDIAN. Rest, warrior, rest ! thine hour is past,- Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last, Still rings upon the rushing blast, That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily. Rest, warrior, rest ! thy haughty brow, Beneath the hand of death bends low. Thy fiery glance is quenched now. In the cold grave's obscurity. Rest, warrior, rest ! thy rising sun Is set in blood, thy day is done ; Like lightning flash thy race is run, And thou art sleeping peacefully. (101) 102 THE RED INDIAN". Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more The boundless forest shall explore. Or trackless cross the sandy shore. Or chase the red deer rapidly. Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe. Like thy choice arrow, swift and true. Shall part no more the waters blue. That sparkle round it briUiantly. Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past, Yon sinking sunbeam is thy last. And all is silent, save the blast, That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily. SONG. Yet once again, but once, before we sever, Fill we one brimming cup, — ^it is the last ! And let those lips, now parting, and for ever. Breathe o'er this pledge, " the memory of the past ! " Joy's fleeting sun is set ; and no to-morrow Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast. Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfiUed with sorrow. Lives one sweet drop,— the memory of the past. But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last ; But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining. Now farewell all, save memory of the past. (103) LAMENT FOR ISRAEL. Wheke is thy home in thj promised land? Desolate and forsaken ! The stranger's arm hath seized thy brand, Thou art bowed beneath the stranger's hand. And the stranger thy birthright hath taken. Where is the mark of thy chosen race ? Infamous and degraded ! It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place, And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace And the scoff of the world, has faded. First-born of nations ! upon thy brow. Resistless and revenging, The fiery finger of God hath now Written the sentence of thy woe. The innocent blood avenging ! (104) TO . 105 Lion of Judah ! thy gloiy is past, Vanished and fled for ever. Homeless and scattered, thy race is cast Like chaff in the breath of the sweeping blast. To rally or rise again, never ! TO Oh ! turn those eyes away from me ! Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays ; And though they beam so tenderly, I feel, I tremble 'neath their gaze. Oh, turn those eyes away ! for though To meet their glance I may not dare, I know their light is on my brow. By the warm blood that mantles there. A WISH. Let me not die for ever! when I'm gone To the cold earth ; but let my memory- Live hke the gorgeous western light that shone Over the clouds where sank day's majesty. Let me not be forgotten ! though the grave Has clasped its hideous arms around my brow. Let me not be forgotten ! though the wave Of time's dark current rolls above me now. Yet not in tears remembered be my name ; Weep over those ye loved ; for me, for me, Give me the wreath of glory, and let fame Over my tomb spread immortality ! (106) A WISH. Let me not die for ever! when I'm laid In the cold earth ; but let my memory Live still among ye, like the evening shade, That o'er the sinking day steals placidly. Let me not be forgotten ! though the knell Has tolled for me its solemn lullaby ; Let me not be forgotten ! though I dwell For ever now in death's obscurity. Yet oh ! upon the emblazoned leaf of fame. Trace not a record, not a line for me. But let the lips I loved oft breathe my name, And in your hearts enshrine my memory ! (107) SONG. The moment must come, when the hands that unite In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever ; When the eyes that have beamed o'er us brightly to-night, Wni have ceased to shine o'er us, for ever. Yet wreathe again the goblet's brim With pleasure's roseate crown ! What though the future hour be dim — The present is our own ! The moment is come, and again we are parting, To roam through the world, each our separate way ; In the bright eye of beauty the pearl-drop is starting, But hope, sunny hope, through the tear sheds its ray. (108) SONG. 109 Then wreathe again the goblet's brim With pleasure's roseate crown ! What though the present hour be dim — The future's yet our own ! The moment is past, and the bright throng that round us So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream ; And time has untwisted the fond hnks that bound us. Like frost wreaths, that melt in the morning's first beam. Still wreathe once more the goblet's brim ! With pleasure's roseate crown ! What though all else beside be dim— The past has been our own! TO MRS. . Oh lady ! thou, who in the olden time Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream ! Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime, Weddest the gentle graces that beseem Fair woman's best ! forgive the daring line That falters forth thy praise ! nor let thine eye Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully ; But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine, That made me venture on a theme, that none Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one. Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening wing Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow. And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing The splendor of thy beauty's summer now\ (110) TO MRS. . Ill Thou art most fair ! but thine is loveliness That dwells not only on the hp, or eye ; Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness ; Thy grace, thy lofty spirit's majesty. While thus I gaze on thee, and watch thee glide, Like some calm spirit o'er life's troubled stream, With thy twin buds of beauty by thy side Together blossoming ; I almost deem That I behold the loveliness and truth, That Hke fair visions hovered round my youth. Long sought — and then forgotten as a dream. A SPIRIT'S VOICE. It is the dawn ! the rosy day awakes ; From her bright hair pale showers of dew she shakes, And through the heavens her early pathway takes ; Why art thou sleeping ! It is the noon ! the sun looks laughing down On hamlet still, on busy shore, and town, On forest glade, and deep dark waters lone ; . Why art thou sleeping ! It is the sunset ! daylight's crimson veil Floats o'er the mountain tops, while twilight pale, Calls up her vaporous shrouds from every vale'; Why art thou sleeping ! (112) A spieit's voice. 113 It is the night! o'er the moon's hvid brow, Like shadowy locks, the clouds their darkness throw. All evil spirits wake to wander now; Why art thou sleeping I TO THE DEAD. On the lone waters' shore Wander I yet ; Brooding those moments o'er I should forget. 'TiUthe broad foaming surge Warns me to fly, While despair's whispers urge To stay, and die. When the night's solemn watch Falls on the seas, 'Tis thy voice that I catch In the low breeze ; When the moon sheds her light On things below, Beams not her ray so bright. Like thy young brow ? (114) TO . 115 Spirit immortal ! say, When wilt thou come, To marshal me the way To my long home ? .TO When we first met, dark wintry skies were gloom- ing, And the wild winds sang requiem to the year ; But thou, in all thy beauty's pride wert blooming, And my young heart knew hope without a fear. When we last parted, summer suns were smiling. And the bright earth her flowery vesture wore. But thou hadst lost the power of beguiling. For my wrecked, wearied heart, could hope no more. SONG. I SING the yellow leaf, That rustling strews The wintry path, where grief Delights to muse, Spring's early violet, that sweetly opes Its fragrant leaves to the young morning's kiss. Type of our youth's fond dreams, and cherished hope. Will soon be this : A sere and yellow leaf. That rustling strews The wintry path, where grief Delights to muse. The summer's rose, in whose rich hues we read Pleasure's gay bloom, and love's enchanting bliss, (116) SONG. 117 And glory's laurel, waving o'er the dead, Will soon be this : A sere and yellow leaf, That rustling strews The wintry path, where grief DeHghts to muse. TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin ! To the goblet's brim we will fill ; For all that to life is endearing, Thj strains have made dearer still ! Wherever fond woman's eyes eclipse The midnight moon's soft ray ; Whenever around dear woman's lips. The smiles of affection play : We will drink to thee. Bard of Erin ! To the goblet's brim we will fill. For all that to life is endearing, Thy strains have made dearer still ! (118) TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 119 Wherever the warrior's sword is bound With the laurel of victory, Wherever the patriot's brow is crowned With the halo of liberty : We will drink to thee. Bard of Erin ! To the goblet's brim we will fill ; For all that to Hfe is endearing Thy strains have made dearer still! Wherever the voice of mirth hath rung. On the listening ear of night, Wherever the soul of wit hath flung Its flashes of vivid light : We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin ! To the goblet's brim we will fill ; For all that to life is endearing, In thy strains is dearer still ! THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE. Oh let it be where the waters are meeting. In one crystal sheet, like the summer's sky bright ! Oh let it be where the sun, when retreating, May throw the last glance of his vanishing light, Lay me there ! lay me there 1 and upon my lone pillow, Let the emerald moss in soft starry wreaths swell : Be my dirge the faint sob of the murmuring billow. And the burthen it sings to me, nought but " farewell 1 " Oh let it be where soft slumber enticing, The cypress and myrtle have mingled their shade ; (120) THE minstrel's (JRAVE. 121 Oh let it be where the moon at her risino;, Maj throw the first night-glance that silvers the glade. Lay me there ! laj me there ! and upon the green willow Hang the harp that has cheered the lone min- strel so well, That the soft breath of heaven, as it sighs o'er mj pillow, From its strings, now forsaken, may sound one- farewell. ON A FORGET-ME-NOT, BROUGHT FROM SWITZERLAND. Flower of the mountain ! by the wanderer's hand Robbed of thy beauty's short-hved sunny day ; Didst thou but blow to gem the stranger's way, And bloom, to wither in the stranger's land ! Hueless and scentless as thou art. How much that stirs the memory, How much, much more, that thrills the heart. Thou faded thing, yet lives in thee ! Where is thy beauty ? in the grassy blade. There lives more fragrance, and more freshness now ; Yet oh ! not all the flowers that bloom and fade, Are half so dear to memory's eye as thou. The dew that on the mountain lies. The breeze that o'er the mountain sighs, (122) A WISH. 123 Thy parent stem will nurse and nourish ; But thou-^not e'en those sunny eyes As bright, as blue, as thine own skies, Thou faded thing ! can make thee flourish. A WISH. Oh ! that I were a fairy sprite, to wander Li forest paths, o'erarched with oak and beech; Where the sun's yellow light, in slanting rays, Sleeps on the dewy moss : what time the breath Of early morn stirs the white hawthorn boughs. And fills the air with showers of snowy blossoms. Or he at sunset 'mid the purple heather. Listening the silver music that rings out From the pale mountain bells, swayed by the wind. Or sit in rocky clefts above the sea. While one by one the evening stars shine forth Among the gathering clouds, that strew the heavens Like floating purple wreaths of mournful night- shade ! SONNET 'TwAS but a dream ! and oh ! what are they all, All the fond visions hope's bright finger traces, All the fond visions time's dark wing effaces. But very dreams ! but morning buds, that fall Withered and blighted, long before the night : Strewing the paths they should have made more bright, With mournful wreaths, whose light hath past away. That can return to life and beauty never, And yet, of whom it was but yesterday, We deemed they'd bloom as fresh and fair for ever. Oh then, when hopes, that to thy heart are dearest. Over the future shed their sunniest beam. When round thy path their bright wings hover nearest. Trust not too fondly !- — for 'tis but a dream ! (124) I SONNET. Oh weary, weary world ! how full thou art Of sin, of sorrow, and all evil things ! In thy fierce turmoil, where shall the sad heart, Released from pain, fold its unrested wings ? Peace hath no dwelling here, but evermore Loud discord, strife, and envy, fill the earth With fearful riot, whilst unhallowed mirth Shrieks frantic laughter forth, leading along, Whirling in dizzy trance, the eager throng. Who bear aloft the overflowing cup, With tears, forbidden joys, and blood filled up. Quaffing long draughts of death ; in lawless might, Drunk with soft harmonies, and dazzling light, So rush they down to the eternal night. (126) ON A MUSICAL BOX. Poor little sprite ! in that dark, narrow cell Caged bj the law of man's resistless might ! With thy sweet, liquid notes, by some strong spell, Compelled to minister to his delight ! Whence, what art thou ? art thou a fairy wight Caught sleeping in some lily's snowy bell, Where thou hadst crept, to rock in the moonlight. And drink the starry dew-drops as they fell ? Say, dost thou think, sometimes when thou art singing. Of thy wild haunt upon the mountain's brow, Where thou wert wont to list the heath-bells ring- ing. And sail upon the sunset's amber glow ? When thou art weary of thy oft-told theme. Say, dost thou think of the clear pebbly stream, (126) ON A MUSICAL BOX. 127 Upon whose mossj brink thy feHows play ? Dancing in circles by the moon's soft beam, Hiding in blossoms from the sun's fierce gleam, Whilst thou, in darkness, sing'st thy life away. And canst thou feel when the spring-time returns. Filling the earth with fragrance and with glee ; When in the wide creation nothing mourns, Of all that hves, save that which is not free ? Oh ! if thou couldst, and we could hear thy prayer. How would thy little voice beseeching cry, For one short draught of the sweet morning air, For one short glimpse of the clear azure sky ! Perchance thou sing'st in hopes thou shalt be free. Sweetly and patiently thy task fulfilling ; While thy sad thoughts are w^andering with the bee. To every bud with honey dew distilling. That hope is vain: for even could'st thou wing Thy homeward flight back to the greenwood gay, Thou'dst be a shunned and a forsaken thing, ^ 'Mongst the companions of thy happier day. 128 ON A MUSICAL BOX. For fairj sprites, like manj other creatures, Bear fleeting memories, that come and go ; Nor can they oft recall familiar features, By absence touched, or clouded o'er with woe. Then rest content with sorrow : for there be Many that must that lesson learn with thee ; And still thy wild notes warble cheerfully, Till, when thy tiny voice begins to fail, For thy lost bliss sing but one parting wail. Poor little sprite ! and then sleep peacefully ! TO THE PICTUEE OF A LADY. Lady, sweet lady, I behold thee yet, With thy pale brow, bro^vn eyes, and solemn air, And billowy tresses of thy golden hair, Which once to see, is never to forget ! But for short space I gazed, with soul intent Upon thee ; and the limner's art divine, Meantime, poured all thy spirit into mine. But once I gazed, then on my way I went : And thou art still before me. Like a dream Of what our soul has loved, and lost for ever. Thy vision dwells with me, and though I never May be so blest as to behold thee more. That one short look has stamped thee in my heart. Of my intensest life a living part, Which time, and death, shall never triumph o'er. (129) FEAGMENT. Walking by moonlight on the golden margin That binds the silver sea, I fell to thinking Of all the wild imaginings that man Hath peopled heaven, and earth, and ocean with ; Making fair nature's solitary haunts Alive with beings, beautiful and fearful. And as the chain of thought grew link by link, It seemed, as though the midnight heavens waxed brighter, The stars gazed fix'dly with their golden eyes. And a strange light played o'er each sleeping billow. That laid its head upon the sandy beach. Anon there came along the rocky shore A far-off sound of sweetest minstrelsy. From no one point of heaven, or earth, it came ; (130) FRAGMENT. 181 But under, over, and about it breathed ; Filling my soul with thrilling, fearful pleasure. It swelled, as though borne on the floating wings Of the midsummer breeze ; it died away Towards heaven, as though it sank into the clouds. That one by one melted like flakes of snow In the moonbeams. Then came a rushing sound, Like countless wings of bees, or butterflies ; And suddenly, as far as eye might view, The coast was peopled with a world of elves. Who in fantastic ringlets danced around. With antic gestures, and wild beckoning motion. Aimed at the moon. White was their snowy ves- ture. And shining as the Alps, when that the sun Gems their pale robes with diamonds. On their heads Were wreaths of crimson and of yellow fox-glove. They were all fair, and light as dreams ; anon The dance broke off ; and sailing through the air, Some one way, and some other, they did each 132 FRAGMENT Alight upon some waving branch, or flower, That garlanded the rocks upon the shore. One, chiefly, did I mark ; one tiny sprite. Who crept into an orange flower-bell, And there lay nesthng, whilst his eager lips Drank from its virgin chalice the night dew. That glistened, like a pearl, in its white bosom. SONNET. Cover me with your everlasting arms, Ye guardian giants of this sohtude ! From the ill-sight of men, and from the rude, Tumultuous din of yon wild world's alarms ! Oh, knit your mighty limbs around, above, And close me in for ever ! let me dwell With the wood spirits, in the darkest cell That ever with your verdant locks ye wove. The air is full of countless voices, joined In one eternal hymn ; the whispering wind, The shuddering leaves, the hidden water springs, The work-song of the bees, whose honeyed wings Hang in the golden tresses of the lime. Or buried lie in purple beds of thyme. (133) WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH. Farewell, old playmate ! on thy sandy shore My lingering feet will leave their print no more ; To thy loved side I never may return. I pray thee, old companion, make due mourn For the wild spirit who so oft has stood Gazing in love and wonder on thy flood. The form is now departing far away, That half in anger, oft, and half in play. Thou hast pursued with thy white showers of foam. Thy waters daily will besiege the home I loved , among the rocks ; but there will be No laughing cry, to hail thy victory, Such as was wont to greet thee, when I fled, With hurried footsteps, and averted head. Like fallen monarch, from my venturous stand. Chased by thy billows far along the sand. (134) WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH. 135 And when at eventide thy warm waves drink The amber clouds, that in their bosom sink ; When sober twihght over thee has spread Her purple pall, when the glad day is dead, My voice no more will mingle with the dirge That rose in mighty moaning from thy surge, Filling with awful harmony the air. When thy vast soul and mine were joined in prayer. SONNET. Away, away! bear me away, away, Into the boundless void, thou mighty wind ! That rushest on thy midnight way. And leav'st this weary world, far, far behind Away, away ! bear me away, away. To the wide strandless deep, Ye headlong waters ! whose mad eddies leap From the pollution of your bed of clay. Away, away ! bear me away, away, Into the fountains of eternal Hght, Ye rosy clouds ! that to my longing sight. Seem melting in the sun's devouring ray ! Away ! away ! oh, for some mighty blast. To sweep this loathsome Hfe into the past ! (136) FRAGMENT. . It was tlie harvest time : the broad, bright moon Was at her full, and shone upon the fields Where we had toiled the livelong day, to pile In golden sheaves the earth's abundant treasure. The harvest task had given place to song And merrj dance ; and these in turn were chased By legends strange, and wild, unearthly tales. Of elves, and gnomes, and fairy sprites, that haunt The woods and caves ; where they do sleep all day. And then come forth i' the witching hour of night. To dance by moonlight on the green thick sward. The speaker was an aged villager, In whom his oft-told tale awoke no fears. Such as he filled his gaping listeners with. Nor ever was there break in his discourse ; 10 138 FRAGMENT. Save when with graj eyes lifted to the moon, He conjured from the past strange instances Of kidnapped infants, from their cradles snatched, And changed for elvish sprites ; of blights, and blains. Sent on the cattle by the vengeful fairies ; Of blasted crops, maimed limbs, and unsound minds. All plagues inflicted by these angered sprites. Then would he pause, and wash his story down With long-drawn draughts of amber ale ; while all The rest came crowding under the wide oak-tree; Pihng the corn-sheaves closer round the ring. Whispering and shaking, laughing too, with fear ; And ever, if an acorn bobbed from the boughs Or grasshopper from out the stubble chirrupped. Blessing themselves from Robin Goodfellow ! SONNET. Oft let. me wander hand in hand with Thought, In woodland paths, and lone sequestered shades, What time the sunny banks and mossy glades, With dewy wreaths of early violets wrought. Into the air their fragrant incense fling. To greet the triumph of the youthful Spring. Lo, where she comes ! scaped from the icy lair Of hoary Winter ; wanton, free, and fair ! Now smile the heavens again upon the earth, Bright hill, and bosky dell, resound with mirth. And voices, full of laughter and wild glee. Shout through the air pregnant with harmony ; And wake poor sobbing Echo, who replies With sleepy voice, that softly, slowly, dies. (139) SONNET. I WOULD I knew the ladj of thy heart ? She whom thou lov'st perchance, as I love thee. She unto whom thy thoughts and wishes flee ; Those thoughts, in which, alas ! I bear no part. Oh, I have sat and sighed, thinking how fair, How passing beautiful, thy love must be ; Of mind how high, of modesty how rare ; And then I've wept, I've wept in agony ! Oh, that I might but once behold those eyes, That to thy enamored gaze alone seem, fair ; Once hear that voice, whose music still replies To the fond vows thy passionate accents swear : Oh, that I might but know the truth and die, Nor live in this long dream of misery ! (140) A PROMISE. By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow Through thy sequestered dell unto the sea, At sunny noon, I will appear to thee : Not troubling the still fount with drops of woe, As when I last took leave of it", and thee. But gazing up at thee with tranquil brow. And eyes full of life's early happiness, Of strength, of hope, of joy, and tenderness. Beneath the shadowy tree, where thou and I Were wont to sit, studying the harmony Of gentle Shakspeare, and of Milton high. At sunny noon I will be heard by thee ; Not sobbing forth each oft-repeated sound, As when I last faltered them o'er to thee. But uttering them in the air around. With youth's clear, laughing voice of melody. (141) 142 A PROMISE. On the wild shore of the eternal deep, Where we have strayed so oft, and stood so long Watching the mighty water's conquering sweep, And listening to their loud triumphant song. At sunny noon, dearest ! I'll be with thee : Not as when last I lingered on the strand. Tracing our names on the inconstant sand ; But in each bright thing that around shall be : My voice shall call thee from the ocean's breast, Thou'lt see my hair in its bright, showery crest, In its dark, rocky depths, thou'lt see my eyes. My form, shall be the light cloud in the skies, My spirit shall be with thee, warm and bright, And flood thee o'er with love, and hfe, and hght. A PROMISE. In the dark, lonely night, When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men ; False love ! in thy despite, I will be with thee then. When in the world of dreams thy spirit strays. Seeking, in vain, the peace it finds not here, Thou shalt be led back to thine early days Of Hfe and love, and I will meet thee there. I'll come to thee, with the bright, sunny brow. That was hope's throne before I met with thee ; And then I'll show thee how 'tis furrowed now. By the untimely age of misery. I'll speak to thee, in the fond, joyous tone. That wooed thee still with love's impassioned spell ; And then I'll teach thee how I've learnt to moan Since last upon thine ear its accents fell. (143) 144 A PROMISE. I'll come to thee in all youth's brightest power, As on the day thy faith to mine was plighted, And then I'll tell thee weary hour by hour. How that spring's early promise has been blighted. I'll tell thee of the long, long, dreary years. That have passed o'er me hopeless, objectless ; My loathsome days, my nights of burning tears, My wild despair, my utter loneliness. My heart-sick dreams upon my feverish bed. My fearful longing to be with the dead ; In the dark lonely night. When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men ; False love 1 in thy despite, We two shall meet again I SONNET. Spirit of all sweet sounds! who in mid air Sittest enthroned, vouchsafe to hear mj prayer ! Let all those instruments of music sweet, That in great nature's hymn bear burthen meet. Sing round this mossy pillow, where my head From the bright noontide sky is sheltered. Thou southern wind ! wave, wave thy od'rous wings, O'er your smooth channels gush, ye crystal springs ! Ye laughing elves ! that through the rustling corn Run chattering ; thou tawny-coated bee. Who at thy honey-work sing'st drowsily ; And ye, oh ye ! who greet the dewy morn, And fragrant eventide, with melody. Ye wild wood minstrels, sing my lullaby ! (145) TO I WOULD I might be with thee, when the year Begins to wane, and that thou walk'st alone Upon the rocky strand, whilst loud and clear, The autumn wind sings, from his cloudy throne, Wild requiems for the summer that is gone. Or when, in sad and contemplative mood, Thy feet explore the leafy-paven wood : I would my soul might reason then with thine. Upon those themes most solemn and most strange. Which every falling leaf and fading flower. Whisper unto us with a voice divine ; FiUing the brief space of one mortal hour, With fearful thoughts of death, decay, and change. And the high mystery of that after birth. That comes to us, as well as to the earth. (146) SONNET. By jasper founts, whose falling waters make Eternal music to the silent hours ; Or 'neath the gloom of solemn cypress bowers, Through whose dark screen no prying sunbeams break : How oft I dream I see thee wandering. With thy majestic mien, and thoughtful eyes, And lips, whereon all holy counsel lies, And shining tresses of soft rippling gold, Like to some shape, beheld in days of old By seer or prophet, when, as poets sing, The gods had not forsaken yet the earth, But loved to haunt each shady dell and grove ; When -every breeze was the soft breath of love. When the blue air rang with sweet sounds of mirth. And this dark world seemed fair as at its birth. (147) THE VISION OF LIFE. Death and I, -J On a hill so high, Stood side by side : And we saw below, Running to and fro, All things that be in the world so wide. Ten thousand cries From the gulf did rise, With a wild discordant sound ; Laughter and waihng. Prayer and railing, As the ball spun round and round. And over all Hung a floating pall Of dark and gory veils : (148) THE VISION OF LIFE. 149 'Tis the blood of years, And the sighs and tears. Which this noisome marsh exhales. x\ll this did seem Like a fearful dream, Till Death cried with a joyful cry : " Look down ! look dawn ! It is all mine own, Here comes life's pageant by ! " Like to a masque in ancient revelries, With mingling sound of thousand harmonies, Soft lute and viol, trumpet-blast and gong, They came along, and still they came along! Thousands, and tens of thousands, all that e'er Peopled the earth, or ploughed th' unfathomed deep, All that now breathe the universal air, And all that in the womb of Time yet sleep. Before this mighty host a woman came, With hurried feet, and oft averted head ; 150 THE VISION OF LIFE. With accursed light Her eyes were bright, And with inviting hand them on she beckoned. Her followed close, with wild acclaim. Her servants three : Lust, with his eye of fire, And burning lips, that tremble with desire. Pale sunken cheek: — and as he staggered bj. The trumpet-blast was hushed, and there arose A melting strain of such soft melody. As breathed into the soul love's ecstasies and woes. Loudly again, the trumpet smote the air. The double drum did roll, and to the sky Bayed War's bloodhounds, the deep artillery ; And Glory, With feet all gory. And dazzling eyes, rushed by. Waving a flashing sword and laurel wreath. The pang, and the inheritance of death. He passed like lightning — then ceased every sound Of war triumphant, and of love's sweet song. THE VISION OF LIFE. 151 And all was silent. — Creeping slow along, With eager' eyes, that wandered round and round. Wild, haggard mien, and meagre, wasted frame. Bowed to the earth, pale, starving Av'rice came : Clutching with palsied hands his golden god, And tottering in the path the others trod. These, one bj one, Came, and were gone : And after them followed the ceaseless stream Of worshippers, who, with mad shout and scream. Unhallowed toil, and more unhallowed mirth. Follow their mistress. Pleasure, through the earth. Death's eyeless sockets glared upon them all, And many in the train were seen to fall. Livid and cold, beneath his empty gaze ; But not for this was stayed the mighty throng. Nor ceased the warlike clang, or wanton lays. But still they rushed — along — along — along ! SONNET. TO A LABY WHO WROTE UNDER MY LIKENESS AS JULIET, " LIETI GIORNI E FELICE." Whence should they come, lady! those happy days That thy fair hand and gentle heart mvoke Upon my head ? Alas ! such do not rise On any, of the many, who with sighs Bear through this journey-land of woe, life's yoke. The Hght of such hves not in thine own lays ; Such were not hers, that girl, so fond, so fair. Beneath whose image thou hast traced thy prayer. Evil, and few, upon this darksome earth. Must be the days of all of mortal birth ; Then why not mine ? Sweet lady ! wish again, Not more of joy to me, but less of pain; Calm slumber, when life's troubled hours are past, And with thy friendship cheer them while they last. (162) TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL. Merciful spirit ! who tliy bright throne above Hast left, to wander through this dismal earth With me, poor child of sin ! — ^Angel of love ! Whose guardian wings hung o'er me from my birth, And who still walk'st unwearied by my side, How oft, oh thou compassionate ! must thou mourn Over the wayward deeds, the thoughts of pride. That thy pure eyes behold. Yet not aside From thy sad task dost thou in anger turn ; But patiently, thou hast but gazed and sighed, And followed still, striving with the divine Powers of thy soul for mastery over mine ; And though all line of human hope be past, Still fondly watching, hoping, to the last. 11 SONNET. SUGGESTED BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE OBSERVING THAT WE NEVER DREAM OF OURSELVES YOUNGER THAN WE ARE. Not in our dreams, not even in our dreams, May we return to that sweet land of youth. That home of hope, of innocence, and truth. Which as we farther roam but fairer seems. In that dim shadowy world, where the soul strays When she has laid her mortal charge to rest, We oft behold far future hours and days. But ne'er Hve o'er the past, the happiest. How oft will fancy's wild imaginings Bear us in sleep to times and worlds unseen. But ah ! not e'en unfettered fancy's wings Can lead us back to aught that we have been. Or waft us to that smihng, sunny shore. Which e'en in slumber we may tread no more. (154) SONNET. Whene'er I recollect the happj time When you and I held converse dear together. There come a thousand thoughts of sunny weather. Of early blossoms, and the fresh year's prime ; Your memory lives for ever in my mind With all the fragrant beauties of the spring, With od'rous lime and silver hawthorn twined. And many a noonday woodland wandering. There's not a thought of you, but brings along Some sunny dream of river, field, and sky ; 'Tis wafted on the blackbird's sunset song. Or some wild snatch of ancient melody. And as I date it still, our love arose 'Twixt the last violet and the earliest rose, <155) TO THE SPEING. Hail to thee, spirit of hope ! whom men call Spring ; Youngest and fairest of the four, who guide Our mortal year along Time's rapid tide. Spirit of life ! the old decrepit earth Has heard thy voice, and at a wondrous birth, Forth springing from her dark, mysterious womb, A thousand germs of light and beauty come. Thy breath is on the waters, and they leap From their bright winter-woven fetters free ; Along the shore their sparkhng billows sweep, And greet thee with a gush of melody. The air is full of music, wild and sweet. Made by the joyous waving of the trees. Wherein a thousand winged minstrels meet. And by the work-song of the early bees, • (156) TO THE SPRING. 157 In the white blossoms fondly murmuring. And founts, that in the blessed sunshine sing : Hail to thee ! maiden with the bright blue eyes ! And showery robe, all steeped in starry dew ; Han to thee ! as thou ridest through the skies, Upon thy rainbow car of various hue. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. How passing sad ! Listen, it sings again ! Art thou a spirit, that amongst the boughs, The livelong night dost chant that wondrous strain, Making wan Dian stoop her silver brows Out of the clouds to hear thee ? who shall say. Thou lone one ! that thy melody is gay. Let him come listen now to that one note. That thou art pouring o'er and o'er again Through the sweet echoes of thy mellow throat. With such a sobbing sound of deep, deep pain. I prithee cease thy song ! for from my heart Thou hast made memory's bitter waters start. And filled my weary eyes with the soul's rain. (158) SONNET. Lady, whom my beloved loves so well ! When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth, When on thy Ups his ardent kisses dwell, And the bright flood of burning light, that shineth In his dark eyes, is poured into thine ; When thou shalt he enfolded to his heart. In all the trusting helplessness of love ; If in such joy sorrow can find a part. Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine ! Which I would have thee pity, but not prove. One cold, calm, careless, wintry look, that fell Haply by chance on me, is all that he E'er gave my love ; round that, my wild thoughts dwell In one eternal pang of memory. (159) TO — , When the dawn O'er hill and dale Throws her bright veil, Oh, think of me ! When the rain With starrj showers Fills aU the flowers, Oh, think of me ! When the wind Sweeps along, Loud and strong. Oh, think of me ! When the laugh With silver sound Goes echoing round, Oh, think of me ! (160) TO . 161 Wlien the night With solemn eyes Looks from the skies, Oh, think of me ! When the air Still as death Holds its breath. Oh, think of me ! When the earth Sleeping sound Swings round and round, Oh, think of me ! When thy soul O'er life's dark sea Looks gloomily. Oh, think of me ! WOMAN'S LOVE. A MAIDEN meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes, Full of eternal constancy and faith, And smiling lips, through whose soft portal sighs Truth's holy voice, with every balmy breath, So journeys she along life's crowded way. Keeping her soul's sweet counsel from all sight ; Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray, Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or bright : For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her heart Knows well in suffering how to bear its part. Patiently lives she through each dreary day. Looking with little hope unto the morrow ; And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow. (162) TO MRS. . I NEVER shall forget thee — 'tis a word Thou oft must hear, for surely there be none On whom thy wondrous eyes have ever shone But for a moment, or who e'er have heard Thy voice's deep impassioned melody. Can lose the memory of that look or tone. But, not as these, do I say unto thee, I never shall forget thee : — in thine eyes, Whose light, like sunshine, makes the world rejoice, A stream of sad and solemn splendor lies ; And there is sorrow in thy gentle voice. Thou art not like the scenes in which I found thee. Thou art not like the beings that surround thee ; To me, thou art a dream of hope and fear ; (163) 164 TO MRS. . Yet why of fear ? — oh sure ! the Power that lent Such gifts, to make thee fair, and excellent ; Still watches one whom it has deigned to bless With such a dower of grace and loveliness ; Over the dangerous waves 'twill surely steer The richly freighted bark, through storm and blast, And guide it safely to the port at last. Such is my prayer ; 'tis warm as ever fell From off my lips : accept it, and farewell ! And though in this strange world where first I met thee, We meet no more — I never shall forget thee. AN ENTREATY. Once more, once more into the sunny fields Oh, let me stray ! And drink the joy that young existence yields In a bright, cloudless day. Once more let me behold the summer sky, With its blue eyes. And join the wild wind's voice of melody, As far and free it flies. Once more, once more, oh let me stand and liear The gushing spring, As its bright drops fall starlike, fast and clear, And in the sunshine sing. (165) 166 AN ENTREATY. Once more, oh let me list the soft sweet breeze At evening mourn : Let me, oh let me say farewell to these, And to my task I gaily will return. Oh, lovely earth ! oh, blessed smiling sky ! Oh, music of the wood, the wave, the wind ! I do but linger till my ear and eye Have traced ye on the tablets of my mind — And then, fare ye well ! Bright hill and bosky dell. Clear spring and haunted well, Night-blowing flowers pale, Smooth lawn and lonely vale. Sleeping lakes and sparlding fountains. Shadowy woods and sheltering mountains, Flowery land and sunny sky. And echo sweet, my playmate shy ; Fare ye well ! — fare ye well ! LINES FOR MUSIC. Loud wind, strong wind, where art thou blowing? Into the air, the viewless air, To be lost there, There am I blowing. Clear wave, swift wave, where art thou flowing ? Unto the sea, the boundless sea. To be whelmed there, There am I flowing. Young life, swift life, where art thou going ? Down to the grave, the loathsome grave, To moulder there. There am I going. (167) THE PARTING. 'TwAS a fit hour for parting, For athwart the leaden sky The heavy clouds came gathering And sailing gloomily : The earth was drunk with heaven's tears, And each moaning autumn breeze Shook the burthen of its weeping Off the overladen trees. The waterfall rushed swollen down, In the twilight, dim and gray; With a foam-wreath on the angry brow Of each wave that flashed away. My tears were minghng with the rain, That fell so cold and fast. And my spirit felt thy low deep sigh Through the wild and roaring blast. (168) TO . 169 The beauty of the summer woods Lay rusthng round our feet, And all fair things had passed away — 'Twas an hour for parting meet. TO The fountain of my life, which flowed so free, The plenteous waves, which brimming gushed along, Bright, deep, and swift, with a perpetual song. Doubtless have long since seemed dried up to thee : How should they not ? from the shrunk, narrow bed, Where once that glory flowed, have ebbed away Light, Hfe, and motion, and along its way The dull stream slowly creeps a shallow thread, — Yet, at the hidden source, if hands unblest Disturb the wells whence that sad stream takes birth. The swollen waters once again gush forth, Dark, bitter floods, rolling in wild unrest. 12 SONG. When you mournfully rivet your tear-laden eyes. That have seen the last sunset of hope pass away, On some bright orb that seems, through the still, sapphire skies, In beauty and splendor to roll on its way : Oh, remember this earth, if beheld from afar. Appears wrapt in a halo as soft, and as bright, As the pure silver radiance enshrining yon star. Where your spirit is eagerly soaring to-night. And at this very midnight, perhaps, some poor heart That is aching, or breaking, in that distant sphere ; (170^ FAITH. 171 Gazes down on this dark world, and longs to depart From its own dismal home, to a happier one here. FAITH. Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust, and that deceiving ; Than doubt one heart, that, if beheved, Had blessed one's life with true believing. Oh, in this mocking world, too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! Better be cheated to the last. Than lose the blessed Jiope of truth. TO A STAK. Thou little star, that in the purple clouds Hang'st, like a dewdrop, in a violet bed ; First gem of evening, glittering on the shrouds, 'Mid whose dark folds the day lies pale and dead. As through my tears my soul looks up to thee, Loathing the heavy chains that bind it here. There comes a fearful thought that misery Perhaps is found, even in thy distant sphere. Art thou a world of sorrow and of sin, The heritage of death, disease, decay ; A wilderness, like that we wander in. Where all things fairest soonest pass away ? And are there graves in thee, thou radiant world. Round which hfe's sweetest buds fall withered, (172) TO A STAR. 173 Where hope's bright wings in the dark earth lie furled, And living hearts are mouldering with the dead ? Perchance thej do not die, that dwell in thee, Perchance theirs is a darker doom than ours ; Unchanging woe, and endless misery. And mourning that hath neither days nor hours. Horrible dream ! — Oh dark and dismal path, Where I now weeping walk, I will not leave thee. Earth has one boon for all her children — death : Open thy arms, oh mother ! and receive me ! Take off the bitter burthen from the slave. Give me my birthright ! give — the grave, the grave ! SONNET. Thou poisonous laurel leaf, that in the soil Of life, which I am doomed to till full sore, Spring' st like a noisome weed ! I do not toil For thee, and yet thou still com'st darkening o'er My plot of earth with thy unwelcome shade. Thou nightshade of the soul, beneath whose boughs AU fair and gentle buds hang withering. Why hast thou wreathed thyself around my brows, Casting from thence the blossoms of my spring. Breathing on youth's sweet roses till they fade ? Alas ! thou art an evil weed of woe. Watered with tears and watched^with sleepless care. Seldom doth envy thy green glories spare ; And yet men covet thee — ah, wherefore do they so ! (174) SONNET. I HEAR a voice low in the sunset woods ; Listen, it says : " Decay, decay, decay." I hear it in the murmuring of the. floods, And the wind sighs it as it flies away. Autumn is come ; seest thou not in the skies The stormy light of his fierce, lurid eyes ? Autumn is come ; his brazen feet have trod. Withering and scorching, o'er the mossy sod. The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath Shrivel in his hot grasp ; his burning breath. Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade Wandering along, delicious music made. A flood of glory hangs upon the world. Summer's bright wings shining ere they are furled. (175) TO Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee In that dim world whither our spirits stray, When sleep and darkness follow life and day ? Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee With all that love that I must die conceahng ? Will my tear-laden eyes sin in reveahng The agony that preys upon my soul ? Is't not enough through the long, loathsome day, To hold each look, and word, in stern control ? May I not wish the staring sunhght gone. Day and its thousand torturing moments done. And prying sights and sounds of men away ? Oh, still and silent Night ! when all things sleep. Locked in thy swarthy breast my secret keep : Come, with thy visioned hopes and blessings now ! I dream the only happiness I know. (176) SONNET. WRITTEN AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, AFTER A BALL. Oh, modest maiden morn! why dost thou blush, Who thus betimes art walking in the sky ? 'Tis I, whose cheek bears pleasure's sleepless flush. Who shame to meet thy gray, cloud-hdded eye, Shadowy, yet clear : from the bright eastern door. Where the sun's shafts lie bound with thongs of fire, Along the heaven's amber paved floor. The glad hours move, hymning their early choir. 0, fair and fragrant morn ! upon my brow Press thy fresh lips, shake from thy dropping hair (177) 178 IMPROMPTU. Cold showers of balmy dew on me, and ere Day's cliarioir-wheels upon the horizon glow, Wrap me within thy sober cloak of gray. And bear me to thy twilight bowers away. IMPROMPTU, WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE SONNENBERG. Thou who within thyself dost not behold Ruins as great as these, though not as old. Canst scarce through Hfe have travelled many a year, Or lack'st the spirit of a pilgrim here. Youth hath its walls of strength, its towers of pride, Love, its warm hearth-stones, hope, its prospects wide. Life's fortress in thee, held these one, and all, And they have fallen to ruin, or shall fall. LINES, IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION. I'll tell thee why this weary world meseemeth But as the visions light of one who dreameth, Which pass like clouds, leaving no trace behind ; Why this strange life, so full of sin and folly, In me awakeneth no melancholy, Nor leaveth shade, or sadness, on my mind. 'Tis not that with an undiscerning eye I see the pageant wild go dancing by. Mistaking that which falsest is, for true ; 'Tis not that pleasure hath entwined me, 'Tis not that sorrow hath enshrined me ; I bear, no badge of roses or of rue, But in the inmost chambers of my soul * There is another world, a blessed home. O'er which no living power holdeth control, Anigh to which ill things do never come. (179) 180 LINES. There shineth the glad sunlight of clear thought, With hope, and faith, holding communion high, Over a fragrant land with flowers ywrought. Where gush the living springs of poesj, There speak the voices that I love to hear, There smile the glances that I love to see, There Hve the forms of those mj soul holds dear. For ever, in that secret world, with me. They who have walked with me along life's way. And severed been by fortune's adverse tide, Who ne'er again, through time's uncertain day. In weal or woe, may wander by my side ; These all dwell here : nor these, whom life alone Divideth from me, but the dead, the dead ; Those weary ones who to their rest are gone, Whose footprints from the earth have vanished ; Here dwell they all : and here, within this world. Like light within a summer sun-cloud furled. My spirit dwells. Therefore, this evil life, With all its gilded snares, and fair deceivings. Its wealth, its want, its pleasures, and its griev- ings, LINES FOR MUSIC. 181 Nor frights, nor frets me, by its idle strife. thou ! who readest of thy courtesy. Whoe'er thou art, I wish the same to thee ! LINES FOR MUSIC. Oh, sunny Love ! Crowned with fresh flowering May, Breath hke the Indian clove, Eyes like the dawn of day ; Oh, sunny Love ! Oh, fatal Love ! Thy wreath is nightshade all. With gloomy cypress wove. Thy kiss is bitter gall. Oh, fatal Love ! A FAREWELL, I SHALL come no more to the Cedar Hall, The fairies' palace, beside the stream ; Where the yellow sun rays at morning fall Through their tresses dark, with a mellow gleam. I shall tread no more the thick dewy lawn, When the young moon hangs on the brow of night. Nor see the morning, at early dawn. Shake the fading stars from her robes of light. I shall fly no more on my fiery steed, O'er the springing sward, — through the twilight wood ; Nor rein my courser, and check my speed. By the lonely grange, and the haunted flood. (182) IMPROMPTU. 183 At fragrant noon, I shall lie no more 'Neath the oak's broad shade, in the leafy deU: The sun is set, — ^the day is o'er, — The summer is past ; — farewell ! — farewell ! IMPEOMPTU. You say you're glad I write — -oh, say not so ! My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well ; And when the numbers freely from it flow, 'Tis that my heart and eyes o'erflow as well. Castalia, famed of yore, — the spring divine, Apollo's smile upon its current wears : Moore and Anacreon found its waves were wine. To me it flows a sullen stream of tears. TO A PICTURE. Oh, serious eyes! how is it that the light, The burning rays, that mine pour into ye, Still fi^d ye cold, and dead, and dark, as night — Oh, lifeless eyes ! can ye not answer me ? Oh, hps ! whereon mine own so often dwell, Hath love's warm, fearful, thrilling touch, no spell To waken sense in ye ? — oh, misery ! Oh, breathless hps ! can ye not speak to me ? Thou soulless mimicry of life ! my tears Fall scalding over thee ; in vain, in vain ; I press thee to my heart, whose hopes, and fears. Are all thine own ; thou dost not feel the strain. Oh, thou dull image ! wilt thou not reply To my fond prayers, and wild idolatry ? * (184) SONNET. There's not a fibre in my trembling frame That does not vibrate when thy step draws near. There's not a pulse that throbs not when I hear Thy voice, thy breathing, nay, thy very name. When thou art with me, every sense seems dull, And all I am, or know, or feel, is thee ;' My soul grows 'faint, my veins run liquid flame, And my bewildered spirit seems to swim In eddying whirls of passion, dizzily. When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart A cold and bitter consciousness of pain : The light, the warmth of life, with thee depart. And I sit dreaming o'er and o'er again Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone ; And suddenly I wake- — and am alone. 13 AN INVITATION. Come where the white waves dance along the shore Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas ; AVhose golden sands by mortal foot before Were never printed, — where the fragrant breeze, That never swept o'er land or flood that man Could caU his own, th' unearthly breeze shall fan Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs ; Where the eternal heaven's blue, sunny eyes Did ne'er look down on human shapes of earth, Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed birth : Come there with me ; and when we are alone In that enchanted desert, where the tone Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne'er With its strange music startle the still air, (186) AN INVITATION. 187 When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand, Upon that bright world's coral-cradled strand. When I can hide my face upon thy breast, While thy heart answers mine together pressed, Then fold me closer, bend thy head above me, Listen — and I will tell thee how I love thee. SONG. Never, oh, never more ! shall I behold Thy form so fair ; Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold Of thy long hair. Never, oh never more ! shall I be blest By thy voice low, Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast, Thy marble brow. Never, oh never more ! shall I inhale Thy fragrant sighs, Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil Of thy bright eyes. (188) LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD. Oh child ! who to this evil world art come, Led by the unseen hand of Him who guards thee, Welcome unto this dungeon-house, thy home ! Welcome to all the woe this life awards thee ! Upon thy forehead yet the badge of sin Hath worn no trace ; thou look'st as though from heaven, But pain, and guilt, and misery lie within ; Poor exile ! from thy happy birth-land driven. Thine eyes are sealed by the soft hand of sleep, And hke unruffled waves thy slumber seems ; The time's at hand when thou must wake to weep, Or sleeping, walk a restless' world of dreams. (189) 190 LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD. How oft, as day by day life's burthen lies Heavier and darker on thy fainting soul, Wilt thou towards heaven turn thy weary eyes. And long in bitterness to reach the goal. How oft wilt thou, upon Time's flinty road, Gaze at thy far-off early days, in vain ; Weeping, how oft wilt thou cast down thy load, And curse and pray, then take it up again. How many times shall the fiend Hope, extend Her poisonous chalice to thy thirsty Hps ! How oft shall Love its withering sunshine lend. To leave thee only a more dark eclipse ! How oft shall Sorrow strain thee in her grasp, — How oft shall Sin laugh at thine overthrow — How oft shall Doubt, Despair, and Anguish clasp Their knotted arms around thine aching brow ! SONNET. 191 Oh, living soul, hail to thy narrow cage ! Spirit of light, hail to thy gloomy cave ! Welcome to longing youth, to loathing age, Welcome, immortal! welcome to the grave! SONNET. 5? '5 Say thou not sadly, " never," and " no more, But from thy lips banish those falsest words ; While life remains that which was thine before Again may be thine ; in Time's storehouse lie Days, hours, and moments, that have unknown hoards Of joy, as well as sorrow : passing by. Smiles come with tears ; therefore with hopeful eye Look thou on dear things, though they turn away, For thou and they, perchance, some future day Shall meet again, and the gone bliss return ; For its departure then make thou no mourn. But with stout heart bid what thou lov'st farewell ; That which the past hath given the future gives as well. A RETROSPECT. Life wanes, and the bright sunlight of our youth Sets o'er the mountain-tops, where once Hope stood. Oh, Innocence ! oh, Trustfulness ! oh. Truth ! Where are ye all, white-handed sisterhood, Who with me on my way did walk along. Singing sweet scraps of that immortal song That's hymned in Heaven, but hath no echo here ? Are ye departing, fellows bright and clear, Of the young spirit, when it first ahghts Upon this earth of darkness and dismay? Farewell ! fair children of th' eternal day. Blossoms of that far land where fall no blights. Sweet kindred of my exiled soul, farewell ! Here I must wander, here ye may not dwell ; Back to your home beyond the founts of hght I see ye fly, and I am wrapt in night. (192) AN INVOCATION. Spirit, bright spirit! from thy narrow cell Answer me ! answer me ! oh, let me hear Thy voice, and know that thou indeed art near ! That from the bonds in which thou'rt forced to dwell Thou hast not broken free, thou art not fled. Thou hast not pined away, thou art not dead. Speak to me through thy prison bars ; my life, With all things round, is one eternal strife, 'Mid whose wild din I pause to hear thy voice ; Speak to me, look on me, thou born of light ! That I may know thou'rt with me, and rejoice. Shall not this weary warfare pass away ? Shall there not come a better, brighter day ? Shall not thy chain and mine be broken quite ? (193) 194 AJJ INVOCATION. And thou to heaven spring, With thine immortal wing, And I, still following. With steps that do not tire, Reach mj desire. And to thj worship bring Some worthy offering. Oh ! let but these dark days be once gone by, And thou, unwilHng captive, that dost strain. With tiptoe longing, vainly, towards the sky. O'er the whole kingdom of my life shalt reign. But, while I'm doomed beneath the yoke to bow, Of sordid toiling in these caverns drear, Oh, look upon me sometimes with thy brow Of shining brightness ; sometimes let me hear Thy blessed voice, singing the songs of heaven. Whence thou and I, together, have been driven ; Give me assurance that thou still art nigh. Lest I sink down beneath my load, and die. A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON. The waterfall is calling me With its merry gleesome flow, And the green boughs are beckoning me, To where the wild flowers grow : I may not go, I may not go, To where the sunny waters flow, To where the wild wood flowers blow ; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on. Would God that thou wert done ! The busy mill-wheel round and round Goes turning, with its reckless sound, And o'er the dam the waters flow Into the foaming stream below, (195) 196 A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON. And deep and dark, away they glide, To meet the broad, bright river's tide ; And all the way They murmuring say : " Oh, child ! why art thou far away ? Come back into the sun, and stray Upon our mossy side ! " I may not go, I may not go, To where the gold green waters run, All shining, in the summer's sun, And leap from off the dam below Into a whirl of boihng snow, Laughing and shouting as they go ; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh, heavy Hfe, wear on, wear on, Would God that thou wert done ! The soft spring wind goes passing by. Into the forests wide and cool ; A LAMENT FOE THE WISSAHICCON. 197 The clouds go trooping through the sky, To look down on some glassy pool ; The sunshine makes the world rejoice, And all of them, with gentle voice, Call me away. With them to stay, The blessed, hvelong summer's day. I may not go, I may not go. Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow. Nor where the silver clouds go by, Across the holy, deep blue sky. Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright. Comes down like a still shower of light ; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on. Would God that thou wert done ! Oh, that I were a thing with wings ! A bird, that in a May-hedge sings ! A lonely heather bell that swings 198 LINES FOR MUSIC. Upon some wild hill-side ; Or even a silly, senseless stone, With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown, Round which the waters glide. LINES FOE, MUSIC. Good night ! from music's softest spell Go to thy dreams : and in thy slumbers, Fairies, with magic harp and shell. Sing o'er to thee thy own sweet numbers. Good night ! from hope's intense desire Go to thy dreams : and may to-morrow, Love, with the sun returning, fire These evening mists of doubt and sorrow. Good night ! from hours of weary waking I'll to my dreams : still in my sleep ^0 feel the spirit's restless aching. And even with eyelids closed, to weep. TO THE WISSAHICCON. My feet shall tread no more thy mossy side, When once they turn away, thou Pleasant Water, Nor ever more, reflected in thy tide, Will shine the eyes of the White Island's daughter. But often in my dreams, when I am gone Beyond the sea that parts thy home and mine. Upon thy banks the evening sun will shine. And I shall hear thy low, still flowing on. And when the burthen of existence Hes Upon my soul, darkly and heavily, I'll clasp my hands over my weary eyes. Thou Pleasant Water, and thy clear waves see. Bright be thy course for ever and for ever, Child of pure mountain springs, and mountain snow ; (199) 200 TO THE WISSAHICCON. And as thou wanderest on to meet the river, Oh, still in light and music mayst thou flow ! I never shall come back to thee again. When once my sail is shadowed on the main. Nor ever shall I hear thy laughing voice As on their rippling way, thy waves rejoice, Nor ever see the dark green cedar throw Its gloomy shade o'er the clear depths below. Never, from stony rifts of granite gray. Sparkling like diamond rocks in the sun's ray. Shall I look down on thee, thou pleasant stream. Beneath whose crystal folds the gold sands gleam ; Wherefore, farewell ! but whensoe'er again The wintry spell melts from the earth and air; And the young Spring comes dancing through thy glen, With fragrant, flowery breath, and sunny hair ; When through the snow the scarlet berries gleam. Like jewels strewn upon thy banks, fair stream. My spirit shall through many a summer's day Return, among thy peaceful woods to stray. AN EVENING SONG. Good night, love ! May heaven's brightest stars watch over thee ! Good angels spread their wings, and cover thee ; And through the night, So dark and still, Spirits of light Charm thee from ill ! My heart is hovering round thy dwelling-place, Good night, dear love ! God bless thee with his grace ! Good night, love ! Soft lullabies the night-wind sing to thee !, And on its wings sweet odors bring to the ' And in thy dreaming May all things dear, 14 202 AN EVENING SONG. With gentle seeming, Come smiling near ! My knees are bowed, my hands are clasped in prayer — Good night, dear love 1 God keep thee in his care ! THE DEATH-SONG. Mother, mother ! my heart is wild, Hold me upon jour bosom dear, Do not frown on jour own poor child, Death is darklj drawing near. Mother, mother ! the bitter shame Eats into mj verj soul ; And longing love, like a wrapping flame, Burns me awaj without control. Mother, mother ! upon mj brow The clammj death-sweats coldlj rise ; How dim and strange jour features grow Through the hot mist that veils mj ejes. (203) 204 THE DEATH-SONa. Mother, mother ! sing me the song They sing on sunny August eves, The rustling barley fields along. Binding up the ripe, red sheaves. Mother ! mother ! I do not hear Your voice — ^but his — oh, guard me well ! His breathing makes me faint with fear. His clasping arms are round me still. Mother, mother ! unbind my vest. Upon my heart lies his first token : Now lay me in my narrow nest. Your withered blossom, crushed and broken. WEITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT. The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! Those happy hours, when down the mountain-side, We saw the rosy mists of morning glide. And hand in hand, went forth upon our way. Full of young Hfe and hope, to meet the day. The hours are past, love. Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! Those sunny hours, when from the midday heat. We sought the waterfall with loitering feet, And o'er the rocks that lock the gleaming pool. Crept down into its depths, so dark and cool. The hours are past, love. Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! (205) 206 WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT. Those solemn hours, when through the violet sky, Alike without a cloud, without a ray, The round red autumn moon came glowingly, While o'er the leaden waves our boat made way. The hours are past, love, Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! Those blessed hours, when the bright day was past. And in the world we seemed to wake alone, When heart to heart beat throbbingly, and fast. And love was melting our two souls in one. "'TIS AN OLD TALE AND OFTEN TOLD." Aeb they indeed the bitterest tears we shed Those we let fall over the silent dead ? Can our thoughts image forth no darker doom, Than that which wraps us in the peaceful tomb ? Whom have ye laid beneath that mossy grave, Round which the slender, sunny grass-blades wave ? Who are ye calling back to tread again This weary walk of life ? towards whom, in vain, Are your fond eyes and yearning hearts upraised ; The young, the loved, the honored, and the praised ? Come hither ;— -look upon the faded cheek Of that still woman, who with eyelids meek Veils her most mournful eyes ; — upon her brow Sometimes the sensitive blood will faintly glow, (207) 208 "'tis an old tale and often told." When reckless hands her heart-wounds roughly tear, But patience oftener sits palely there. Beauty has left her — ^hope and joy have long Fled from her heart, yet she is young, is young ; Has many years, as human tongues would tell, Upon the face of this blank earth to dwell. Looks she not sad ? 'tis but a tale of old, Told o'er and o'er, and ever to be told, The hourly story of our every day. Which when men hear they sigh and turn away ; A tale too trite almost to find an ear, A woe too common to deserve a tear. She is the daughter of a distant land ; — Her kindred are far off; — her maiden hand. Sought for by many, was obtained by one Who owned a different birthland from her own. But what recked she of that ? as low she knelt Breathing her marriage vows, her fond heart felt, "For thee, I give up country, home, and friends; Thy love for each, for all, shall make amends ; " And was she loved ? — perishing by her side " ^TIS AN OLD TALE AND OFTEN TOLD." 209 The children of her bosom drooped and died ; The bitter life they drew from her cold breast Flickered and failed ; — she laid them down to rest : Two pale young blossoms in their early sleep ; And weeping, said, " They have not lived to weep." And weeps she yet ? no, to her weary eyes. The bliss of tears, her frozen heart denies ; Complaint, or sigh, breathes not upon her lips. Her life is one dark, fatal, deep eclipse. Lead her to the green grave where ye have laid The creature that ye mourn ; — let it be said : " Here love, and youth, and beauty, are at rest!" She only sadly murmurs, " Blest ! — ^most blest ! " And turns from gazing, lest her misery Should make her sin, and pray to Heaven to die. FKAGMENT. FROM AN EPISTLE WRITTEN WHEN THE THERMOMETER STOOD AT 98° IN THE SHADE. Oh! for the temperate airs that blow Upon that darling of the sea. Where neither sunshine, rain, or snow, For three dajs hold supremacy ; But ever-varying skies contend The blessings of all climes to lend. To make that tiny, wave-rocked isle, In never-fading beauty smile. England, oh England ! for the breeze That slowly stirs thy forest trees ! Thy ferny brooks, thy mossy fountains. Thy beechen woods, thy heathery mountains. Thy lawny uplands, where the shadow Of many a giant oak is sleeping ; (210) FRAGMENT. 211 The tangled copse, the sunny meadow, Through which the summer rills run weeping. Oh, land of flowers ! while sinking here Beneath the dog-star of the West, The music of the waves I hear That cradle thee upon their breast. Fresh o'er thj rippling corn-fields fly The wild winged breezes of the sea. While from thy smiling, summer sky. The ripening sun looks tenderly. And thou — to whom through all this heat My parboiled thoughts still fondly turn. Oh ! in what " shady blest retreat " Art thou ensconced, while here I burn ? Across the lawn, in the deep glade, Where hand in hand we oft have strayed, Or communed sweetly, side by side, Hear'st thou the chiming ocean tide, As gently on the pebbly beach It lays its head, then ebbs away. Or round the rocks, with nearer reach, Throws up a cloud of silvery spray? 212 FRAGMENT. Or to the firrj woods, that shed Their spicy odors to the sun, Goest thou with meditative tread. Thinking of all things that are done Beneath the sky? — a great, big thought, Of which I know you're very fond. For me, my mind is solely wrought To this one wish : — ! in a pond Would I were over head and ears ! . (Of a cold ducking I've no fears,) Or any where, where I am not ; For, bless the heat ! it is too hot ! AN APOLOGY. Blame not my tears, love, to you has been given The brightest, best gift, God to mortals allows ; The sunlight of hope on your heart shines from Heaven, And shines from your heart, on this life and its woes. Blame not my tears, love, on you her best treasure Kind nature has lavished, oh, long be it yours ! For how barren soe'er be the path you now meas- ure. The future still woos you with hands full of flowers. Oh, ne'er be that gift, love, withdrawn from thy keeping ! The jewel of life, its strong spirit, its wings ; (213) 214 AN APOLOGY. If thou ever must weep, may it shine through thy weeping, As the sun his warm rays through a spring shower flings. But blame not my tears, love, to me 'twas de- nied. And when Fate to my lips gave this life's mingled cup. She had filled to the brim, from the dark bitter tide. And forgotten to pour in the only sweet drop. WRITTEN AFTER SPENDING A DAY AT WEST POINT. Weee they but dreams ? Upon the darkening world Evening comes down, the wings of fire are furled, On which the day soared to the sunny west: The moon sits calmly, like a soul at rest. Looking upon the never-resting- earth ; All things in heaven wait on the solemn birth Of night, but where has fled the happy dream That at this hour, last night, our Hfe did seem ? Where are the mountains with their tangled hair. The leafy hollow, and the rocky stair ? Where are the shadows of the solemn hills, And the fresh music of the summer rills ? Where are the wood-paths, winding, long, and steep, And the great, glorious river, broad and deep, (216) 216 A DAY AT WEST POINT. And the thick copses, where soft breezes meet. And the wild torrent's snowy, leaping feet. The rustling, rocking boughs, the running streams, — Where are they all ? gone, gone ! were they but dreams ? And where, oh where are the light footsteps gone, That from the mountain-side came dancing down ? The voices full of mirth, the loving eyes, The happy hearts, the human paradise, The youth, the love, the life that revelled here, — Are they too gone ? — Upon Time's shadowy bier, The pale, cold hours of joys now past, are laid. Perhaps, not soon from memory's gaze to fade, But never to be reckoned o'er again. In all Hfe's future store of bliss and pain. From the bright eyes the sunshine may depart, Youth flies^— love dies — and from the joyous heart Hope's gushing fountain ebbs too soon away. Nor spares one drop for that disastrous day. When from the barren waste of after life. The weariness, the worldliness, the strife, The soul looks o'er the desert of its way SONNET. 217 To the green gardens of its early day : The paradise, for which we vainly mourn, The heaven, to which our hngering eyes still turn. To which our footsteps never shall return. SONNET. Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn O'er joys that God hath for a season lent, Perchance to try thy spirit, and its bent, Effeminate soul and base ! weakly to mourn ; There lies no desert in the land of life, For e'en that tract that barrenest doth seem. Labored of thee in faith and hope, shall teem With heavenly harvests and rich gatherings, rife. Haply no more, music and mirth and love. And glorious things of old and younger art, Shall of thy days make one perpetual feast. But when these bright companions all depart. Lay thou thy head upon the ample breast Of Hope, and thou shalt hear the angels sing above. 15 SONG. Pass thy hand through my hair, love ; One httle year ago, In a curtain bright and rare, love, It fell golden o'er my brow. But the gold has passed away, love, And the drooping curls are thin, And cold threads of wintry gray, love. Gutter their folds within : How should this be, in one short year ? It is not age — can it be care ? Fasten thine eyes on mine, love ; One httle year ago. Midsummer's sunny shine, love, Had not a warmer glow. (218) SONG. 219 But the light is there no more, love, Save in melancholy gleams, Like wan moonlight wand'ring o'er, love. Dim lands in troubled dreams : How should this be, in one short year ? It is not age — can it be care ? Lay thy cheek to my cheek, love ; One little year ago , It was ripe, and round, and sleek, love. As the autumn peaches grow. But the rosy hue has fled, love, Save a flush that goes and comes. Like a flower born from the dead, love. And blooming over tombs : How should this be, in one short year ? It is not age — can it be care ? TO MRS. DULANEY. What was thine errand here ? Thy beauty was more exquisite than aught That from this marred earth Takes its imperfect birth. It was a radiant, heavenly beauty, caught From some far higher sphere, And though an angel now, thou still must bear The lovely semblance that thou here didst wear. What was thine errand here ? Thy gentle thoughts, and holy, humble mind. With earthly creatures coarse, Held not discourse. But with fine spirits, of some purer kind, Dwelt in communion dear ; And sure they speak to thee that language now. Which thou wert wont to speak to us, below. (220) TO MRS. DULANEY. 221 What was thine errand here ? To adorn anguish, and ennoble death, And make infirmity A patient victory. And crown hfe's baseness with a glorious wreath. That fades not on thy bier. But fits, immortal soul ! thy triumph still, In that bright world where thou art gone to dwell. LINES, ADDKESSED TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMEN LEAVING THE ACADEMY AT LENOX, MASSACHUSETTS. Life is before je — and while now je stand Eager to spring upon the promised land, Fair smiles the way, where yet your feet have trod But few light steps, upon a flowery sod ; 1 Round ye are youth's green bowers, and to your I eyes iTh' horizon's hne joins earth with the bright skies ; Daring and triumph, pleasure, fame, and joy, Friendship unwavering, love without alloy. Brave thoughts of noble deeds, and glory won. Like angels, beckon ye to venture on. And if o'er the bright scene some shadows rise, Far off they seem, at hand the sunshine lies. (222) LINES. 223 The distant clouds which of ye pause to fear ? Shall not a brightness gild them when more near? Dismay and doubt ye know not, for the power Of youth is strong within ye at this hour, And the great mortal conflict seems to ye Not so much strife as certain victory — A glory ending in eternity. Life is before ye — oh ! if ye could look Into the secrets of that sealed book, Strong as ye are in youth, and hope, and faith. Ye should sink down, and falter, " Give us death ! " Could the dread Sphinx's lips but once disclose, And utter but a whisper of the woes Which must o'er take ye, in your lifelong doom, Well might ye cry, " Our cradle be our tomb ! " Could ye foresee your spirit's broken wings. Earth's brightest triumphs what despised things. Friendship how feeble, love how fierce a flame, Your joy half sorrow, half your glory shame. 224 LINES. HoUowness, weariness, and, worst of all, Self-scorn that pities, not its own deep fall. Fast gathering darkness, and fast waning light, Oh could ye see it all, ye might, ye might Cowfer in the dust, unequal to the strife. And die, but in beholding what is life. Life is before ye — from the fated road Ye cannot turn: then take ye up your load. Not yours to tread, or leave the unknown way. Ye must go o'er it, meet ye what ye may. Gird up your souls within ye to the deed. Angels, and fellow-spirits, bid ye speed ! What though the brightness dim, the pleasure fade, The glory wane, — oh ! not of these is made The awful hfe that to your trust is given. Children of God ! inheritors of heaven ! Mourn not the perishing of each fair toy. Ye were ordained to do, not to enjoy, To suffer, which is nobler than to dare ; A sacred burthen is this life ye bear, LINES. 225 Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly, Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly ; Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin. But onward, upward, till the goal ye win ; God guard ye, and God. guide ye on your ^ way. Young pilgrim warriors wbo set forth to-day. THE PEAYER OF A LONELY HEAET. I AM alone — oh be thou near to me, Great God ! from whom the meanest are not far. Not in presumption of the daring spirit, Striving to find the secrets of itself. Make I my weeping prayer ; in the deep want Of utter loneliness, my God ! I seek thee ; If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship. Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee. I have no fellow. Father ! of my kind ; None that be kindred, none companion to me, And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood. Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me, Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot. Around me grow the trees, each by the other ; Innumerable leaves, each hke the other, Whisper and breathe, and hve and move together. (226) THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART. 227 Around me spring tlie flowers ; each rosy cup Hath sisters leaning their fair cheeks against it. The birds fly all above me ; not alone, But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering A joyous band, sweeping in companies The wide blue fields between the clouds; — the clouds Troop in society, each on the other Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light. The waves, a multitude, together run To the great breast of the receiving sea : Nothing but hath its kind, its company. Oh God ! save I alone ! — then, let me come, Good Father! to thy feet, when even as now. Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe, O'erbrim my eyes, oh wipe them, thou, my Father ! When in my heart the stores of its afiections, Piled up unused, locked fast, are like to burst The fleshly casket, that may not contain them. Let me come nigh to thee ; — accept them thou, 228 THE PKAYER OF A LONELY HEAET. Dear Father ! — Fount of Love ! Compassionate God ! When in mj spirit burns the fire, the power. That have made men utter the words of angels, And none are near to bid me speak and five : Hearken, oh Father ! maker of my spirit ! God of my soul, to thee I will outpour The hymns resounding through my troubled mind, The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart. The tears, and weeping, of my weary eyes : Be thou my feUow, glorious, gracious God ! And fit me for such fellowship with thee ! ABSENCE, What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face ? How shall I charm the interval that lowers Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing ? — shall I flee away Into past days, and with some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day ? Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's great gift of time ; Shall I these mists of memory locked within. Leave, and forget life's purposes sublime ? (229) 230 ABSENCE. Oh ! how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near ? How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? I'll tell thee : for thy sake, I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told While thou, beloved one! art far from me. For thee, I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their min- utes pains. I will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task-time, and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than I have won, siace yet I live. SONNET. 231 So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces which shall thus be thine ; So may my love and longing hallowed be, And thy dear thought an influence divine. SONNET. But to be still ! oh, but to cease awhile The panting breath and hurrying steps of life, The sights, the sounds, the struggle, and the strife Of hourly being ; the sharp, biting file Of action, fretting on the tightened chain Of rough existence ; all that is not pain. But utter weariness ; oh ! to be free But for a while from conscious entity ! To shut the banging doors and windows wide. Of restless sense, and let the soul abide Darkly and stilly, for a little space. Gathering its strength up to pursue the race ; Oh, heavens ! to rest a moment, but to rest From this quick, gasping life, were to be blest ! EETURN. When the bright sun back on his yearly road Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me, As from the sky he pours it all abroad, A golden herald, my beloved, of thee. When from the south the gentle winds do blow, Calling the flowers that sleep beneath the earth, It sounds like sweetest music, that doth go Before thy coming, full of love and mirth. When one by one the violets appear. Opening their purple vests so modestly. To greet the virgin daughter of the year. Each seems a fragrant prophecy of thee. (232) KETURN^. 233 For with the spring thou shalt return again ; Therefore the wind, the flower, and clear sun- shine, A double worship from mj heart obtain, A love and welcome not their own, but thine. 16 LINES, WRITTEN IN LONDON. Struggle not with thj life ! — the heavy doom Resist not, it will bow thee hke a slave : Strive not ! thou shalt not conquer ; to thy tomb Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though ne'er so brave. Complain not of thy life ! — for what art thou More than thy fellows, that thou should'st not weep ? Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow. And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep. Marvel not at thy life ! — patience shall see The perfect work of wisdom to her given ; Hold fast thy soul through this high mystery. And it shall lead thee to the gates of heaven. 12m TO . What recks the sun how weep the heavy flowers All the sad night, when he is far away ? What recks he how they mourn, through those dark hours, Till back again he leads the smiling day ? As hfts each watery bloom its tearful eye, And blesses from its lowly seat, the God, In his great glory he goes through the sky, And recks not of the blessing from the sod. And what is it to thee, oh, thou, my fate ! That all my hope and joy remains with thee ? That thy departing leaves me desolate. That thy returning brings back life to me ? (235) 236 TO . I blame not thee, for all the strife and woe, That for thy sake daily disturbs my life, I blame not thee, that heaven has made me so, That all the love I can, is woe and strife. I blame not thee, that I may ne'er impart The tempest, and the death, and the despair. That words and looks of thine make in my heart. And, turn by turn, riot and stagnate there. Oh ! I have found my sin's sharp scourge in thee, For loving thee, as one should love but Heaven ; Therefore, oh, thou beloved ! I blame not thee, But by my anguish hope to be forgiven. EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. TO Y , WITH A BOWL OF BOHEMIAN GLASS. From rocky hills, where climbs the vine ; Where on his waves the wandering Rhine Sees imaged ruins, towns and towers, Bare mountain scalps, green forest bowers. From that broad land of poetry. Wild legend, noble history. This token many a day bore I, To lay it at your feet, dear Y . Little the stupid bowl will tell Of all that on its way befell, Since from old Frankfort's free domain. Where smiling vineyards skirt the Main, It took its way ; what sunsets red Their splendors o'er the mountains shed, (237) 238 EPISTLE FEOM THE EHINE. How the blue Taunus' distant height Like hills of fire gave back the light, And how, on river, rock, and skj. The sun declined so tenderly, That o'er the scene white moonlight fell. Ere we had bid the day farewell. From Maintz, where many a warrior priest Was wont of yore to fight and feast. The broad stream bore us down its tide. Till where upon its steeper side. Grim Ehrenfels, with turrets brown, On Hatto's wave-worn tower looks down. Here did we rest, — my dearest Y , This bowl could all as well as I, Describe that scene, when in the deep, Still, middle night, all wrapped in sleep, The hamlet lone, the dark blue sky, The eddying river sweeping by. Lay 'neath the clear unclouded light Of the full moon : broad, brimming, bright. The glorious flood went rolling by Its world of waves, while silently EPISTLE FKOM THE EHINE. 239 The shaggy hills, on either side, Watched like huge giants bj the tide. From where the savage bishop's tower Obstructs the flood, a sullen roar Broke on the stillness of the night, And the rough waters, jeasty white, Foamed round that whirlpool dread and deep, Where still thy voice is heard to weep, Gisela ! maiden most unblest. Thou Jeptha's daughter of the West ! Who shall recall the shadowy train That, in the magic Hght, my brain Conjured upon the glassy wave. From castle, convent, crag, and cave ? Down swept the Lord of Allemain, Broad-browed, deep-chested Charlemagne, And his fair child, who tottering bore Her lover o'er the treacherous floor Of new-fallen snow, that her small feet Alone might print that tell-tale sheet, Nor other trace show the stern guard. 240 EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. The nightly path of Eginhard. What waving plumes and banners past, With trumpet clang and bugle blast, And on the night-wind faintly borne, Strains from that mighty hunting-horn. Which through these woods, in other days Startled the echoes of the chase. On trooped the vision ; lord and dame. On fiery steed and palfrey tame. Pilgrims, with palms and cockle shells, And motley fools, with cap and bells. Princes and Counties Palatine, Who ruled and revelled on the Rhine, Abbot and monk, with many a torch. Came winding from each convent porch, And holy maids from Nonnenwerth, In the pale moonhght all came forth ; Thy love, Roland, among the rest. Her meek hands folded on her breast, Her sad eyes turned to heaven, where thou Once more shalt hear love's early vow. That vow, which led thee home again EPISTLE FROM THE EHINE. 241 From Roncesvalles' bloody plain, That vow, that ne'er again was spoken Till death the nun's drear oath had broken. Down from each crumbling castle poured, Of ruthless robber-knights, the horde, Sweeping with clang and clamor by. Like storm-cloud rattling through the sky : Pageant so glorious ne'er, I ween. On lonely river bank was seen. So passed that night : but with the day The vision melted all away ; And wrapped in sullen mist and rain, The river bore us on again. With heavy hearts and tearful eyes, That answered well the weeping skies Of autumn, which now hung o'er all The scene their leaden, dropping pall. Beneath whose dark gray veils, once more We hailed our native Albion's shore. Our pilgrimage of pleasure o'er. SONNET. Though thou return unto the former things, Fields, woods, and gardens, where thy feet have strayed In other days, and not a bough, branch, blade Of tree, or meadow, but the same appears As when thou lovedst them in former years. They shall not seem the same ; the spirit brings Change from the inward, though the outward be E'en as it was, when thou didst weep to see It last, and spak'st that prophecy of pain, " Farewell ! I shall not look on ye again ! " And so thou never didst — no, though e'en now Thine eyes behold all they so loved of yore. The Thou that did behold them then, no more Lives in this world, it is another Thou. (242) SONNET. Like one who walketh in a plenteous land, By flowing waters, under shady trees. Through sunny meadows, where the summer bees Feed in the thyme and clover ; on each hand Fair gardens lying, where of fruit and flower The bounteous season hath poured out its dower: Where saflron skies roof in the earth with hght. And birds sing thankfully towards Heaven, while he With a sad heart walks through this jubilee. Beholding how beyond this happy land, Stretches a thirsty desert of gray sand. Where all the air is one thick, leaden blight. Where all things dwarf and dwindle, — so walk I, Through my rich, present hfe, to what beyond doth lie. f243) SONNET. Art thou already weary of the way ? Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er ; Get up, and hft thy burthen : lo, before Thy feet the road goes stretching far away. If thou already faint, who hast but come Through half thy pilgrimage, with fellows gay. Love, youth, and hope, under the rosy bloom And temperate airs, of early breaking day ; Look yonder, how the heavens stoop and gloom. There cease the trees to shade, the flowers to spring. And th' angels leave thee ; what wilt thou become Through yon drear stretch of dismal wandering, Lonely and dark? I shall take courage, friend, For comes not every step more near the end ? (244) ARRIVAL m ROME. Early in life, when hope seems prophecy, And strong desire can sometimes mould a fate, My dream was of thy shores, oh, Italy ! Of thy blue deep, that even for awhile Will not forsake its spicy pine-girt beaches ; Of the unuttered glories of thy sky. Of the unnumbered beauties of thy earth. And all the immortal memories, that rest For ever like an atmosphere above thee. Thus towards the south my spirit's flight was turned. For ever with the yearning of one born there. And nursed upon its warm and fragrant bosom ; Awhile the sunny dream shut out all else, And filled the horizon of my contemplations. Slowly, and by degrees, the toiling years, (245) 246 ARRIVAL IN ROME. Breathed o'er the bright illusion, dimming it, — And gathered close about me sterner things. The graceful lines, the gorgeous hues, the forms Of grandeur and of beauty that my thoughts Had dwelt amidst, as in their proper home. Melted and faded — ^broke, dissolved away. Till the last, lovely, Hngering trace had vanished. And I forgot to hope it might return. Across an ocean — not thy sapphire waves. Oh, Mediterranean, sea of memories ! But the dark marble ridges of th' Atlantic, Destiny led me — not to thy bright shores, Ausonia, but that wondrous wilderness. That other world, where Hope supreme beholds AU things unshaped — one huge eventful promise. Ah, not to thee, thou treasure-house of Art, Thou trophy-loaded Temple of the Past, Hung with triumphant spoils of all the ages ! But to that land where Expectation stands. An former things behind her — and before The unfathomed brightness of Futurity, Rolling its broad waves to the feet of God. ARRIVAL IN ROME. 247 Upon that distant shore, a dream more fair Than the imaginations of my youth Awhile entranced me ; Hghtning-like it fled, And I remained utterly desolate. Love had departed ; Youth, too, had departed ; Hope had departed ; and my hfe before me Lay covered with the ashes of the Past, — Dark, barren, cold, drear, flinty, colorless. As through the cheerless gray of waning night. When its black veils wear thin and part like film, Beautiful light, like hfe begins to glow, . And the great picture of the earth is sketched Faintly upon the canvas of the dark. Brighter and brighter growing, as the day Holds its great torch against God's masterpiece, Till the whole work in perfect glory shines : So rose once more that southern vision's splendor Upon the cheerless twihght of my fate ; The last grim pages of my book of hfe, Filled with a mean and grinding martyrdom, "Washed with unceasing tears at length gave back The nobler legend written on my youth. 248 ARRIVAL m ROME. Again, again, the glowing shapes returned ; Again, the lovely lines like magic drew me ; Again the splendor of the southern heavens Shed rosy light and golden glories round me. And Art and Nature, twins immortal, stood Upon the threshold of earth's Paradise, And waved me towards it. And at last I came, — But with a broken heart and tear-dimmed eyes. And such a woful weight of misery laden, As well might challenge the great ministry Of the whole universe, to comfort it. Thus did I seek thy shores, oh, Italy ! Land — not of promise — but of consolation ; Not in that season of my life, when Hfe Itself was rich enough for all its need, • And I yet held its whole inheritance ; But in the bankrupt days when all is spent. Bestowed, or stolen, wasted, given away. To buy a store of bitter memories : In the first hour of lengthening evening shadows. When Resolution on life's summit stands. Looks back on all its brightness, and looks for- ward IMPROMPTU. 249 Through gathering downward darkness to the grave. Hail, then, most fair, most glorious, long desired — Long dreamed of — hoped for — ^Italj, hail ! hail ! I kiss thy earth, weeping with joy, to think That I, at last, stand on thy sacred soil. IMPEOMPTU. Sorrow and sin, and suffering and strife, Have been cast in fhe waters of my life ; And they have sunk deep down to the well-head. And all that flows thence is embittered. Yet still the fountain up towards heaven springs, And still the brook where'er /it wanders sings ; And still where'er it hath found leave to rest, The blessed sun looks down into its breast ;. And it reflects, as in a mirror fair. The image of all beauty shining there. 17 LINES. Upon the altar of my life there lies A costly offering : its price I know ; The worth that it might have, its power and beauty ; Yet it lies there, and darkness covers it. It has not burned towards heaven in holy flames. Worshipping God, warming and hghting man ; No fire has quickened it. — Love, like a torch Quenched in foul mist, passed over it in vain : A flickering ray of pale uncertain happiness Played round it once, too weak to kindle it. Strike, strike then now, ye lightning fires of sorrow ! Devouring flames ! ye that have all consumed Love, Hope, and Happiness, do your whole work ! Light up the gifts that lie on my fife's altar, (250) LIFE. 251 Kindle the precious sacrifice my soul Has heaped in vain : so shall it burn towards heaven, And glorify the Giver of all gifts, The Sender of all earthly destinies. LIFE. At morn — a mountain ne'er to be climbed o'er, A horn of plenty, lengthening evermore ; At noon — the countless hour-sands pouring fast. Waves that we scarce can see as they run past; At night— a pageant over ere begun, A course not even measured and yet run, A short mysterious tale — suddenly done. At first — a heap of treasure, heaven-high ; At last — a faihng purse, shrunk, lean, and beg- garly. LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI. One river from the mountain springs was born, Into three several streams its course was torn. For one a rojal path was made, it ran, Sheltered and screened, through channels paved by man ; A noble flood, a bounteous, beauteous river. In light and glory rolling forth for ever. One, to the children of the earth became A slave unwilling, bound, but never tame. Round lashing wheels its silver foam was spread. Through murky chambers its bright waves were led. Dread clangor of huge engines drowned its voice. At its dark work forbidden to rejoice ; Close by its fiery foe its white waves boil, Fierce ruddy flames beside it glow and toil, (252^ LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI. 253 Striving and laboring, panting, rushing past. All stained and sullied it leaps free at last. And down the huge cHffs with one shouting bound Joins its fair sister on the level ground Of a green valley. One sad stream was led By God, not man, through chasms dark, drear, and dread : Horrible depths ne'er visited by light. Caves of despair, dismay, and thickest night ; There in an agony the lonely river Leapt down, and turned, and writhed, and plunged for ever ; Seeking escape from out the hideous deep. Where its wild waters were condemned to weep ; But this tormented stream too found its way, At length to the sweet air of upper day ; And altogether they flow down to rest One with the other in the Ocean's breast. So ends all life that is but mortal breath, — All fates are equal in the lap of Death. THE SIREN'S CAVE AT TIVOLI. As o'er the chasm I breathless hung, Thus from the depths the Siren sung " Down, down into the womb Of earth, the daylight's tomb, Where the sun's eyes Never may shine, Nor fair moon rise With smile divine ; . Where caverns yawn Black as despair, Fatally drawn I plunge down there ; And with the bound The rocks resound. And round and round My waves are wound (254) THE siren's cave AT TIVOLI. 255 Into the gaping rifts of the mid earth : Oh, for the sunny springs where I took birth! The gentle rills, The tiny brimming fountain. That, scooped in the warm bosom of the mountain. Each May shower over-fills ! Whence I and my fair sister came ; and she Rolls her smooth silver flood along the way. That princes made for her, so royally, Piercing the rock to give her ample sway. Down the bright sunny steep Her waters leap, Myrtle, and bay, and laurel, and wild vine, A garland for her flowing tresses twine ! The green moss stars the rocks whereon she leaps, Over her breast the fragrant locust weeps ; The air resounds with her wild shouts of laughter, The echoes of the hills in chorus after Repeat the sound, and in her silvery spray Rainbows are woven by the light of day ! 256 THE siren's cave at tivoli. Down in the valley she springs And sings, And the sky bends over Her, like a lover ; And glittering and sparkling her waters run, A bright sea of snow in the summer sun ! Darkness broods over me the while ; Grim rocks that sweat With my cold clammy spray, As down the hopeless way In one wild jet My tortured billows lash, and leap, and boil; So deep my bed of darkness lies. That scarce the voice of my great agony Reaches the skies. And all ye see With fearful eyes Who question me. Is the gray whirhng mist that covers all As with a pall. THE SIEEN'S cave AT TIVOLI. 257 Light ! light upon the rocks ! sudden and fierce The sharp flames pierce ; Glaring upon my water Like the blood-hue of slaughter A red torch flashes ; ' As down my wild flood dashes Wide flaring brightness streams upon my foam, And flaming fire-wreaths come Hissing into my waves to find their doom In the same blackness that devours me. The huge rocks grin, as with a sudden glee. At this strange visitation of the light, And they are made not beautiful, but bright. As all their horrid piles and masses show. Hanging above, and heaped below, Searched by the ruddy glow. Oh, let me still in darkness dwell ! Not in this hell Of lurid light, That scares the night. Hence with the leaping glare. Whose fiery stare 258 THE siren's cave at tivoli. Reveals the secrets of my dismal bed ; Hence with the voices that profane the dread Of my dark chambers ! " — thus the Siren cried, As o'er the rocky chasm's black hideous side I hung entranced with terror and dismay, — And at that piteous cry I fled away. HADRIAN'S VILLA. Let us stay here : nor ever more depart From this sweet wilderness Nature and Art Have made, not for light wandering feet to stray, Through their fair chaos half one sunny day ; But for th' abiding place of those whose spirit Is worthy all this beauty to inherit. Pervading sunlight vivifies the earth. The fresh green thickets rock, as though in mirth, Under its warmth, and shaken by the breeze. That springs down into them from waving trees, Whose dark blue branches spread themselves on high, On granite shafts, that seem to prop the sky. Around, a rocky screen the mountains spread, Wood-mantled to their middle, but each head Gray, bare, and bald, save where a passing veil, Vaporous, and silvery soft, the low clouds trail (259) 260 Hadrian's villa. Over their craggy brows : — down their steep sides The hght procession of fleet shadow ghdes, Garlands of melting gloom, that join and sever, And climb, and then run down the hills for ever. Like rapid outspread wings, flying away Before the golden shafts of the bright day. Turn from the rocky wall, and lo ! a sea Of level land, like an eternity. Spreads its vast plain beneath the hazy light, Till far, far on th' horizon's edge, one bright And blinding streak betrays the distant verge. Where earth and ocean in each other merge. Look from this promontory made of ruin. Through whose brown broken arches the soft wooing Of the Spring air in murmurs low is heard. Answering the voice of that triumphant bird. Who, hid 'mid fragrant wreaths of hawthorn bloom. Sings loud and sweet, here, in this wondrous tomb Of the earth's greatness : — ^look below, around. Above, — survey this magic sky and ground ; These crumbling arches, that blue vault of heaven, These pillars, and these friezes, fallen or riven Hadrian's villa. 261 From their stone sockets ; those fair cypress trees, Those vine and ivy garlands, Nature's frieze ; These graceful fragments, over which she flings The still fresh mantle of a thousand Springs; Hear from it all the strange and solemn story, Decay and Death reaping all human glory. Ho, Adrian! Emperor, Conqueror, Priest, and Lord ! Who the great Roman world swayedst with a word ! Thou who didst cast off power without measure. To dwell in joy, possessing only pleasure ! The wild bee hums in the wild wreaths of thyme That carpet o'er thy halls and courts sublime ; The nightingale, sweet single chorister. Fills the void circle of thy theatre. And northern pilgrims, with slow lingering feet. Stray round each vestige of thy loved retreat. And spend in homage half one sunny day Before they pass upon their wandering way, Leaving thy royal ruin of delight Lordly and lonely, lovely, sad, and bright. THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. We are the ghosts of those small flowers, That in the opening of the year, 'Neath rosemary and myrtle bowers, ' In crimson vests appear. Far, underneath the blue pine wood. Between its massive porphyry stems, The mossy ground we overstrewed With ruby-colored gems. The slender heath spires o'er us waved Their lordly snow-white feathers fine. And round our feet the earth was paved With sheddings of the pine. (262) THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 263 The flower Apollo loved, its bloom In rosy bunches o'er us spread, And heavy hanging golden broom Deep golden shadows shed. Above, around, and underneath, The aromatic air was filled With the wild sweetness of our breath. Like honey-combs distilled. The spring breeze flying towards the sea Entranced, remained, and o'er us hung ; And in our cups the soft brown bee Bending our blossoms swung. The blue sea sang to us a deep, Sonorous, solemn, melody ; The sun stooped 'neath the boughs to peep At our fair company. And you went by ; in your white hand Was many a slender, brittle stem, 264 THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. That you had gathered from our band ; We wished we were with them. Now, here we are a ghostly train ; Who, in the closing of the year, From the dark earth-cells rise again, And sadly do appear. The red hues of our coronal. All pale and wintry white have grown ; Our leaves, in wild disorder, all. By the rough winds are blown. The sunbeams faint, and thin, and chill. Look at us through dark walls of cloud. And o'er the gray ridge of the hill. The storm howls fierce and loud. 'Neath many a black green ivy wreath. Steeped in the cold and glittering showers. We send a faint and scentless breath. Through gloomy laurel bowers. THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 265 The hard pine-cones come shaken down, Bruising us, where we clustered grow, Brown, thorny, wild-brier arms are thrown Across our breasts of snow.. The threatening thunder heavily Rolls through the darkening realms of space ; And in the lightning glares we see Each other's wet, wan face. We are the ghosts of those gay flowers, That in your soft white hand you bore ; And soon the cheerless wintry bowers Will see e'en us no more. 18 A ROOM m THE VILLA TAVERNA. Three windows cheerfullj poured in the light : One from the east, where o'er the Sabine hills The sun first rose on the great Roman plain, And shining o'er the garden, with its fountains, Vine-trellises, and heaps of rosy bloom. Struck on the glittering laurel-trees, that shone With burnished golden leaves against my lattice. One towards the north, close-screened with a dark wall Of bay and ilex, with tall cypress-shafts, Piercing with graceful spires the limpid air, Like delicate shadows in transparent water. One towards the west — above a sunny green. Where merry black-eyed Tusculan maidens laid The tawny woof to bleach between the rays Of morning light and the bright morning dew. (266) A ROOM IN THE VILLA TAVERNA. 267 There spread the graceful balustrade, and down Swept the twin flights of steps, with their stone vases, And thick-leaved aloes, like a growth of bronze. To the broad court, where, from a twihght cell, A Naiad, crowned with tufts of trembling green. Sang towards the sunny palace all day long. THE LANDGRAFF, Through Thuringia's forest green, The Landgraff rode at close of e'en, Huntsmen and hounds were left behind. While following fierce a dappled hind ; And though the day grew thick apace, The brave steed distanced in the chase, Still by his rider urged amain. While dayhght served, to reach the plain. Sped through the mazes of the wood ; The crimson light Hke drops of blood Sprinkled upon the foliage lay ; And through green arches far away. Some sudden gaps let in the Hght, And made the rough old tree-trunks bright. Fast sped the steed, but still more fast The fiery steeds of heaven sped on ; (268) THE LANDGRAFP. 269 Oak, glade, and hazel copse flew past. But tlie red sunlight all was gone : Twilight's dim shadows gathered round, With light departed every sound ; The sudden strain of some late bird From the high boughs no more was heard ; And save the thundering hoofs that ring Along the path, and fluttering wing Of bats low flying throuhg the gray. Deep solemn silence sealed the day: One after one, the twisted form Of each huge chestnut-tree grew dim, And with the blackness of a storm. The coming night looked wild and grim. With slower step, and head bent low. The gallant steed went forward now ; Quoth the good Landgraff", in his mind, " To-night we shall no shelter find. But thou and I, old horse, shall lie Beneath the oak tent of the wood ; Keen hunter, even of lineage high. Finds red-brown moss a pillow good." 270 THE LANDGRAFF. Just then, a sudden ruddy glare, Streamed from the forest depths of green ; The Landgraff gave a lusty cheer. Well pleased the light to see, I ween ; And with a hopeful snort, the steed Sprang on with fresh-awakened speed. From a low smithy lined with light. The red glow poured upon the night ; And that which, when beheld afar, Shone like a friendly twinkling star. Searched every nook and cranny round ; Showed each brown leaf upon the ground ; Each ivy snake's fine hairy feet, CHmbing the pine-shafts gray and stern — Great golden oak-boughs spread and meet Above a sea of golden fern ; The foaming brook all glancing bright. In golden waves went rolling by ; From the low roof a jet of light Sprang upwards to the murky sky : The fierce flames roared, the bellows blew, Round a red rain of fire-sparks flew ; THE LAND GRAFF. 271 The sweat fell from the stout smith's brow, And ever with each stalwart blow, He cried, " Oh, Landgraff, grow thou hard ! " — Amazed, the wondering Landgraff heard ; And stepping forth out of the night Into the smithy's ruddy light. He and his horse together stood. Like shadowy demons of the wood. " Good friend," quoth he, " I've lost my way, Here in the forest, and I pray That thou wilt suffer me to rest. Till by the sky I guess the east ? " The toil-worn workman wiped his brow ; He pointed to a settle low. And to his humble pallet bed : — " To all I have, welcome ! " he said — " Thy horse must stable in the wood ; The water of the brook is good ; Here is the black loaf that I eat, To work and weariness 'tis sweet." And then, without another word, He cried, " Oh, Landgraff, grow thou hard ! " — 272 THE LANDGRAFF. And struck the iron bar amain — The furious sparks flew forth again ;. And thus he wrought, and thus he prayed. Till the stout bar of iron made ; He paused awhile, with panting breast. And sat him down beside his guest, Who cried, " Good friend, I prithee say, Wherefore thus strangely thou dost pray ?. " " Oh, sir," replied the brawny man, " To pray and pray is all we can ; Our Earl is good, may God reward His gentleness, and make him hard ; He loves the poor, he grinds us not ; He leaves us all a peaceful lot. And were there none between his grace And the poor vassal's down-trod race, His people's were a blessed case : But between us poor men and him, A tribe of barons, hard and grim, Harrow and drive, and strip and spoil, The wretched tillers of the soil ; And the great God, who out of heaven THE LANDGEAFF. 273 The charge of us, his poor, hath given To princes, ^yho our rights should guard, Make towards these fiends our LandgrafF hard ; And save us through his mighty hand From these destroyers of the land : Because our Earl is mild and good, This greedy, bloody, wolfish brood Make us a people most ill-starred, So, great God, make our Landgrafi" hard ! " They both sat silent, while the brook With rippling voice the burden took. And seemed to echo back the word, " Oh, great God, make our Landgrafi* hard ! "— " Hast thou no wife, hast thou no child To cheer thee in this forest wild ? " — " I had two children and a wife," The smith replied, " to cheer my life — I saw my boy borne past my door Bound to a stag all streaming gore. Followed by devihsh men and hounds. Because within the forest bounds Of Eavenstein a fawn he found, 274 THE LANDGRAFF. And lifted dying from the ground. A forester of Ravenstein Strove with him once, and fared the worse, And sware that luckless boy of mine Should hve that fatal fray to curse. I saw him hunted through the wood. And tracked him by the streaks of blood, To where the fern banks hide the river ; But after that I saw him — never. I had a daughter, — Grod be praised ! She to a distant town is gone, A fair, fair girl ! " — His head he raised And wiped the big tears, one by one, From his brown face — " To let her go I was right glad — 'twas better so. The wicked Lord of Falconsheight Met her one morning by the brook ; She told her mother of his look And loathsome words, as wild with fright She fled away ; that very night, Like God's good angel, through the glade A young companion of my trade THE LANDGRAFF. 275 Came travelling by — short time he stayed, And when he went, took hence the maid. We gave our darling child to him, And saved her so from shame." — The dim Red embers on the anvil showed The fierce and fiery flush that glowed Over the swart smith's knotted brow: " Their mother pined away — and now, I am alone ; " he said, and rose — Fast flew the sparks, fast fell the blows, But neither said another word, Save as the hammer fell with might. From time to time, through the whole night The prayer : " Oh, make our Landgrafi" hard ! " The daylight dawned ; the Landgrafi" rode From the smith's cottage in the wood, And through Thuringia, far and wide, From that day forth was checked the pride Of the fierce barons, — while the poor, From wrong and cruelty secure. Praised the good Earl, whose just command With might and mercy ruled the land. THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS. Oh, hearts of flesli ! Oh, beating hearts of love ! Oh, twining hands of human dear desire !— How, when your glorious mate begins to move. How shall ye follow those wide wings of fire That bear him up ? Ah ! to the chariot wheels. That wrap the child of genius to the sky, Breathless ye cling till round the great world reels, And ye fall fainting down despairingly ! Bleeding and blind ye fall, and still his flight. Serene and strong, is upward to the hght, Nearer the sun and further yet from ye. Kindred alone of his mortality. Awhile he stood beside ye, and awhile His tender eyes, and lovely loving smile, (276) THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS. 277 Made you believe he was indeed your brother : But deep within that being lay another Fearful as fair, no simple son of earth, Of all created things the wondrous birth ; Immortal, Infinite, born to inherit Matter, and mind, and sense, and subtlest spirit. Lo ! ye have called this King of all creation Your fellow, and forgot the heaven-high station Whence he must gather his great revenue : Past, Present, Future, all things old and new, All things in earth and heaven to him belong ; And in the paeans of his conquering song Love is but one sweet sound, one single verse. In the great chorus of the universe ; Which, with a voice resounding and sublime, He utters forth unto all space and time. Oh, piteous, precious, hapless, human love! Thou shalt be reaped by this bright son of Jove. One flower 'mid the whole harvest of the world — And when his mighty wings are gently furled. Upon his heart thou shalt lie tenderly ; But when the summons of his destiny 278 SONNET. Calls to him through the ages to awake, One heavenward sprmg the drooping bud shall shake Back to the earth, where it shall withering lie In the broad light of Immortality. SONNET. If there were any power in human love, Or in th' intensest longing of the heart, Then should the oceans and the lands that part Ye from my sight all unpre vailing prove. Then should the yearning of my bosom bring Ye here, through space and distance infinite ; And life 'gainst love should be a baffled thing, And circumstance 'gainst will lose all its might. Shall not a childless mother's misery Conjure the earth with such a potent spell — A charm so desperate — as to compel Nature to yield to her great agony? Can I not think of ye till ye arise, Alive, alive, before my very eyes ? GENIUS AND LOVE. Genius and Love together stood At break of day beside clear fountains. In gardens hedged with laurel wood, Screened by a wall of purple mountains ; As hand in hand they smiHng strayed, Love twined a wreath of perfect roses On Genius' brow, "And thus," he said, " My soul on thy bright soul reposes." And round and round they joyous flew. On rapid now, now lingering pinion. And bhssful Love ne'er weary grew Of measuring o'er his bright dominion. Anon they rested from their flight. And through the fringes of clear water, All rainbow-touched Love chased a sprite. The silver Naiad's snowy daughter, (279) 280 GENIUS AND LOVE. While Genius lay with flashing eyes, Looking into the distant skies. Love paused and said, " What dost thou see ? " " The far-off shining of the sea — Say, wilt thou thither fly with me ? " " Is there a home by the wild flood ? Ah, leave we not our pleasant wood ! " But suddenly, with eager wings, Towards his desire Genius springs ; So strong his flight, the rosy crown At Love's sad feet fell broken down. And lay beside him where he sate, Waiting the. coming of his mate : And he returned all gloriously. From the foam-caverns of the sea. And brought strange heaps of shining treasure To Love, who prized beyond all measure His mere return : — And now his sight, Swift as the eagle's sunward flight. Rested upon the mountain's height — " Look ! wilt thou thither with me fly. Dear Love ? " — ^he cried ; and rapidly GENIUS AND LOVE. 281 Beat with his golden wings the air. " Is there a home for us up there ? What seek'st thou on the mountain's brow ? " " To see the wide world lie below." So he swept thither like the wind, And Love remained dismayed behind : And now a spirit of the air Garlands of noble amaranth bare To the Love god beside the fountain, And spake — " Lo ! Genius from the mountain Sends thee, dear Love, eternal flowers, To deck thy pleasant myrtle bowers." " Ah I " answered Love, despondingly, " Sweet roses would have done for me ; Look, they grow here upon the ground, Close to our very home, all round. And morn and even may be found — When comes he back ? " " Into the sky I saw him from the mountain fly Higher and higher towards the sun." Love sighed, " The day must soon be done, And evening shall the wanderer bring, 19 282 GENIUS AND LOVE. With sated soul and wearj wing." Love knew not that bold Genius' flight Had passed the realms of day and night, Till, from the blue, a glorious crown Of starry light was towards him thrown ; He saw th' immortal circlet burn. And knew his mate would ne'er return : He gathered up the rosy wreath. With withered leaves, and faint sweet breath And turning to the darkening skies The tender longing of his eyes. He bitterly began to weep, And wept himself at last to sleep. THE IDEAL. Thou shalt behold it once, and once believe Thou may'st possess it — Love shall make the dream, Impossible and glorious, palpable seem, And with the bhss thy soul awhile deceive—- When from that trance thou wakest, never more On earth hope for it, or thy Hfe is o'er ; That one approach of the Divinity Is but the pledge of thy affinity. That lovely vision shall not be renewed, Though through all forms of being close pursued ; The light must pass into the heavens above thee, Thy polar star, to warn and lead and move thee. If thou seek lower for it thou shalt follow A fatal marsh-fire, fleeting, false, and hollow ; (283) 284 PAST HOURS. Unto the glorious truth thou shalt not soar, But sink in darkness down for evermore. Not to behold it once, is not to hve. But to possess it, is not hfe's to give. PAST HOURS. Two angels have them in eternal keeping. He that beside the deep vaults of the past Stands to receive the treasures, that with weeping And lamentation into them men cast. Forgetting that alone they hold that fast Which to his marble store-house they commit ; And He, that spirit bright and terrible. Who at the feet of God doth thoughtful sit, Upon whose scroll, in lines of flame are writ Each hour of every day of those who dwell Upon this earth : He hath those days and hours, Which, as they smiled on us, we counted ours ; And who, when that great history appears, Shall make us answer, as if we were theirs. ON A SYMPHONY OF BEETHOVEN. Terrible music, whose strange utterance Seemed like the spell of some dread conscious trance ; Motionless misery, impotent despair, With beckoning visions of things dear and fair ; Restless desire, sharp poignant agonies ; Soft, thrilling, melting, tender memories*; Struggle and tempest, and around it all, The heavy muffling folds of some black pall Stifling it slowly; a wild wail for life. Sinking in darkness — a short passionate strife With hideous fate, crushing the soul to earth ; Sweet snatches of some melancholy mirth ; A creeping fear, a shuddering dismay. Like the cold dawning of some fatal day ; (285) 286 EVENING. Dim faces growing pale in distant lands ; Departing feet, and slowly severing hands ; Voices of love, speaking the words of hate, — The mockery of a blessing come too late ; Loveless and hopeless life, with memory, — This curse that music seemed to speak to me. EVENING. Now in the west is spread A golden bed ; Great purple curtains hang around, With fiery fringes bound. And cushions, crimson red. For Phoebus' lovely head ; And as he sinks through waves of amber light, Down to the crystal halls of Amphitrite, Hesper leads forth his starry legions bright Into the violet fields of air — Good night ! UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. The blossoms hang again upon the tree, As when with their sweet breath they greeted me Against my casement, on that smmy morn, When thou, first blossom of my spring, wast born, And as I lay, panting from the fierce strife With death and agony that won thy life, Their snowy clusters hung on their brown bough. E'en as upon my breast, my May-bud, thou. They seem to me thy sisters, oh, my child ! And now the air, full of their fragrance mild, Recalls that hour ; a tenfold agony Pulls at my heart-strings, as I think of thee. Was it in vain! Oh, was it all in vain! That night of hope, of terror, and of pain. When from the shadowy boundaries of death, I brought thee safely, breathing living breath (287) 288 UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. Upon mj heart — it was a holy shrine, Full of God's praise — they laid thee, treasure mine ! And from its tender depths the blue heaven smiled, And the white blossoms bowed to thee, my child,' And solemn joy of a new life was spread, Like a mysterious halo round that bed. And now how is it, since eleven years Have steeped that memory in bitterest tears ? Alone, heart-broken, on a distant shore. Thy childless mother sits lamenting o'er Flowers, which the spring calls from this foreign earth. Thy twins, that crowned the morning of thy birth. How is it with thee — ^lost — lost — precious one ! In thy fresh spring-time growing up alone ? What warmth unfolds thee ? — what sweet dews are shed. Like love and patience over thy young head ? What holy springs feed thy deep inner hfe ? What shelters thee from passion's deadly strife ? UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. 289 What guards thy growth, straight, strong, and full and free, Lovely and glorious, oh, my fair young tree ? God — ^Father — thou — who by this awful fate Hast lopped, and stripped, and left me desolate ! In the dark bitter floods that o'er my soul Their billows of despair triumphant roll. Let me not be o'erwhelmed ! — Oh, they are thine. These jewels of my life — not mine — not mine ! So keep them, that the blossoms of their youth Shall, in a gracious growth of love and truth. With an abundant harvest honor Thee : And bless the blight which Thou hast sent on me ; Withering and blasting, though it seem to fall. Let it not, oh, my Father ! drink up all My spirit's sap — so from this fate shall grow The palm branch for my hand and for my brow. With which, a hopeful pilgrim, I may tread The shadowy path where rest awhile the dead. Ere they rise up, a glorious company. To find their lost ones, and to worship Thee ! YERSES ON ROME. Oh ! Rome, tremendous, who, beholding thee, Shall not forget the bitterest private grief That e'er made havoc of one single life ? Oh! triple crowned, by glory, faith, and beauty. Thine is the tiara which thy priest assumes. By conquest of the nations of the earth, By spiritual sovereignty o'er men's souls, — By universal homage of all memory. When at thy capitol's base I musing stand, Thy ruined temple shafts rising all round me. Masts of the goodhest wreck, 'neath Time's deep flood. Whose tide shall ne'er rise high enough to cover them ; Thou comest in thy early strength before me, (290) VERSES ON ROME. 291 Fair— stern — thy rapid foot-prints stamped in blood ; The iron sword clenched in thy hand resistless, And helmeted like Pallas, whose great thoughts Still made thy counsels as thy deeds victorious. Beautiful — terrible — ^looking o'er the earth With eyes like shafts of fire, and with a voice That uttered doom, calling its ends thy border; Eesolute, absolute, steadfast, and most noble ; A mistress whom to love was to obey. For whom to live was to be prompt to di^e Whose favor was the call to sterner duty. Whose frown was everlasting ignominy. So stand'st thou, Virgin Rome, before mine eyes. Type of all heathen national strength and virtue. When through the Vatican's sounding halls I stray, Thy second sovereignty comes sweeping towards me. In gold and blood-red splendor borne aloft, The color of thy garments still kept fresh, With blood of thy confessors and deniers. 292 VERSES ON ROME. Poured for and by thee over the whole earth ; So com'st thou, carried in thy insolent meekness Upon the shoulders of obedient Emperors, Shrouded in clouds of mystic incense, voices Of adoration in a thousand tongues. Like mingling waters rolling round thy feet ; The cross, the sword, the keys, — potent insignia Of thy stupendous double majesty, Shining amid the hghtnings of those curses Which gleam with ominous brightness round thy path; So sweeps thy second empire, Rome, before me. And even now the pageant vanishes Out from the portals of the palaces Where it hath dwelt so long ; I see the last Waving and glancing of its impotent splendor And a dim twihght fills the place it filled. Twihght of coming night or coming morning Who shall decide, save Him who rules them both ? And in the doubtful gray, one man alone Stands in the place of that great mummery, The throne borne on the backs of emperors YERSES ON ROME. 293 Lies at his feet ; and lo ! a ghastly bed, Where, 'mid diseases and corruptions loathsome, Infirm, decrepit, crippled, impotent. Yet bright-eyed with vitality unconquerable, At its great heart the ancient faith hes gasping ; Beneath his hand a glorious shape springs up, From whose bright veins a stream of healing youth Is poured into the withered blood-conduits Of the bed-ridden Church ; and she arises — And they two stand together, and uplift That song of praise whose first unearthly sound Was the loud death-cry sent from Calvary ; Whose sweetness yet shall sound through all the world. And rise to heaven, whence it shall echo back His praise whose service shall be perfect freedom. Loveliest and dearest art thou to me, Rome, When from the terrace of my sometime home. At early morning I behold thee lying. All bathed in sunshine far below my feet. Upon the ancient, sacred Quirinal, Gleam the white palaces and orange gardens, 294 VERSES ON ROM^. Towards which are turned all eyes, are stretched all hands, Where, guarded round by Faith, and Hope, and Love, The expectation of the people dwells. On the pale azure of the tender sky Thy mighty outhne lies hke the huge features Of some divine colossal type of beauty ; Far to the left, beyond the Angel's tower, Eises the temple of the world, and stretch The Vatican's glorious arsenals of art. Where still abide the immortal gods of Greece, Where worship still the tribes of all the earth; While from the blue and tufted Doria pines. My eye delighted round the horizon wanders To where the Falconieri cypress shafts Pierce the transparent ether. Close at hand, Over the nunnery wall, where, in sweet mockery. The bridal flower its silver blossoms spreads, Rises a chorus of clear virgin voices. Chanting sweet salutations — greetings holy — As once did Gabriel to the " blest 'mong women." VERSES ON ROME. 295 No other sound makes vibrate the still air, Save the quick beating of the wings of doves, That from the sanctuary come to drink At the clear dropping fountain in our garden. Upon its curving margin they ahght. And make alive the graceful image traced In the stone painting of the antique artist. To me they call a lovelier image up — A fair young girl, with shining braided hair, And graceful head divine, gently inclined Towards her shoulder, where a dove has lighted, That with quick glancing eye and beak familiar. And soft round head, and swelling purple breast. Stands friendly, while the child towards it turns Eyes like two streams of liquid light, and lips Parted in smiling rosy eagerness. Oh, Rome ! I do not see thee any more ; This do I see — this loveliest, dearest vision But for a moment, and my tears have blotted Thy glory and its sweetness out together. DESPAIR. Whene'ee those forms arise before mj sight, E'en as from hideous visions of the night, I cover up my eyes, I veil my head, I shrink in terror, and dismay, and dread, And wave them from me ; and in agony Unto the saving feet of God I fly, Lest I be scared to madness with the dream Of all that I have lost — so that I seem To loathe that which I love beyond all measure Like to a miser robbed of his dear treasure. Clutching for ever a distracting vision Of gold and jewels, 'twixt the apparition And his real beggary lashed to utter madness. If on the midnight void of my deep sadness, The dear delusion of your presence shine, I fear to look upon ye, treasures mine, (296) DESPAIR. 297 Lest the tormented heart and failing brain Rest in delirium from too fierce a pain ; Change hopeless sorrow for insanity, And mental ruin end this misery. And it were better — better thus to dwell In a mad Heaven, than in a conscious Hell ;. Better to lose this lurid hght of reason, Which shows me but a dark and empty prison,. Oh, come, I will not fly ye any more. Come, come, dear fatal visions, and before This light of truth, that shows ye are not here^ Spread sweet delusions ! Come, I will not fear *. Let reason, faith, and fortitude forbear Their ministry of torture— hail, despair ! And welcome ye, ye long-departed dreams. In which, once more, my life a blessing seems ; Oh, gracious shapes ! oh, silver ringing voices ! At whose dear sound my heart once more rejoices ; Oh, floating, glorious braids of sunny hair ! Oh, eyes of morning light, keen, soft, and fair I Oh, sinless brows of holy innocence ! Stay, stay with me, depart not ever hence ; 20 298 SCRAPS. Shut out all forms of dire reality. Beloved phantoms, speak — oh, speak to me Sweet words of love — walk ever by my side, The hateful witness of all sense denied ; Nothing will I behold, naught feel, naught hear, Save ye, most precious ! ye alone, most dear ! Oh, ye pale ghosts of love and joy, to ye I dedicate all that remains of me ! I can no more endure, no longer strive. Madness from sin shall save my soul ahve. SCRAPS. Raise it to Heaven, when thine eye fills with tears, For only in a watery sky appears The bow of light ; and from th' invisible skies Hope's glory shines not, save through weeping eyes. Youth with swift feet walks onward in the way, The land of joy hes all before his eyes ; Age, stumbling, fingers slower day by day. Still looking back, for it behind him lies. CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATL The end is come : in thunder and wild rain Autumn has stormed the golden house of Summer. She going — Hngers yet — sweet glances throwing Of kind farewell upon the land she loves And leaves. No more the sunny landscape glows In the intense, uninterrupted light And splendor of transparent, cloudless skies ; No more the yellow plain its tawny hue Of sunburnt ripeness wears ; even at noon Thick watery veils fall on the mountain ranges, And the white sun-rays, with pale slanting brushes, Paint rainbows on the leaden-colored storms. Through milky, opal clouds the lightning plays, Visible presence of that hidden power — Mysterious soul of the great universe, (299) 300 CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. Whose secret force runs in red, human veins, And in the glaring, white veins of the tempest, Uplifts the hollow earth, the shifting sea ; Makes stormy reformations in the sky. Sweeping, with searching besoms of sharp winds, The foul and stagnant chambers of the air. Where the thick, heavy, summer vapors slumber ; And, working in the sap of all still-growth. In moonlight nights, unfolding leaves and blos- soms ; Of all created life the vital element Appearing still in fire — whether in the sea. When "its blue waves turn up great swathes of stars ; Or in the glittering, sparkling, winter ice world ; Or in the flickering white and crimson flames. That leap in the northern sky ; or in the sparks Of love or hate, that flash in human eyes. Lo, now, from day to day, and hour to hour. Broad verdant shadows grow upon the land, Cooling the burning landscape ; while the clouds. Disputing with the sun his heaven-dominion. CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 301 Chequer the hill-sides with fantastic shadows. The glorious unity of light is gone, The triumph of those bright and boundless skies ; Where, through all visible space, the eye met nothing Save infinite brightness — glory infinite. No more at evening does the sun dissolve Into a heaving sea of molten gold ; While over it a heaven of molten gold Panted, with light and heat intensely glowing, While to the middle height of the pure ether, One deepening sapphire from the amber spreads. Now trains of melancholy, gorgeous clouds. Like mourners at an Emperor's funeral. Gather round the down-going of the sun ; Dark splendid curtains, with great golden fringes, Shut up the day ; masses of crimson glory. Pale lakes of blue, studded with fiery islands, Bright golden bars, cold peaks of slaty rock. Mountains of fused amethyst and copper. Fierce flaming eyes, with black o'erhanging brows. Light floating curls of brown and golden hair. And rosy flushes, like warm dreams of love. 302 CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. Make rich and wonderful the dying day, That, like a wounded dolphin, on the shore Of night's black waves, dies in a thousand glories. These are the very clouds that now put out The serene beauty of the summer heavens. The autumn sun hath virtue yet, to make Right royal hangings for his sky-tent of them ; But, as the days wear on, and he grows faint, And pale, and colorless, these are the clouds That, like cold shrouds, shall muffle up the year. Shut out the lovely blue, and draw round all — Plain, hill, and sky — one still, chill wintry gray. The end is come ; the golden Imks are parting. That in one chain of happy circumstance, And gentle, friendly, human fellowship. Bound many hearts for many a day together. The precious bond dissolves ; one friend departs With the departing summer, and the end. Ominous of the loss of all, begins : Here it begins ; with these first feet, that turn From walking ia the paths of daily life. CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 303 Where hand in hand, with peace and joy, all walked. And now, from day to day, and hour to hour. The brightness of our summer-life grows dim ; The voice that speaks to us from far already. Soon in the distance shall be heard no more. The perfect circle of this pleasant life Hath lost its form — type of eternity — And lies upon the earth a broken ring, Token and type of every earthly thing. Our sun of pleasure hastens towards the west. But the green freshness of fair memories Lives over these bright days for evermore ; The chequered lights, the storms of circumstance. Shall sweep between us and their happy hours. But not to efface them. Oh, thou wealthy Past, Thine are our treasures ! — thine and ours alone Through thee : the Present doth in fear rejoice ; The Future, but in fantasy : but thou Boldest secure for ever and for ever, The bliss that has been ours; nor present woe, Nor future dread, can touch that heritage Of joy gone by — the only joy we own. A SUMMONS. THE FIRST SNOW MOUNTAIN SEEN PROM A SUNNY HILL- SIDE, NEAR ROCCA PRIORI, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1846. Look, love, to yonder mountain's brow : Seest thou that beckoning hand of snow ? Stern Winter dares no further come. But waves me towards his northern home. The sun upon this glad earth pours His blessing, in warm golden showers ; Down the steep path, with busy hum. The black-eyed sturdy peasants come ; Patches of colors bright and gay Hang o'er their cheeks of ruddy brown. Loud laugh and jest make hght their way, From rock-perched hamlets winding down. The jogging mule goes clattering light. His wooden tubs to seek their freight ; (304) A SUMMONS. 305 While others, with their vintage load. Strain up the steep and stony road. And, all the sunnj paths along. Snatches of loud monotonous song Come down from hill and up from glade, And through the broad-leaved chestnut shade ; From vineyards where a merry band Pile the ripe treasure of the land. Amber and amethyst shining through Soft purple bloom and sparkling dew. Dark white-veined ghttering ivy, wed To wreaths of vine-leaves touched with red, Hang from the brown brows of the rocks, — A garland meet for Bacchus' s locks. The fields, the woods, the air, the ground. Smell of the vintage all around. And from the sunny earth and sea Rises a shout of jubilee. From this steep road look down, where grow The chestnut forests deep below ; Behold how far beneath our feet 306 A SUMMONS. The huge wood billows spread and meet — A waving sea of noble trees, Rolling their green crests in the breeze ; Mark the bright vale, the mountain chain, The distant Hues of that great plain. Where Rome, eternal Empress, sits Beneath the cloudless light, that fits The lordliest and the loveliest scene Time e'er shall see — Time jet hath seen ! Oh, land of glorious memories. Oh, land as fair as Paradise, Oh, thou beloved, by whom I stand. Straining in mine thj kindred hand. Farewell ! — on yonder mountain's brow I see a beckoning hand of snow ; Stern winter dares no nearer come. But waves me towards his northern home. TOKRE NUOVO. The water has flowed fortli a year, Since, sitting by the fountain's side, We looked into the basin clear, Where sparkles still the gushing tide. And watched the crystal current pour, During one bright enchanting hour. The sun sloped low upon the plain — The mellow southern winter sun — And purple rose the mountain chain, Which then I first did look upon ; While o'er its shadowy crests were seen Bright, dazzling peaks of snowy sheen. The limpid heavens o'er our head Were clear as truth, and soft as love ; (307) 308 TORRE NUOVO. The dark-blue tufted pine-trees spread Their solemn shade our rest above. And, framed between their pillars gray, The landscape's magic pictures lay. A year that water hath flowed forth ; A year my golden hours have flowed ; And towards the regions of the north I turn, to leave this blest abode. Where I have dwelt in constant joy, In peace and rest, without alloy. Pain has been far from me, and pleasure Has kept , the record of my days ; Glory and beauty, without measure, Have haunted my familiar ways. And made a year's existence seem Bright, brief, and wondrous as a dream. Now I depart, and bear with me The gathered riches of these days ; TO PIUS IX. 309 No shade the sternest futurity Upon their perfect brightness lays ; Life shall possess them to the last : The blackest fate must spare the past. ■ TO PIUS IX. It may be that the stone which thou art heaving From off thy people's neck shall fall and crush thee ; It may be that the sudden flood shall push thee From off the rock, whence, prophet-like, believing In God's great future, thou dost set it free ; Yet heave it, heave it, heaven high, nor fear To be o'erwhelmed in the first wild career Of those long-prisoned tides of liberty. That stone which thou hast liffcod from the heart Of a whole nation shall become to thee A glorious monument, such as no art E'er piled above a mortal memory : Falling beneath it, thou shalt have a tomb That shall make low the loftiest dome in Rome. A VISION OF THE VATICAN. In the great palace halls, where dwell the gods, I heard a voice filling the vaulted roof; The heart that uttered it seemed sorrow proof, And, clarion-Hke, it might have made the clods Of the dead valley start to sudden life. With such a vigor and a joy 'twas rife. And, coming towards me, lo ! a woman past. Her face was shining as the morning bright, And her feet fell in steps so strong and light, I scarce could tell if she trode slow or fast: She seemed instinct with beauty and with power. And what she sang, dwells with me to this hour. " Transfigured from the gods' abode I come, I have been tarrying in their awful home ; Stand from my path, and give me passage free, For yet I breathe of their divinity. (310) A VISION OF THE VATICAN. 811 Zeus have I knelt to, solemn and serene, And stately Herd, heaven's transcendent queen ; PhcEbus's light is on my brow, and fleet, As silver-sandalled Artemis', my feet ; Graciously smiling, heavenly Aphrodite Hath filled my senses with a vague delight; And Pallas, steadfastly beholding me, Hath sent me forth in wisdom to be free." When at the portal, smiling she did turn, And, looking back through the vast halls pro- found. Reechoing with her song's triumphant sound, She bowed her head, and said — " I shall return ! " Then raised her face, all radiant with delight, And vanished, like a vision from my sight. DEPARTING. Pour we libations to the father, Jove, And bid him watch propitious o'er our way ; Pile on the household altar fragrant wreaths, And to th' auspicious Lares bid farewell, Beneath whose guardianship we have abode. Blest be the threshold over which we pass. Turning again, with hands devout uplifted; Blest be the roof-tree, and the hearth it shelters ; Blest be the going forth and coming home Of those who dwell here ; blest their rising up, And blest their lying down to holy slumber ; Blest be the married love, sacred and chaste ; Blest be the children's head, the mother's heart, The father's hope. Beach down the wanderer's staff, — Tie on the sandals on the traveller's feet : The wan-eyed morn weeps in the watery east ; Gird up the loins, and let us now depart. THE END.