Lays of Leisure Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis the first flush of Spring—now leafy dells
Resound with bird-notes—flourished canticles
Swell forth from every golden shining spray
That sparkles in the flooding light of day,
Earth prides her in her vernal furniture,
So delicate and freshly fair and pure,
And puts on all her ornaments, as might
Some Eastern Bride to charm the astonished sight
Of her young Bridegroom, unto whom her face
Had ne'er yet been unveiled in virgin grace,
As though with that first look at her bright charms
She hoped to o'erpower him with love's sweet alarms,

218

To dazzle him with Beauty's magic store,
And rivit him to her for evermore!
A Paradise unto the eye thou art,
Oh! Earth! but what, Oh! what unto the heart?
Too oft the whited sepulchre—where lies
For ever lost, all, all that heart could prize;
The tomb of all its hopes laid darkly low,
Where they may feel not Spring's returning glow,
Earth's Bridegroom comes but they shall greet him not,
For Sorrow there is still some desert spot
Which it or finds, or makes its gloomy lair,
And Spring frowns bleak as barren Winter there!
My own poor heart I dare not ask of thee
If thy fond hopes destroyed and withered be,
I dare not ask of thee, mine own poor heart,
If thou pale Sorrow's slave and victim art,
No—thy dark history I would fain conceal
Even from myself—nor heed thy sad appeal—
Why should I seek the whole extent to know
Perchance of an Eternal—hopeless woe?

219

MANUEL TO INEZ.

(FROM AN MS. POEM.)

My least of feeling is a mighty flood
Too strong to be or vanquished or withstood,
My Life is as a leaf upon its course—
And I am still driven on, without resource,
By Passion's lightning-terror-shafts o'ertaken,
By Feeling's Hurricanes of fervour shaken!

My heart in one keen minute feeleth more
Than others in a life-time ere yet bore!
Its faintest pulse more passionately beats
Than those of others in Life's deepest seats—
Its least of feeling is a raging fever,
And what it feels—unchanged it feels for ever!

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THE DRAGON FLY.

The Dragon Fly
Shoots spooming by,
No shape is seen
Except between
Those whirlwind-flights
Whose quickness smites
The sense with pain—
It leaves a train
Of pompous hues
That do suffuse
The chrystal air
With kindlings rare!—
And seems to oppress
With bright excess
The sight and brain—
That rich, rich rain

221

Of coloured splendours
Till surrenders
The aerial thing
Its play of wing,
And settles near
And shines forth clear!
That gorgeous lightening,
Opening, brightening—
Then straight is shown—
With shape its own—
That gem-bright blaze
That mocks the gaze,
That meteor-show
Which dazzleth so,
Which seems to be
A mystery,
A thing unreal—
A guest ideal—
While free and fast
It flashes past!

222

Then shines displayed,
In truth arrayed,
In shining vest,
Even thus at rest;
But paled the fire
Of thine attire,
And dimmed the glow
Of thy proud show;
Beside the bright
Unearthly light
Which mocked the eye
When thou went'st by;
Thou dazzling thing!
On rapid wing,
With whirlwind haste
In chase—or chased!
Oh! pale and faint
The hues that paint
That form so fair,
When we compare

147

These hues with those
Whose startling glows
The sight oppressed,
The sense distressed
With rich delight,
When on its flight
It darted past,
And seemed to cast
A rainbow gleam—
A meteor beam
Beneath, around,
On the air and ground,
There then it seemed
As past it streamed,
A fairy banner
In magic manner
Waved free and far,
With streak and star,
With rainbows laced,
With sun-lights graced,

224

And still beside
Illumed and dyed
With splendours such
As outstrip much
All things that here
To sight appear—
All things we know
On earth below,
All bright things fair
In sky and air,
All glories born
Of eve or morn,
Of common day
In wonted way,
Ev'n splendours drawn
From some far dawn
Where charmed all
And magical
Are the ardent rays
That meet the gaze;

225

Aye! something more
Than e'er before
With strange delight
Transfixed the sight,
Appeared to invest
That fairy guest—
As past it flew
To vex the view
With doubt perplexed—
Amazed and vexed—
Yet gladdened, pleased—
With rapture seized—
Then did it seem
A thing of Dream,
Born of the brain
With mystic train!
Or of the eye,
A phantasy
That darting danced
Where'er it glanced!

226

Where'er it roved
In bright maze moved,—
From the Orb's own light
Of magic might
Brought forth and framed—
(While truth it shamed)
Like spectre things
Which even thus brings
Distemperature
To amaze, to allure—
To shift and shoot
All still and mute
About the path
Of one who hath
Such mystic dower—
Creative Power!
Oh! vision fair—
Oh! mystery rare—
Most gorgeous thought
O'erwooed—o'erwrought,

227

Unearthly Dream,
Intense, supreme,
Fine Phantasy!—
Brought forth by the eye!
To charm and draw
By certain law—
The sense from whence
It springs intense—
While far and near
It doth career—
Ev'n such it seems—
Ev'n so it beams!—
While swift and strong
It shoots along—
Behold—unrolled
It doth unfold
For evermore
Yet fairer store
Unto the view
Of glories new!—

228

But when 'tis won,
To rest upon
Some blossomed spray
Beside the way,
And shines revealed,
How doth it yield
Each magic charm—
Itself disarm,
Itself divest
Ev'n thus at rest,
Of that which most
It had to boast—
Oft its chief source
Of witching force—
Of its best right
To attract the sight—
Variety—
And Mystery!
(For nought like these
Can touch and please!)—

229

The Dream—the Thought
Is none—is nought—
The charm is crossed,
The vision lost,
The show in sooth
It is a truth!
The phantasy
Reality!
All Nature's own
The mystery's shown,
Sweet Doubt doth die
In Certainty!
The wonderous guest
From regions blest,
From realms afar
Of Sun or Star,
The aëry spright
On wings of light
That Fancy sees
As 'twere a breeze—

230

With form endowed
And with a shroud
Of splendour clad
To make us glad!—
Or it might be
So fair, so free,
A breathing beam—
Existent gleam—
Embodied ray
Just snatched from Day!—
That fleeting elf
That seemed itself
In sweet suspense
To doubt from whence
Its being sprang,
And still to hang
'Twixt Earth and Heaven,
As though 'twere driven
To seek its place
In restless chase—

231

To find its sphere
Both far and near
Becometh straight,
While yet we wait,
With thy charmed eye
Expectancy!
A living thing
That doth but spring
From our own Earth,
From common birth,
No child of light,
No aëry spright—
No imp—no elf—
That seeks itself—
From far realms sent
With fond intent—
To know, to find
Its home assigned—
Its place—its path—
The course it hath

232

On Earth to run,
Beneath the Sun.
The fare—the fate
Which must await
Its wanderings here—
Its new career!—
Its doom unknown—
Its goal unshown—
Its hidden road—
Its veiled abode—
No mystic thing
With fairy wing—
But something born
Of the Earth we scorn,
When thus we brood
In dreaming mood—
Of Fancy's power
In some sweet hour—
When griefs seem gone,
When cares are none—

233

(When smiling schemes
And sunny dreams
Float through the mind,
That leaves behind
Its fears, its pains,
Its galling chains,
Its many woes
That find repose,
Its thoughts that vex
And but perplex—)
Even something sprung
Earth's bowers among,
From dust and clay
To fleet away,
As soon as aught
Of dream or thought,
As Sylph or Spright
On wings of light—
From regions far
Of Sun or Star—

234

As Elf or Fay
That may not stay
As all—as aught
By magic brought
From worlds remote,
That viewless float
And run their race
In the Azure space
Unseen—unknown—
Through ages flown
Unknown—unseen—
As they'd ne'er been!—
As all—as aught
By Fancy caught,
To charm awhile—
And gleam and smile
With tender glow
Round us below!—
No thought, no dream,
No visioned beam,

235

No Phantasy
Can faster fly,
Can sooner stray
Afar—away—
Away—afar
From things that are—
Or swiftlier pass
Like withered grass—
Like dried up dews,
Or faded hues,
Or clouds dispersed,
Or bubbles burst,
Than—that fair Form,
All quick and warm—
That living thing
On active wing,
Sentient of all
That may befall
In its brief life
With pleasures rife—

236

Impelled along
Thus swift and strong,
(Though small and slight
May seem to sight
That fluttering frame)—
By some glad aim
To it alone
Distinctly known—
Yes! that ere long
The swift, the strong
Shall fleet away
In quick decay,
Nor more be found
On mortal ground,
Nor more appear
In beauty here—
Just glimpsed and gone
Like lights that shone—
A moment's space,
With meteor-grace;

237

Then vanished fast,
And swiftly passed,
Like bloom from fruit,
Like shades that shoot
From clouds which cross
Yon Sun, where toss
The billows proud,
By tempests ploughed,
Like breath-stain slight
From mirror bright,
Like frozen gems
On quivering stems,
When Suns shine warm
And break their charm,
Like aught—like all
That soon must fall,
That soon must fly,
Depart—or die!
And still, alas!
(Since we thus pass)

238

Like evermore
To those whose store
Of treasures dear
Should not be here,
Whose lasting home
Of lengthened doom
May not be placed
'Midst Life's bleak waste.
Ourselves!—that gaze
On Sunlight's blaze,
A little while,
And weep and smile
And toil and rest,
(A Season's guest)
And doubt and trust,
Then dwell in dust!
And close the eye,
First dream—then die—
First toil and rest,
Then sink oppressed

239

By slumber deep,
By changeless sleep,
That gives not way
To the opening Day,
Stern sleep, thrice-sealed,
That may not yield
Its place—its turn,
(Strict rest and stern)
To wakeful hours—
And conscious powers—
Aye! like to us
That vanish thus,
That thus are borne
From light and morn,
That thus are bowed
Beneath Death's cloud—
That thus decay
And fleet away,
And disappear
Like dry leaves sere!

240

Like scattered foam
From waves that come
In thundering might,
All wild and white,
With rush and roar
To the answering shore—
Like shadows thrown
From faint clouds down!

Oh! Dragon Fly
That shooteth by
In fiery haste,
As though close chased
By foe—for prey—
Or feere—for play!
That hurrieth past
In flashes fast,
As lightnings do,
When storm-clouds strew
Heaven's darkened face
And burthen space—

241

Why pause ye near,
Why stay ye here?
On, on—away—
Make no delay;
Still seem to be,
Fair thing and free,
A wonder rare,
A child of air,
A mystery strange,
Nor darkly change
To something known,
And all our own!
Pause not—proceed,
And be indeed
A mystic guest
That cannot rest,
A troubled spright—
Whose Life's a flight—
Thus shalt thou seem
Some beauteous dream,

242

Thus shalt thou be
In journeyings free,
A wond'rous thing
On untired wing!
It shines, it glows,
It scorns repose—
That wond'rous thing
That seems to bring
Some message fair
From upper air—
It floats, it fleets,
Returns, retreats,
Moves here, moves there,
Melts, lost in air.
Then back it comes,
And roves and roams,
Up springs on wings
Of fire, still higher—
Or ends—descends
And bends—and blends

243

With shades and hues
That soft suffuse
The rainbowed ground
Flower-cinctured round—
Again to rise
With its own dyes,
Or ere we guess
Its sweet recess—
Or ere we spy
Its privacy,
The chosen spot
To which it shot,
Where lost it lay,
Till up away
It darted forth
Again from Earth—
Again appeared
And gladly steered
Its happy course
With strengthened force—

244

And we remain
Unwearied—fain
To watch its play!
Its mazy way
To follow still
With earnest will—
Where'er it move—
With eyes of love
We follow close
As loath to lose!—
With eyes of love
Around, above,
And earnest will,
We follow still
Its mazy flight—
And reap delight
From watching so
That sparkling show—
Till Lo! 'tis gone—
And shines the Sun

245

With feebler ray
Since it lent day
A richer garb,
And seemed to barb
Each glittering beam,
That Lightning-Dream
With coloured flame
That hath no name!
And more than this
We seem to miss,
A spirit Light
All purely bright,
A finer ray
Than springs from day,
When that is gone
Which gleamed and shone
With dazzling strife,
A Light-a Life—
And almost seemed,
While thus it beamed,

246

As Life and Light
With adverse might
Were struggling there,
As each would bear
The mastery still
With conscious will—
The Light, the Life
At lovely strife,
In beauteous war—
Star battling Star!

Oh! Dragon Fly!
That shooteth by
In fearless glee,
Unchecked and free,
Would'st thou retain
Thy sway, and reign
O'er Fancy's powers,
Through passing hours,
Away—away,
Oh! shun display,

247

Delay not here—
Descend not near—
Disclose not now—
Divulge not thou
Thy form of grace
For us to trace
With piercing eye
Of scrutiny—
With care and art
Even part by part,
Even fleck by fleck,
And speck by speck,
Too soon—too soon
Familiar grown—
We cease to see,
Fair thing, in thee
Such charms supreme
As once did seem
To gird thee around,
And know no bound—

248

An insect fair
We gaze on there,
A beauteous fly
We there descry,
With colourings bright
Revealed to sight
In radiant store,
And nothing more—
A living thing
With graceful wing,
With fine shape rare,
With splendours fair,
Illumed and dyed—
And nought beside!—
Oh! Dragon Fly!
Shoot pauseless by,
If thou would'st keep
That influence deep
Which thou hadst gained—
(The while enchained

249

And rapt and pleased,
With wonder seized,
We stood and gazed,
Transfixed, amazed,
At thee—borne past
So far and fast!)
That influence fine
Thou calledst thine,
Which thou'st acquired,
Oh! much admired!—
That gentle sway
We joyed to obey,
Which thou—unknown
Didst make thine own.

Hope! thou dost strike
My thought as like
That Dragon Fly
Which darteth by—
Hope—heavenly thing,
While on the wing—

250

Thou shape of Light—
Most gorgeous Spright!—
Thou imp—thou elf,
That not thyself
May'st know from whence
(In rich suspense—)
Thou first didst spring
Mysterious thing,
Nor yet may'st know,
(Placed here below,
A stranger guest
That seeks its rest)
Where shall be found
On mortal ground
Thy splendent home—
Thy sheltering dome.—
Worlds sparkle o'er thee,
Earth, Heaven before thee
Lie shining, smiling,
And all beguiling—

251

Light laughs around thee,
No chains have bound thee,
Delight shines bright
O'er thy free flight,
And seems to call
Response from all,
As sweet—to greet
Thy movements fleet!
Oh! Hope! no home,
No sheltering dome
Can thine be here
On this mixed sphere!
Oh! Hope! no home
Thou need'st—thy doom
Should ever be
Unvaryingly
To forward fly,
And still to try
Bright pathways new,
And wander through

252

The boundless air,
And still to share
Each gentle gale
From mount and vale,
Each trembling gleam
From Sky or stream,
Reflecting fair
The glories there
In that sweet Sky
Outspread—on high—
Each note of mirth
That thrills the Earth,
Each smile of cheer
That sparkleth here,
Each dream of bliss
That recked of is!—
Hope—hour by hour,
From flower to flower,
Pursue thy way,
Nor deign to stay,

253

Alight not near,
Nor thy career
Attempt to check,
Or dread thy wreck!
Hope! child of Light,
Pursue thy flight!
We deem thee all
That we can call
Divine—supreme—
While thou dost seem
No mortal thing
With Earth-bound wing,
But something lent,
And sweetly sent
From Heavenlier clime—
Serene—sublime—
To bless and cheer
The wanderers here—
While thou dost glance
Scarce glimpsed perchance—

254

Full swiftly by,
Winged Phantasy,
And seem'st to wear,
Supremely fair,
Celestial dyes
To our charmed eyes—
Celestial stamp!—
A living lamp
To illuminate
Our path of Fate,
To shed around,
E'en without bound,
A dazzling glow
Unmatched below,
A flying Sun
That shall not run
In twelve brief hours,
With measured powers,
Its glorious race—
Then in its place

255

Leave angry Night
To chill and blight,
To lower around
As chaos frowned,
Ere Light—thy Light,
Oh! Sun!—most bright
Burst forth sublime
O'er Space and Time!
No! Hope divine!
Still brighter shine
From hour to hour
With mightier power
But thus to do,
Proceed!—pursue
Thy onward way
Both night and day,
Nor e'er descend
And deign to blend
With Earthly things,
For Fancy flings

256

Round thee a charm
Soft, quick, and warm,
That still seems given
Direct from Heaven—
That wins the Soul—
As thence it stole
At once away,
All faint dismay,
All bitterness,
And fond distress,
All doubt and fear
That haunt us here!—
A charm of strength
To wring at length
The drop accursed
Of sins—the worst—
From out the heart
That knows the smart
Of grief and pain,
And their dark train—

257

And worse—the throe
Of that wild woe—
Whose direful source
Is harsh remorse,
The black drop foul
That stained the Soul,
That charm had power
In happiest hour,
In brightest day
To wring away.
For Hope! sweet guest,
Thy sway confessed,
Still bright and high
Doth purify—
Doth animate
And elevate
With joy and love
The Soul above
Its mortal doom
Of dearth and gloom;

258

And while, fair thing,
Thou'rt on the wing,
Thy glorious aim
Still seems the same—
Thy goal supreme
Doth ever seem
Heaven—Heaven—to be
Triumphantly.
But, radiant Hope,
When thou dost stoop
Upon thy flight
From thy proud height,
And when thou'rt won
To rest upon
Some Earth-born thing
Where thou dost cling—
As though no more
Urged as before,
To wander free
In strength and glee.

259

When thou seem'st bound
On mortal ground
To one fixed spot,
Progressing not—
When resting near
Thou dost appear
Disclosed, revealed,
No more concealed
From the earnest gaze,
By the ardent blaze
Of Lightning-Light,
Which thy swift flight
Around thee cast
So free and fast.
Much dost thou lose
Of those rich hues,
So Heavenly fair
Which thou didst wear
In rainbow change
On thy wide range—

260

Forbear—beware—
If thou dost care
To reign—to enchain
The heart and brain,
Nor droop, sweet Hope,
Nor deign to stoop,
Nor ere descend,
Nor downwards tend,
For thine own sake
Forbear to take
A certain shape,
Away—escape
From the eager eye
That would descry
And pierce thy pall,
Of Mystery all!
Or half thy boast
Of Power is lost,
Thy mightiest arms,
Thy deepest charms

261

Are gone—undone—
For ever flown!
We dreamt we saw
With raptured awe
A deathless Spright
From Realms of light,
A messenger
To arouse—to stir
The Soul's pure fires
And best desires
To kindle forth
Its noblest worth,
To exalt, to bless
With happiness
Which hath not found
On Earthly ground
A name as yet,
Too seldom met,
Too rarely known
To be our own—

262

We dreamt of this
In dreams of bliss,
Instead we find
When marked, defined,
Thy form is seen
Distinct, I ween—
(And wholly reft
Of that which left
The excursive thought
All fancy-fraught
To image more
Enchanted store,
Of graces there,
And build up fair
A vision crowned
With pomp profound,)
A child of Earth
Of mortal birth—
A form though fair
And bright and rare,

263

Yet framed of dust
And ashes—just
As here we see
All things to be—
No more we trace
Celestial grace
Developed there
For naught to impair—
No more we view
For ever new
The light divine
That seemed to shine
Around that form
Fresh, vivid, warm—
Nor more behold
The Etherial mould
We fondly deemed,
While bright it beamed,
That radiant guest
In truth possessed!—

264

Nor more perceive
The while we weave
A thousand schemes
And varying dreams,
The unearthly blaze
That brought amaze,
Which seemed to dwell,
Unutterable,
Round that rare thing
On fluttering wing,
The spell at last
Is o'er—is past!
We view it nigh
And straight espy
Each taint of Earth
Of natural birth,
The stamp it bears,
The shape it shares
Of mortal things,
Nor more it brings

265

Thoughts bright and high
When gazed on nigh,
The ground-born hue
Starts forth to view—
The ground-spread shade
Is there displayed—
We see thee close
And thou dost lose
Thy power to enchant—
Fair Visitant!
While still we own
Though much be flown
Thou dost possess
Deep loveliness—
And still we trace
Full much of grace
In that fair form,
Though from the worm,
The dust, the clay,
Still, sooth to say,

266

'Tis darkly sprung
Earth's haunts among,
Yet, yet I say
Away—away—
Forbear, bright Hope!
To droop, to stoop—
Beware—forbear—
Still float in air
With buoyant speed,
Would'st thou indeed
Thy reign maintain,
Our Souls enchain,
Our fancies fire,
Our thoughts inspire,
Our hearts delight,
Our feelings smite!
Far forward shoot,
And tempt pursuit—
Nor let us see
Who worship thee,

267

How thou'rt allied
Like all beside
With dross and dust,
As still we must
When we behold
Thy form unfold!
Bright Hope! forbear
To approach too near—
When th' object's gained,
The end attained,
The chase is done,
The proud prize won,
How soon do men
Discover then
Its paltry worth,
Its wretched dearth!—
And sadly find
With altered mind
The thing they deemed
(While rapt they dreamed

268

Of deep delight
No change could blight)
Of Heavenly birth
Belongs to Earth!—
The thing they thought
Supremely fraught
With charms divine
That no decline
Might ever know—
Nor change of show
Earth's livery wears,
Earth's features bears—
The Child of Change!—
Whose widest range
Is yet confined
(Though like the Wind
It seems to be
Unchecked and free)
To haunts assigned,
To spots defined,

269

Which evermore
It hovereth o'er—
It wheels around
Its measured bound,
It soars, it springs
On its fair wings—
As though 'twould rise
To yonder skies—
Yet all the while
'Tis harmless guile,
'Tis doomed to cleave
To Earth, nor leave
Through lengthened hours
Her shadowy bowers,
But this is nought
If to our thought
It seems to be
Divinely free—
Oh! better far
Like glittering Star

270

To be thus borne
In aëry scorn
Of the humble ground,
(Though flowery-crowned
And kissed by beams
In sudden gleams,
With glow and smile
It blush the while!)
Even though it be
But partially
In one marked place
And measured space
To heights assigned,
With scope confined,
Than to disclose
In dull repose
Each tinge—each taint,
However faint,
Each stain—each streak
That serves to speak

271

Its close-drawn ties,
With all that lies
The Sun beneath,
Condemned to death!
Still Hope—then float—
Though not remote—
Yet far enough
For ever off
For us to see
Rich mystery
Around thee thrown
Since when our own—
When once all ours,
With thy fair dowers,
Shown forth—made clear—
Too sure—too near—
We turn away
And sorrowing say
“My Hope shone far
A Morning Star,

272

A thing too fair
For mortal air—
But now—but now
I know not how
The enchantment sinks,
The triumph shrinks,
Th'illusion's past—
To Truth at last
I sorrowing wake
And overtake
That shape of light
Whose glorious flight
Appeared to be
So wildly free—
The shape I thought
A vision caught
From worlds above
Of Light and Love—
'Tis bright—'tis fair—
But never there

273

Again shall eye
Of mine espy
The unearthly grace
It joyed to trace
In thousand ways
In other days,
Where moved in light
That Vision bright—
That Vision's o'er!
'Tis now no more
A Dream of Heaven
In pity given,
To teach the mind
To leave behind
Earth's hollow joys—
Poor paltry toys—
Earth's empty scenes
To which oft leans
The heart unwise,
For which it sighs!

274

With vain desire
And fatal fire—
'Tis born of Earth,
In common birth
With all beside
On Earth descried!
Its elements
While each consents
To pale decay,
Are dust and clay,
Its life a breath,
Its haven—Death!”
'Tis thus we wail
And tell the tale
Of mortal Hope,
When sadly ope
Our altered eyes
With grieved surprise
To Truth at length
In all its strength,

275

To fragments fall
Our fancies all,
Our mood is marred,
Our joys are jarred,
Our schemes subversed,
Our dreams dispersed,
Our labours lost,
Our counsels crost,
Our triumphs tamed,
Our sapience shamed,
And we are left
Of much bereft—
And change comes o'er
The Heart's wrung core,
We trod on air,
And mocked at care,
Upbuoyed—inspired,
Aroused and fired
By rapturous zeal
'Twas bliss to feel!

276

We tread on dust
And all mistrust
That Happiness
Which still grows less;
With cares alloyed,
With doubts destroyed,
With shadows stained,
When 'tis attained!
Then Hope away,
We court thy stay,
We wait to catch,
We watch to snatch,
Unchecked—untired
The thing desired—
We onwards press,
We glimpse, we guess,
We shape, we scheme,
We doubt, we dream,
We track, we touch,
With joy we clutch

277

At length our prize—
While from our eyes
The film doth fall,
Which charmed all—
Made things more bright
To the earnest sight—
Still let us grope
Transcendant Hope—
Bedazzled, blind,
(With willing mind!)
By thy rich light
Too strangely bright,
And onwards press,
And glimpse and guess,
And brave—and blink!—
And snatch—and shrink!—
And forge, and frame,
And doubt, and dream,
And tempt, and try,
And strive, and sigh,

278

Nor e'er awake,
Nor quite o'ertake
The thing desired,
By which inspired
We forward fly
Unweariedly—
Still onwards press
In zeal's excess,
And still adore
Yet more and more
That Vision fair
Outshining there,
Nor ever find
With saddened mind,
How little worth
On this dark Earth
The things we love
And most approve,
Must seem to be
When we can see

279

Those things aright
By no false light!
No borrowed dyes
Then charm our eyes,
We view them through
A medium true,
And sad it is
When even our bliss,
Possessed, assured,
And gained, secured,
Can bring a thought
With trouble fraught!

Oh! Dragon Fly,
That hurrieth by
In glad content
And merriment,
Teach me to be
As glad, as free—
Thy sunshine life
May know not strife!

280

A little while
In Nature's smile
'Tis thine to bask,
Thy lightsome task
To stray, and play
The hours away,
Then sets thy Sun,
Thy day is done,
Thy fate is fixed,
And thou art mixed
With all things past,
Too bright to last!—
Fair faded flowers
Of broken bowers,
Rich clouds that shone,
Then melted down
To Earth in tears,
In by-gone years
Bright meteors lost—
A moment's boast!—

281

Sweet leaves decayed
That long since made
The green wood fair,
Free fluttering there,
And myriad things
On chainless wings,
As glad as thou
Art surely now—
Thy little life
With transports rife
Shall soon in peace
Untroubled cease,
And thou shalt be
A Phantasy—
Aye! thou shalt seem
Ev'n so a dream
Of memory
Fair thing to me—
If ever thought
Of thee be brought

282

Unto my brain
Indeed again,
And sure it shall!—
I must recall
This lovely hour
Of peaceful power,
Aye! thoughts shall come,
Not thoughts of gloom,
But such as soothe
With quiet truth
The mind's unrest
And trouble, best!
Thoughts deep and dear
Of all that here
Proclaim aloud
To this World's crowd
Of Beings born—
Oh! not to mourn!—
This truth supreme
(Which Nature's scheme

283

For ever shows,
And proves to those
Who still are bent
With Soul intent
To learn her lore,
And deep to store
Her counsels pure,
And precepts sure,
Within the mind
With faith entwined)
That Truth august
Which claims our trust,
That Heaven above
Doth watch in Love
O'er all things here—
Profoundly dear
To him who made
And who displayed
His glorious might
And Power aright,

284

Beyond all thought
In making, fraught
With excellence,
Which proves from whence
They take their rise
To searching eyes!—
Oh! if a fly,
But born to die,
When some few days
Of Summer-blaze
Have gaily shone
Its path upon—
Can the object prove
Of Heavenly Love,
As none can doubt
Whose thoughts about
Such themes I ween
'Midst this mixed scene
Have been (if still
From jaundiced will

285

Serenely free
They brightly be)
Ere yet employed
Thus unalloyed
By errors vile
That some beguile—
(And dreams impure
That may allure
The worldly mind
And strike it blind)
For those who seek
With ardour meek,
And tempered fire,
And schooled desire,
Through Nature's book
With care to look
Must feel and know
That it is so—
Can, can it be
Indeed that we

286

That love shall miss
And lose that bliss—
Profusely round
Without a bound
Spread, scattered wide
On every side?
No! the insect may
In joyaunce play
In the orient beam,
And haply seem
More blest, more free
Awhile than we,
But this proud Globe
With royal robe
Of sunshine drest,
And sumptuous vest
Of beauteous dye,
With canopy
Of boundless state,
Whose dazzling freight

287

Of Jewels clear,
Is sphere on sphere
With yon bright Sun,
Its loveliest one!
With countless things
Fair Beauty's springs!—
And ornament
Magnificent
Of vernal pride
With emerald dyed,
While fruit and flower
And foliage shower
Their treasures bright
Upon the sight—
This was not made
(Though thus arrayed
With pompous show
And dazzling glow,
With bloom and light
To charm our sight)—

288

To be our home.
No! light and bloom
And radiant glow
And glorious show
May chance beguile
One little while
Man's careful eye
Delightfully—
And gently cheer
His sojourn here,
But not below
We deeply know
On mortal ground
Can e'er be found
Our place of rest!—
A passing guest
Man is beneath
With fleeting breath.
This grand Creation
No habitation

289

Of lengthened date
For his proud state
May prove to be
Though fair to see—
A fairer far
Where all things are
Pure, deathless, bright,
And crowned with light
That never waneth,
But still retaineth
Its boundless blaze
Of cloudless rays!—
Awaiteth him—
While dull and dim
With that compared
Heaven hath declared
Through lips, inspired
(Howe'er admired
Its glories be—
Still bright to see)

290

This Earth below
Of brilliant show
Is still, despite
That bloom, that light,
Which makes it seem
One dazzling dream—
Sufficeth not
This radiant spot,
This splendid scene
For him I ween!
His great career
May end not here—
A pilgrim he
On Earth must be,
His goal not won
He journeyeth on—
Nor long he stays,
Nor here delays—
His time is short,
The grave's his port.

291

And yet not so,
Ah! surely no!—
The grave's the gate
To which his fate
Conducteth him,
It frowneth dim,
But it shall lead
To light indeed!
Then let not fear
Disturb him here,
Nor doubt distress,
Nor pain possess—
Beyond the tombs
The triumph comes,
The truth shall shine,
The truth divine!
The glory burst
Upon him first!
When he awakes
(And gladly breaks

292

His mortal chain)
To Life again,
Not such a Life
Disturbed with strife,
As still in woe
He lives below—
But Life without
A grief, a doubt!
The dark grave shut
On him is but
The gate that opes
To all his Hopes,
Then, then he springs
On angel wings
To boundless heights,
To crowned Delights,
To worlds of bliss
Unknown in this—
Immortal man
Thy Life's a span,

293

A point in space
Thy measured race
On mortal ground—
No check, no bound
Shalt thou find there
Where doth prepare
High Heaven thy seat,
Just—fair and meet
For deathless Powers.
'Mid fadeless bowers
A radiant clime
Serene—sublime
A waits thee there;
Celestial air
Shall fan thy brow
So darkened now,
Immortal hues
Shall soft suffuse
The scene around
With glory crowned,

294

No change shall come,
No cloud of doom,
To spoil or blight
Those worlds of Light;
Thou'rt on thy way
Still day by day
To these far seats,
The august retreats
Of Spirits blessed,
In golden rest—
Not here's thy part,
Below thou art
A stranger still
Through grief, through ill,
That struggleth on
Till rest is won—
Till strife is stilled
And fate fulfilled!
Thou art below
We own, we know,

295

A Wanderer—
A Prisoner!
For thralled thou art,
With yearning heart
That fain—in vain—
Would break the chain,
Thou'rt still detained
And all constrained
One path to tread,
Still sped, and led
With yielding feet
Where thou shalt meet
With divers fates,
Try various states—
But still enthralled
And barred and walled,
Shalt thou remain
With yoke and chain!

This world so bright
O'erflowed with Light,

296

This Regal World
Emblazed, empearled
With gems resplendent
And pomps transcendant
Adorned and crowned
Above, around
With treasures fair
And beauties rare—
Incessant change
Sublime and strange
Of glorious show,
Whose living glow
May well enchain
Both sense and brain!
Say, shall it be,
Oh! Man, for thee,
Thou Lord of Time!
The native clime?—
Heaven teacheth us
It is not thus!

297

This mighty Earth
With wealth and worth
Of sumless stores—
Whose Seas and Shores
Are thronged and teeming
Beyond our dreaming
With precious things,
Whose affluence brings
To man delight,
And glads his sight!
Whose mount and plain
With gold and grain
Are charged and crowded,
While shrined and shrouded
They're hidden there,
Those stores so fair,
Those gifts of good
For him endued
With excellence
That doth dispense

298

Bright gladness round—
Still perfect found,
(Withheld awhile
To tempt his toil,
To task, to try
His energy!
To teach, to test
His tutored breast—
And call forth all
His powers that fall
And sink away
In dull decay,
And by disuse
Their vigour lose—
If unemployed
Made vain and void
By sluggish rest
In his sealed breast—
But strengthened, armed,
And waked, and warmed,

299

When well applied,
And tasked, and tried,
And roused, and reared,
Called forth, and cheered)
This Earth whose field
Immense doth yield,
All bounteous boons
Which fervid noons
And dewy primes
In divers climes
With rich increase
That may not cease,
Conspire to grant
To meet each want,
Production fast,
Profusion vast—
This Earth—that wears
Through circling years
From side to side
Fair flowing wide

300

Fertility—
A garment free,
That wrapped around
Her form is found
For evermore
From shore to shore!—
The while doth smile
O'er coast and isle
And continent
Of broad extent,
Rich Plenty's face
Of roseate grace—
This wond'rous Earth
With wealth and worth
Unknown, untried,
Of stores supplied—
Whate'er may be
Its majesty!—
Its proud excess
Of loveliness,

301

Its rare array
And bright display,
Its boast, its pride,
All flushed and dyed
With golden bloom,
Which doth assume
A hue celestial
Though but terrestrial!—
While in the Sky
Gleams Day's broad eye,
All girt and graced
And brightly laced
With splendours sheen—
A beauteous scene!—
This Earth so fair
Did Heaven prepare
Indeed to be
Man's sanctuary?—
His lasting home
(With Star-gemmed dome—

302

With flower-paved floor
Thick covered o'er
With fulgence bright—
Reflected Light!)—
No—no—vain thought!
Howe'er 'tis fraught
With Beauty's best,
Howe'er possessed,
Of charms untold
That still unfold
This Palace Pile,
Whose matchless style
Proclaims aloud
By whom endowed
With strength and grace—
Harmonious trace—
Proportions fair,
Perfections rare,
And rich device—
This Edifice

303

So proud, so vast,
So framed to last,
This Palace Pile
That doth the while
Sublime reflect
Of the Architect
The gracious Will,
The unbounded skill,
The Eternal might,
Yet not aright!—
Oh! faintly forth
The unuttered worth,
The power divine
Reflected shine
When imaged here
On this far sphere,
Though this be made
Complete—yet weighed
With Him who wrought
It seems as nought—

304

Aye! then it sinks
And pales and shrinks—
This Temple bright
Where rosy light
For ever plays
With sacred rays,
Fresh from that fount
Of Light, where mount
Our thoughts when they
In silence pray,
That fount of flame
Still shown the same,
Whose brightness tells
Of Him who dwells
In brightness veiled,
In heights unscaled!—
This proud abode
On Man bestowed,
Of pomp untold,
Behold—behold,

305

'Tis worthy deemed,
And fit esteemed,
We wondering see
Alone to be
His dwelling Place
For briefest space—
Nay—sooth to say,
Which marvell may
Yet more arouse
His Prison-house!—
His vasty cell
Wherein to dwell
Constrained—confined,
(With chains to bind,
Checked, chained—constrained—
Deterred—detained)—
He seemeth doomed,
As though entombed!—
For dungeoned here
It must appear

306

He still remains—
In fleshly chains!
Yet lodged the while
In noblest Pile,
In proudest Dome
That might become
For ampler date
A monarch's state—
This captive seems
While round him beams
This world—(arrayed
In glory—made—
With skill supreme)
Which aye doth teem
With precious things,
And golden springs
Of Beauty pure
That still endure,
This sumptuous seat
That might seem meet

307

For Angel-Powers
With starry dowers
Of Spirit-Light—
Creative Might—
Is't but indeed
Designed to lead
To Worlds above
All Light—all Love—
That deeply are
More glorious far—
Is this fair sphere
Which doth appear
To watchful eye
Of scrutiny
Impartial—just)—
An Ark august—
A mansion proud
That might enshroud
High Beings dread,
Who widely spread

308

Imperial Rule—
The vestibule
Of prouder Domes,
And loftier homes,
And nought beside
With all its pride?
And but the place
For our fallen race—
Wherein to toil
And wash the soil
With Sorrow's tears
Through rolling years—
Condemned they are
And banished far
From those bright seats,
Those fair retreats,
Those radiant climes
A thousand times
More fair, more bright,
More full of light,

309

More full of bliss
And bloom than this—
That brightly wait
Beyond the gate
Of yon dark grave
Which yawns to save!
Then, Oh! how fair!—
Can Fancy dare
In glimpsings faint
Those scenes to paint—
Can Hope ev'n raise
To that dread blaze
Her Eagle eyes
That court the Skies?—
Since those surpass
These scenes that glass
To pious view
Sublimely too
Of him who made
The Shadow's Shade!

310

And that alone
Would cast a zone
Resplendent round
This Earthly bound,
And round it thrown
Would light and crown
With awful grace
Its place, in Space!
Heaven!—Heaven!—how fair
Beyond compare
Must thy worlds be
Oe'rpoweringly!
How glorious all
With dazzling wall
Of Glory-Light
Which Spirit-Sight
Scarce well can bear,
Heaven!—Heaven!—how fair!
And can it be
In truth that we

311

Are th'heirs for whom
Beyond the tomb
Those worlds shine forth—
We—Sons of Earth?
Can—can it be
Indeed that we
Are th'heirs for whom
In boundless bloom
That scene expands—
Those Promised Lands
Illustrious shine
With pomp divine—
What deep excess
Of thankfulness
Should fill the Soul,
That such a goal
Is thus designed
For humankind!
What earnestness
Of zeal should press

312

Unpausing on
Till nobly won,
Those Worlds of Love
May brightly prove
Those heights may be
Eternally!

Oh! Dragon Fly!
That family
Of which thou'rt one,
Born of the Sun,
May never spring
On strengthened wing,
With lengthened flight
To worlds more bright
Than this beneath,
Whose bloom and breath
Sufficeth ye,
Sweet family!
Then this below
Ye may not know

313

A lovelier clime,
Supreme—sublime!
No fairer place
A waits your race,
Oh! Dragon Fly
That hurrieth by!
Then speed in power
From flower to flower,
Till light is gone
Fly cheerly on!
Still stray, and play
The day away!
Forget—forget
That Sun must set
Which lights thee now,
For surely thou
Hast nought to fear
Though night frown drear,
Thine aim and bent
Are innocent—

314

And fraught with nought
Of thought o'erwrought
May be thy breast,
Light fairy-guest!
Nor Hope nor fear
Possess thee here!
Enjoyment's truth
Is thine in sooth—
Unclouded peace
In glad increase
Still dwells with thee
Bright wanderer free!
Nor on—nor back
On thy glad track
Look'st thou the while
In sunshine's smile—
The Present is
Thy time of bliss,
To thee alone
The Present's shown,

315

Past—Future hour
May have no power
On thee—brave thing,
On daring wing!
Earth smiles around thee,
The Sun hath crowned thee
With hues that strike
As jewel-like!
All Nature still
Round thee doth thrill
With cloudless joy
Without alloy,
She overflows
Like summer's rose
With beauty deep,
Which seems to steep
The Earth, the Air
With sweetness rare!
She glowing yields
From groves and fields,

316

Vales, streams, and founts,
Rocks, heaths, and mounts,
Sweet sights, sweet sounds
To fresh birth bounds
For evermore
With richer store
Of charms complete
Thy path to greet,
Thou happy thing
Whose life is spring!
Then fly afar
With nought to mar
On this green Earth
Thy buoyant mirth,
Thy landmarks meet
Are flowerets sweet—
These tempt, these light
Thy joyous flight
Which ev'n to watch
Must be to catch

317

Some kindlings dear
Of blameless cheer.
Thy path still lies
Beneath the Skies,
Where'er most things
Whose beauty brings
Unfeigned delight,
Invite the sight—
Where'er down pours
Her brilliant stores,
That wide expand—
Warms Summer's hand
Most bounteously,
To dye the Sky
And Earth and Air
With one most fair
Transcendant blush
Of roseate flush—
From zone to zone
Heart-struck and lone

318

Man may, perchance,
Urged on, advance
In hopes to gain
From heavy pain
A respite dear—
Still chastened here—
Or chance to escape
From fearful shape
Of scorn or shame
May be his aim,
How oft in vain
O'er main—o'er plain—
O'er mount—o'er marsh—
That Presence harsh
Pursues him still—
The dreaded Ill!
Whate'er he sees
Doth fail to please—
Vain—vain—while all
Doth still recall

319

That grief of mind
Which thus behind,
Fond Wretch! he strives
To leave—and drives
His bark along,
Though gales blow strong—
And goads his steed
To fiercer speed
To leave behind
His Heart and Mind!
Himself—his Soul!—
And bid Seas roll
And Mountains rise
While forth he flies—
Misjudging Elf!
Betwixt himself
And that dread Power
Which ne'er its hour
Defers or yields!—
Which sternly wields

320

Its sceptre wand
Of harsh command
With mastery dire
(Till both expire)—
Against I wist
The antagonist
Who dares to seek
Revenge to wreak
On That the while—
Or would beguile
Of its dark strength
And might at length—
That influence dread
Which grows instead
More stern, more strong
By conflict long,
And combat keen,
Than it had been!
That Power thrice armed
With Life deep-charmed—

321

Which bends to none—
But clings to one—
Which yields to nought
The Power of Thought!
King of All Kings—
It strongly brings
A glory bright
With perfect light
To adorn their crown,
Or strikes it down
To dust and ashes
With Lightning flashes—
Though only they
That fatal ray
Perceive and feel,
Which score of steel
Or flaw of flame
Makes weak and tame
And harmless quite,
Beside its blight

322

That seems to fall
Unearthly all!
The Conqueror's Lord!
Whose sceptre sword
Is like the brand
The Archangel's hand
Tremendous grasped
(When vainly gasped—
The Doomed who saw
With shrinking awe
And stunned amaze
In the olden days!)
Of withering fire
That weapon dire
Seems formed and framed,
Unturned—untamed—
If blood-stained Might
Hath mocked at Right!
When scarlet crimes
Appal the times

323

It searcheth sore
The Heart's quick core—
And through and through
Still smites anew—
The Sinner's scourge
That still doth urge
The wretch to fly
From every eye—
That goads him sore
For evermore—
The mourner's bane,
Still doubling pain
Increasing still—
The gloomy ill.
Oh! Power of thought,
'Tis thou hast taught
The high to stoop—
The strong to droop—
The fierce to sink—
The brave to shrink!—

324

But then beside
Extendest wide
Thy empire free—
Triumphantly
To crown—to bless
With Happiness—
Where Virtue lives
And gently gives
Her holy aid
To hearts afraid,
Then, then thou'rt bright
With Heavenly Light—
Full oft, though care
Still frowneth there!
The Poor man's wealth,
The sufferer's health,
The exile's bland
Bright native land,
The prisoner's fair
Fresh free-born air,

325

The lone one's friend—
Thought! Thought! no end,
No narrow bound
Can there be found
To thy bright Power
And Heaven-given dower
When Virtue's smile
Shines down the while
Serene on thee
Victoriously.—
But yet, but yet
Earth's fond regret
Will oft dispute
With struggle mute
Thy milder reign—
Again to pain
Will darkly turn
And teach to burn
Thy tenderer vein
Of soothing strain—

326

In error fond
I looked beyond
The sober truth,
And dreamt in sooth
A false fair dream
Like meteor's beam,
When late I spoke
Of Sorrow's yoke
By thee made light,
Her darkness bright—
Ah! 'tis not so!
The o'erwhelming woe
Though chased—displaced,
Awhile effaced—
Recoils upon
The wearied one
Long tried—long troubled,
With strength redoubled—
The moment's gleam
Makes murkier seem

327

The after gloom
Of clouded doom—
And though thy form
Be of the storm,
The rainbow bright
Displayed to sight,
Fair Virtue! still
The grief—the ill
Will have and hold
Its full share told,
Its own dark part
O'the human heart
I'the human hours
Which bend to Powers
Of Woe and Pain,
And own their reign—
The exile dreams
Of mounts and streams
Long severed far,—
Beneath a star

328

Of gentle ray,
Whose silvery play
Familiar shone
His gaze upon—
He sudden starts,
His Heart of Hearts
Is pierced and wrung,
He feels among
Cold strangers still
The trembling thrill
Of joy is past,
It could not last—
The captive ponders
In thought he wanders
Unchecked—unchained,
No more restrained,
O'er green, glad fields
Whose verdure yields
A deep delight
More full of might

329

Than e'er before
His bosom's core
A wakening knew—
Warmed through and through—
With feelings sweet
That mingling meet
Profoundly there
And banish care—
His own chains clank!—
He shrinks, as shrank
His heart, while first
Those chains accursed
Were round him thrown,
The Vision's flown!—
And when it fades,
Alas! the shades
Of Prison gloom
At once assume
A depth more drear
To chill with fear—

330

More dark, more dread
Those shades are spread
Around the eyes
That saw arise
A minute past
Fair landscapes, fast—
And skies all smiling
Blue, bright, beguiling—
And quivering gleams
From well-known streams,
And emerald bowers,
And rainbowed flowers!—
The lone one turns
With heart that yearns
To other years,
And soft appears
By musing brought
Before his thought
Full many a form
Bright, glowing, warm—

331

To light, to bless
His loneliness!—
But something breaks
The charm—then aches
With heavier sense
Of sick suspense
His lonely heart,
Condemned to part
With that sweet dream
Which Heaven did seem!
Uncertain all
If to his call
Shall evermore
E'en as before
Such imagery
Enchanted be
Allowed to appear
To charm and cheer
His solitude,
His loveless mood!

332

Thus Thought—crowned Thought!
On Earth thou'rt fraught
With more of pain
To breast and brain
Than aught beside—
While Love and Pride,
While Grief and Shame
Our mortal frame
Distracting wring
And scourge and sting!
And none may shun
Thy sway—not one!
In vain men speed
O'er mount and mead
O'er marsh and main
In vain—in vain,
To 'scape from thee
It may not be,
The Power of Pain
Doth still remain,

333

The sense of Shame
Still stings the same,
Crime's consciousness
Doth still oppress
With crushing force
Of black remorse
The offender's Soul,
Though oceans roll
Between him wide,
And that spot dyed
With memories dark
With fatal mark
Of stern deeds done
Erewhile thereon.

Oh! Dragon Fly!
That hurrieth by,
Thou speedest not
From spot to spot
To escape the woe,
To avoid the blow,

334

To shun the grief,
To seek relief,
Thou fearest no ill,
Thou dost but still
Bright pleasures new
In joy pursue!
Pleased all the while!—
For sunlight's smile
Sufficient is
To o'erflow with bliss
That little breast
So lightly blest!
We speed in chase
From place to place,
Full fondly bent
With keen intent
To find at last
Delight—surpassed,
Approached, by nought
E'er glimpsed in thought,

235

But all the while
That we beguile
With hope so fair
(A dream of air
Quick Hope and bright
With fairy might)
Our hearts we know,
Oh! iron Woe!
Of thee indeed
(Too seldom freed)
The truth unkind!—
Aye! Soul and Mind
Still feel and know
The dull, the slow
Reality
Of thee—of thee!

Yet, Dragon Fly,
That hurriest by,
I envy not
Thy cloudless lot.—

336

'Mid grief and gloom
And pain and doom,
And strife and doubt
Must I work out
That future fate
Which doth await
My Soul when borne
On wings of Morn—
Beyond the tomb,
And Death and Doom!
But, glorious thought!—
With transport fraught—
If not to stray
From one right way,
From one straight path
That fair end hath,
May now be mine,
Through Aid Divine
What boundless good
Not understood,

337

Not dreamt of here,
Too deep, too dear—
Shall I then share
In raptures there
Where bright increase
Doth never cease
Of joy and gladness
Unmixed by sadness!
What triumphs true
Shall proudly too
Repay me there
For toil and care—
Then Love that learnt
While here it burnt,
Oh! still the same,
A Heavenly flame
'Mid smothering clouds
And dulling shrouds,
And airs unblest
In wild unrest,

338

Its own sweet strength
Shall learn at length
That it was born
For Light and morn,
For bliss, for good,
There it shall brood
(The Eternal Dove,
Divinest Love!—)
For evermore
Enraptured o'er
Itself serene
In that blest scene!
No longer grieved,
Betrayed, deceived,
And darkly crossed,
And fiercely tossed
O'er wild waste waves,
Where ceaseless raves
The hoarse harsh blast,
And lowers o'ercast

339

The frowning Sky
Unpityingly,
No longer torn
By hate or scorn,
And made to endure
Ills, nought can cure;
Aggrieved, abused,
Wrung, wounded, bruised,
The martyr still
Whom fiendish skill
Exhausted seemed,
(For so had deemed
Soft Pity viewing
That fierce undoing)
In torturing on
Till Life was done
In torturing ever
With foul endeavour!
On this dark Earth
Whose barren dearth

340

Uncheering frowned
His steps around.
Oh! Love, no more
Tried, sharp, and sore,
Shalt thou then be,
But fair and free
Shalt thou elate
Then bless thy fate,
Exult, rejoice,
With full-crowned choice,
And ever rest
Of joy possessed
In golden peace
That will not cease!

Oh! Dragon Fly!
Speed swiftly by,
I envy not
Thy merry lot!
No! pass along
In freedom strong,

341

And fleetly run
While shines the Sun
Thy little race!—
Thou'lt leave no trace
Behind, glad thing,
When once thy wing
Droops low and weak,
And nought shall speak
Of thee, when thou
Across the bough
No more may cast
Thy shadows fast,
Nor brighten day
As with a ray
Of magic power
Through many an hour—
But this is nought
To thee—no thought
Hath ever leapt,
No dream hath swept

342

Through thy calm breast
Of perfect rest!—
Thou canst not care
Bright Sunshine's heir
For aught that may
On future day
Perchance take place,
But runn'st thy race
Of cloudless cheer
Without a fear—
In joy—without
A passing doubt!—
Nor bliss can cloy,
From joy to joy
Thou hurriest on
Till all is done!
Then not a trace
On Nature's face
Shall tell of thee
That eye can see!

343

Then nought remains
Like Summer's rains
In flowret's cup
Full soon dried up
By sunny ray—
All's passed away!
But thou'lt know not
That thou'rt forgot.
No! thou indeed
Wilt never heed
That none regret
Thy glad Star's set,
Thou, thou canst ne'er
Be made aware
Of thy changed fate—
And fallen state!
Yet, Dragon Fly,
I heave no sigh
While watching thee
Thus light and free,

344

I envy not
Thy careless lot—
Before mine eyes
Proud Destinies
Unfold, unroll,
And tempt my Soul!
Far, far away
From this dim day
That shines o'er Earth
Shall that take birth!
And that perchance
In dazzling trance
Shall too forget
How rose and set
The Suns of Skies
Whose loveliest dyes
Of orient rose
Or blue repose,
Or evening's gold
Were dim and cold,

345

Besides the Light
That then in sight
Shall streaming shine
All, all divine!
That—that perchance
In flashing trance
Shall dream, nor know
What may below
Then come to pass—
While like a glass
It mirrors deep
The pomps that sweep
Before its ken
Serenely then,
This World the while
So base and vile
Effaced and razed
From thoughts emblazed
With truths and things
Whose shadow flings

346

O'er Earth below
A glorious glow!
Aye! that may thus
Victorious
O'er all it bore
In days of yore,
Nor know nor heed
Nor dream indeed
What happens here
On this far sphere—
For it Earth's sway
Hath passed away,
Hath fleeted by
As utterly
Ere it can gain
Its high domain
As, Dragon Fly,
When thou dost die
Depart from thee
All things that be—

347

Thy portion while
In Sunlight's smile
Thou revell'st here
Without a fear.
Oh! Dragon Fly!
Swift hurrying by,
I envy not
Thy careless lot—
I heave no sigh
When thou speed'st by
On restless wing!
Fair happy thing!

348

STANZAS.

FROM A MANUSCRIPT POEM.

To thee I give my Soul—my very Soul
Crown my Devotion's hope with one sweet thought,
One thought of thine shall still seem worth the whole
Of my deep dreamy Being—passion-fraught!

One thought of thine shall still appear to me
More precious than my Soul's existence all,
Is it in vain that I but live to be
The willing slave of such a Passion's thrall?

It cannot be—ne'er—ne'er hath fallen to waste
So deep a love and so devoted yet,
Howe'er it be on this vile Earth misplaced,
By selfish passions and dark wrongs beset.

349

It must pursue its path, proclaim its power,
Its Fortunes finish, and fulfil its Fate,
It must, it will have its victorious hour,
Though dark its Destiny, and brief its date.

It must, it will its living might exert,
And win some answer to its ardent prayer,
It must—it will—its influence deep assert
Nor melt, a moment's meteor, lost in air!

If it may nought atchieve besides, at least
It may to thee thy fatal power reveal,
And if for me no sigh may heave thy breast,
For others thou mayst still be taught to feel!

It may unfold to thee what Love can be,
How beautiful, how mighty, and how true—
Make thee in love with Love, though not with me,
And tempt thy heart the Heav'n-born guest to woo!

350

It may disclose to thee, Oh! loveliest one,
How others' happiness of heart and mind
May hang thy will, thy thoughtless will upon,
And teach thee to be merciful and kind!

Then shall it not be wasted all in sooth,
But I—alas! Beloved One! look on me—
Must the poor heart that glows with this deep truth,
Be wasted—crushed with loneliest misery?

ON A FÊTE HELD IN THE OPEN AIR.

'Tis a Paradise of Labyrinths this where all enchantments blend,
And to the very Soul deep, deep their rich prevailment send!
Oh! Flowers! bright Poetry of Earth! ye are the treasures here,
And the fairest, sweetest, loveliest,—the most exquisite and dear!

351

'Tis one Paradise of Labyrinths, this the eye perplexed may stray
From path to path—where fancy's self must fondly lose her way,
But every path is fair and bright, then heed not which you take,
But wander lightly, freely on for careless wandering's sake.

Oh! 'tis Pleasure is the Sovran here, and Pleasure let us serve,
Nor from her shining path marked out with stars and roses swerve!
Light are her gentle hests in sooth—soft is her silken yoke,
Her honeyed counsels sweet and mild, who e'er such bright bonds broke?—

Oh! enough of cark, enough of care, enough of pain and gloom
Attend us on our journey through this pathway to the tomb,
Let us step aside, one little while to hear the glad birds sing,
To snatch Spring-flowers, Spring-gleams, Spring-sweets, while yet it may be Spring!

352

Oh! Zephirs, Sunshine, Roses, here, weave chains of deep delight,
And we surrender up our Souls to Joy's victorious might,
And graceful works of taste and skill are brightly grouped around,
And in Nature's magic circle and Art's charmed zone we're bound!

Hail to the festal hour!—'tis well to rest from cark and care,
And bask in Sunshine's smile awhile, and breathe the free fresh air—
Hail to the festal hour!—'tis well from time to time to turn
From graver thoughts, and deeper things, and scenes more dark and stern.

Oh! there's wisdom sure in smiling!—how beautiful is Joy
When in a cup of purity 'tis stained with no alloy,
When innocence, young innocence combines with lightsome mirth
Can aught of fairer, lovelier be upon the face of Earth!

353

Oh! Beautiful is young Delight, and gladness ev'n sublime,
When we think how we disport ourselves on the precipice of time,
For we hang on the sustaining hand and cast away our care,
And we smile upon a smiling world, and we feel Heaven's eye is there.

Oh! Beautiful are Festivals—for this fair reason still,
When we think how man is compassed round with danger and with ill;
It is a noble sight to see his cloudless brow and clear,
While armed with blameless confidence he banishes dull fear.

Oh! Beautiful are Festivals! 'Tis well to set apart
Some hours to soften and to soothe the harassed human heart,
So that vanity and luxury still forbear to taint the mirth;
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals on this overshadowed earth.

354

The workday cares and toils do sheathe the heart with hardened crust
Of selfishness and cautiousness—those hours lave off the dust;
'Tis as a breath of Eden's bliss, and freshness and repose,
When the sun laughs light on festal hours, and the scenes of turmoil close.

Most needful 'tis from time to time to glad the Soul and cheer,
Relaxing from the watch, the march, the attentive mood austere;
Our Earth herself the example gives—with fruits she mingles flowers,
And the fairest yield no increase oft—she holds her festal hours!

Oh! Beautiful are Festivals! but loveliest those I call,
Which are not held beneath the dome—within the crowded hall—

355

Assemble in the garden still, the shaded grove, the field—
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals when in Nature's Temple held.

'Tis well to build up for ourselves, despite of Fear and Fate,
A light and fleeting happiness that suits our fleeting state,
Tho' no memory may survive of this, still, still the Soul may be
The better for its dream-like bliss, and calm enjoyment free.

For real and certain Happiness—too seldom may it prove
Our portion here, while yet 'mid cares and trials we must move,
And when 'tis ours, alas!—how oft the Parent 'tis of ill,
Melting the Soul with tenderness that should be strengthened still!

No! the joy that o'er its surface gleams like sunlight o'er the Sea,
Haply more fitted to our fate and to our frame may be,
It lasts not!—but doth Happiness last longer? No! in sooth,
Pleasure's fond fiction may survive Felicity's tried truth.

356

How Beautiful are Festivals—they win us to forget
With a divine forgetfulness, Time's wrongs and our regret,
They bid us to remember too—with sweet and strong controul,
How capable of Happiness is the ever living Soul.

Oh! Beautiful are Festivals, we dream we're blest and free,
And still we are, while thus we can believe ourselves to be,
Perchance our happiest hours are those wherein content we are,
With something like thy shadow—Oh! bright Happiness—Life's Star.

357

LINES

(FROM INEZ, AN MS. POEM.)

Yes!—yes!—I laughed and scoffed, and many a jest
Seemed to spring lightly from a careless breast,
Great Heaven! could'st thou have guessed, or dreamed, or known
How utterly that heart was all thine own,
Which prompted—no! not prompted—but endured
The burst of mirth it from its depths abjured;
Could'st thou have guessed or dreamed how while I smiled,
My Soul one gurge of madding passion boiled,
Thou would'st have pitied her thou could'st upbraid,
Because to thee it seemed she mocking played,
And laughed and trifled in capricious mood!—
Our human heart is little understood
Even by each other—and from thence doth spring
Unnumbered woes, unuttered suffering!

358

But it is well—I would not have thee know
The depth or of my feeling or my woe,
I would not have thee read my secret soul,
Still let the folding clouds about it roll;
The love too richly precious to be known
Even by its object, must be all mine own.
Fold after fold is wrapped that idol round,
The adored, the shrined, the throned, the enwreathed and crowned,
Within the deepest chambers of my heart
Doth it remain—ungazed on, and apart!
The priceless treasure of my solitude—
The charm of my most self-concentered mood,
The crown of mine existence—and the cure
Of every ill that I on earth endure,
Excepting those that from itself do spring,
And something heavenly stamps that suffering;
I bear its bane, and bless it while I bear—
And call it a most choice and costly care!
I should be fearful of my very joy
Were it not mixed with measure of alloy;

359

An anxious thing on Earth 'tis to possess
An all supreme and single happiness—
By doubts uncurbed, unclouded, and uncrossed,
What if that treasure of our trust be lost?
What if the Soul which doth that transport own
Be from the heights of such a Heaven dashed down?
But Storm and Star commingle and consent
In my Love's wild and wond'rous Firmament—
'Tis not so full of Light that I need fear
The hour of change and waning must be near!
Mine own and dear One—thou could'st see me smile
And deem my heart was free and light the while—
Deem that the laugh, the taunt, the gibe bespoke
A bosom spared the burthen and the yoke—
It was not so—it is not so!—believe
With boundless passion doth that bosom heave!
Oh! oftentimes do they most deeply feel
Who least display—who ever least reveal—
The mask of careless laughter oft is made
The screen of feelings, that if once betrayed,

360

Would carry all before them, and o'erpower
With strange surprise in their Revealment's hour!

The flowery surface of the Earth may hide
The mines that teem with gems of burning pride,
The fleecy clouds that swift through Skyland sail,
Curled into countless shapes by the eager gale,
May hold within their silent beauteous breast
The Lightnings—waiting in upfolded rest.
Must you not cut through thousand laughing waves,
Sparkling and glittering—such the Diver braves
To find the pearl—which doth embosomed sleep
Cloistered and cradled up within the deep?
Mine own and dear One!—my great love for thee
Surpasseth show, and must unspoken be,
That Love in its intense unknown excess—
(Throned between Agony and Happiness!)—
In its unutterable richness lies
So perfect—priceless and so proud a prize,
So unapproached by utterance—so unreached
By language, though divinely pleading, preached

361

The Voice of Eloquence with might supreme
On that exhaustless and unbounded theme—
So placed beyond Expression's loftiest powers—
In fervid Inspiration's happiest hours,
That the light laugh which from my lips rang out,
And woke Mirth's echoes buoyantly about,
As well expressed it and revealed as well,
As deeply could impart—as dearly tell
As all the strength that in Earth's language lies,
As tears, or sighs, or groans, or agonies,
None could come near it—'tis beyond all thought,
Above all understanding—mystery-fraught.
Then pardon me a laugh that told as much
As wildest words or actions could avouch,
Since these too striving to proclaim that truth,
Could but as weakly waste their strength in sooth—
Since these too struggling to unfold such tale,
Could but as wholly and as wildly fail!

362

THE WATERS IMAGE BACK.

The waters image back the skies,
And on their glistening bosom lies
The distant world—the severed star
Still, still as severed and as far!

Let my heart thus the image bear
Of one than fairest Star, more fair—
Nought else I ask—Oh! more than dear,
Thus only canst thou mine appear!

EXCEPTING THEE!

Let others search for fame—for gold—
Let others win them too, and hold—
Let others strive for all that man
Most covets in his petty span—
I nothing heed, I nothing see
Excepting thee—excepting thee!

363

Let others toil with zealous care
For some bright guerdon proud and fair,
And suffer long, and struggle hard
For their desired and dear reward,
My meed is in my ministery,
Adoring thee—adoring thee!

Let others this fair World condemn
Because it was not made for them,
And distant orbs more glorious call
And place this ever last of all—
To me it seems first, best to be,
Possessing thee—possessing thee!

Let others for the future still
Work—with the onlooking thought's strong will—
Aspiring ever with winged power
To meet the oncoming Future's hour!
Sure, Time himself stands still with me,
Beholding thee—beholding thee!

364

THE CROWDED HALL.

I hasten to the crowded Hall on Pleasure's festive night,
Dark is the shadowy World within—let the World without be bright—
Yes! I will join the glittering crowd—mix in the smiling train—
A truce to memory and to fear—to passion and its pain!

Their proud joy now shall be my joy and I will feel with them,
They who come shining, smiling forth with the garland and the gem,
I too will snatch the flower from Spring in its first blush of birth,
And I will ask its jewels too of this our gloomy Earth.

And I will echo back the laugh—reflect the sunny smile,
And dream that I am glad and free and careless too the while,

365

I will with watchful zeal thus play my part too with the rest,
Shall the heartless and the false, ere read deep Truth's and Feeling's breast?

I stand now 'mongst the crushing crowd together and apart,
I listen to the clamouring crowd, and answer mine own heart,
And have I gained mine end in sooth, and gained my darling aim—
Nor have I lost, nor wholly won—another and the same!

On the bounding waves of Pleasure borne that pale Star still I mark,
Without which all for me is drear, and clouded o'er anddark,
And yet that pale Star well I know but lures me to my fate,
My bark tempts ruin still, with all, its hopes a costly freight!

But hence, vain thoughts, the sparkle now the foam wreath and the spray,
Attract my eye and brightly charm my lingering fears away—

366

I smile at mine own sorrowing heart, 'tis gladdened and 'tis grieved,
And almost hates itself that thus hath Pleasure's stamp received.

No more am I the mourner now—yet e'en while I rejoice,
That full heart lifteth faintly up its never-silent voice,
And tossed 'twixt Pleasure and 'twixt Pain like some wind shaken flame,
Abide I 'midst the Revellers—another and the same!

ALONE, AND WORSE EV'N THAN ALONE.

Alone, and worse ev'n than alone,
From self half parted now!—
Well may I still the struggling moan,
And calm the clouding brow!

367

I have forgotten how to hope,
To wish, fear, shun, or seek,
Still let me lone and friendless droop
In speechless suffering meek.

Alone, and worse ev'n than alone,
From self divided now,
Sorrow is for my shadow grown,
And where—Oh! where art thou?

Answers my heavy, heavy heart
With one dire throb “All's fled!”—
Then let the lonely One depart,
Whose Hope is with the Dead!

368

MOTHER!—SWEET MOTHER!—HASTE.

Mother!—sweet Mother!—haste,
And fold me to thy heart,
In those kind arms embraced,
Less deadly seems Grief's smart.

But ask me not—No! no!—
Ne'er ask me why I mourn,
Nor seek to sound my woe,
Nor strive to steal the thorn!

Still give me tear for tear,
Still grant me sigh for sigh,
'Tis all thou canst do here,
No change comes till I die!

369

Still yield me tear for tear,
And clasp mine aching brow,
Breathe kind words in mine ear,
'Tis all thou canst do now!

Yes! pity me, and seek
To make my wild tears flow,
But urge me not to speak
My deep and deadly woe.

Mother!—forbear—forbear—
If that thou lov'st thy child,
'Twould sharpen my despair
To speak of pangs so wild!

To speak?—I dare not think
Upon my boundless woe,
Who gazes o'er the brink
Still tempts the depths below!

370

Mother!—sweet Mother!—haste,
On thy heart let me lie,
In those kind arms embraced
Would I depart and die!

GO! SISTER!

Go! Sister, to the Vintage Feast,
Though I, alas! with thee go not;
Haste, haste thee, like a bird released,
To that sweet sunny festal spot.

Ask me not why, I smile no more,
Ask me not why, I thus forbear
To join the throng as heretofore,
Nor in the inspiring gladness share.

371

Sweet Sister! days perchance may come,
When thou, too, thus may ev'n deplore
And haunt that disenchanted home,
Which can delight and bless no more.

When thou may'st shrink from every sound
Of noisy happiness and mirth,
And looking ever on the ground,
Bend near and nearer to the Earth.

That earth which may at last—at last—
Take unto peace the outwearied heart;
Which beat too wildly warm, and fast,
For this its heavy mortal part!

Oh! go then, gentlest Sister sweet,
And if thy young heart fondly learns,
Love pierced—to throb, to burn, and beat,
Take warning thus from her who mourns!

372

ROSE!

Rose! regal rose!—how rich thou art,
Beauty blazeth at thy heart,
One treasury of precious things,
Art thou, whom gladsome summer brings
As the crown of all delight,
As the symbol of her right,
O'er each living heart to reign,
Sense and spirit to enchain—
Thee she brings—and we confess
The omnipotence of loveliness?
Rose! regal rose! transcendant flower,
Thou hast a refulgent dower,
Thou hast a bright opulence,
And a dreamy freight intense
Of odours, graces, burning dyes—
Sun of Earth! which like the skies,

373

Thou mak'st beautiful and bright,
All one blush of laughing light,—
Sun of Earth! we laud thee while
We do bask in thy red smile—
Thou art full of witcheries deep—
Thou thy sway dost ever keep—
Poets have made thee their theme,
Lovers wreathed thee with their dream,
Mourners laid thee by their dead,
Round the pallid pillowed head,
Maidens twined thee with their locks,
Conquerors, spared from battle shocks,
Have given thee at the banquet place
Victory's purple feast to grace—
Stern philosophers have loved thee,
Sage and statesmen old approved thee,
Monarchs 'midst their emblems worn thee'
On their crests of glory borne thee!
They have had thee strewed before them,
While their shouting people bore them,

374

To their coronation on,
To the altar—to the throne.
Rose—Oh! regal, regal rose,
Thou'rt the loveliest flower that blows—
A little summer of delight
Is gathered in thine urn so bright,
A rich Arabia of perfumes
In each leaf that blushing blooms;
Aye! a heaven of summer lies,
'Mid thy burning royal dyes,
In thy deep and dazzling breast
Nature's brightest flower and best!—
And thou mak'st, all sweet as fair,
One Arabia of the air—
That around thee broods and sighs
If in far Arabia lies
The soul of odour full and deep
That in bliss the sense doth steep!
Did they fable forth of old
A Flora of celestial mould?—

375

And name her Goddess of the Flowers
Guardian Queen of blossomed bowers—
Did they thus in the olden days,
And did they know thy crimson blaze?
Did they reck thy costly breath,
Did they boast thy crowning wreath,
How could they thro' fair summer's hours
Mistake the Goddess of the Flowers?—
Thou'rt their Goddess—glorious Rose!
Each to thee deep worship owes,
True allegiance—adoration—
Crown of all the flowered creation.
Regal Rose, thy matchless mien
Thee proclaimeth for their Queen,
Thou'rt the Flora of the flowers,
Thou'rt the Goddess of the bowers?
We the Rose their Goddess call
Reign in beauty o'er them all—
Still consummate flower remain
Darling of the Poet's strain,

376

Still light up the lover's dream
With a passion-painting gleam—
Still around the pallid dead
Tints of life-like beauty shed,
And cheat the mourner for awhile
With a warm reflected smile!
Still amidst the all glossy braids
O'er the brows of blushing maids,
Twine, bright flower!—and make more fair
The golden burnish of their hair!
At the conqueror's festal board,
Flower! all worshipped and adored,
Smile—and from his haughty heart
Half the sternness shall depart—
Win philosopher and sage
Still to read thy heavenly page,
Thy book of beauty still to read,
And honour nature's works indeed!
For in thee, as in the star,
Her vast powers developed are!

377

And her wond'rous skill we trace
As in worlds that lighten space—
In thy leaf and in thy stem,
She fashioned thee—she fashioned them!
Man can make nor flower to blow,
Nor world to blaze, nor may he know
All the mysteries of their making,
All the wonders of their waking—
When from Nothing they're called forth
Full of beauty, grace, and worth—
Thou shall set the blood astir
In heart of stern philosopher,
He shall look upon thy blaze
And thro' many a glowing maze
Shall his thoughts like lightning run,
All commingling into one—
For a deep and fervent sense
Of Nature's powerful Providence,
And her boundless goodness too,
Shall with influence just and true

378

Quicken all his heart and mind
Knowing for what ends designed
All her works and wonders are
Whether Flower or flaming Star—
Whether world in heav'ns abyss,
Or the tenderest growth of this.
Rose, still charm the sage's eye
With thy fair refulgency,
Still resplendently revealed,
Shine thou on the monarch's shield,
By the imperial eagle's side
Be thou placed in equal pride!—
Where the crowded symbols shine,
Telling of his glorious line,
Beam in beauty and in state,
And the blazon consecrate—
And upon his crest of glory,
Tell then rose! thine own sweet story.
Hint of nature, beauty, truth,
Breathe of love's own golden youth,

379

And around that proud crest twined
Do thou also rose! remind,
That Kings—like gorgeous flowers which gleam
Amidst their heraldries supreme
(Flowers that vanish from the field,
Though they fade not on their shield)
Must decline, and wane, and fall,
Sharing thus the doom of all!
Rose—still blush along the way
Where in long-drawn pomp's array
The coronation's train comes on
To seat the annointed on his throne,
There—'mid jewels' bickering blaze,
Startling suddenly the gaze,
'Mid the sweep of plumes that toss
Silvery in the sunlight's gloss,
'Mid the wave of banners wide
With their rich elaborate pride,
'Mid the Minster's shadows frowning,
Be the coronation's crowning!

380

Nothing fairer eye can see
'Mid its glories, flower, than thee;
Though thou'rt trampled, trodden down—
Thou'rt the coronation's crown.
All seems artificial there,
Saving thee—divinely fair;
There dost thou breathe, smile, and live—
Nature's representative!
And she reigns—ev'n there she reigns—
And her wonted sway retains,
In her lovely envoy's form,
Glowing, beautiful, and warm;
Rose—regal rose! for evermore
Let us praise thee and adore;
Nations-Empires pass away,
Sciences and arts decay,
Lost, forgotten, and unknown,
Towers and cities are o'erthrown;
Ages after ages—thou,
Rose, shalt reign as thou dost now,

381

Nature shall her pride renew—
Evermore as bright of hue,
Man shall evermore admire,
Ever laud thee—flower of fire!
'Tis as though Heaven's living blaze
Of still descending falling rays
In one spot gathered, mixed, entwined,
Together clustered and combined—
Had enkindled into thee—
Gloriously, triumphantly!
Sun of Earth! consummate rose!
Whose sweet leaves of light disclose
New enchantments without end,
While on them our looks we bend;
When this world shall pass away
On the dread and nameless day,
Shalt thou thenceforth be no more—
With thy beauty's boundless store!
Surely in unfading bowers
Thou wilt smile through changeless hours,

382

'Mid deathless blooms of Heav'nly birth,
Flower of Beauty—Sun of Earth!
Sun of Earth! thou dost even now—
As do all things fair as thou—
Remind of higher holier things,
And make us thirst for Heav'nly springs!

LINES ON THE SUN.

Sun! Beatific Sun, i' the year's wintriest day
If thou com'st forth with pomp in every ray,
A little world of summer round thee smiles,
The barren clouds laugh out to flowery isles,
To little skyey oases of bliss
Too fair to gaze on from a world like this,
Without fond yearnings and keen longings deep
To climb the severing and untrodden steep!

383

Sun! Beatific Sun, thrice glorious Sun,
Thou can'st make precious all thou look'st upon,
All things grow beautiful beneath thine eye—
As though they drank ætherial poetry,
From thy divinest aspect—was the Sea
Set in this earth to be a glass for thee!
Were the unnumbered stars with their soft rays
Scattered, to be as foils to thy crowned blaze,
Through endless space (when trembling into light
They wake remembrance of thy matchless might)
Through endless space that sparkles with their gleams—
But burns—but blazes with thy Kingly beams!
Sun! Beatific Sun! 'tis thou hast given
To us clay-moulded mortals Earth and Heaven,
For both to thy enlightening beams we owe—
Without which neither could we view or know;
And still from thee, Oh! orb divinely bright,
We mount in thought towards the Light of Light.
Thou Godlike Sun!—thou shinest but to say,
“My Maker bade me make the glorious day,

384

I shine upon His worlds—obey His word,
And sway the universe to serve its Lord;
I reign and rule His great creation still,
To make that reign subservient to His will!”
Oh! bear the brightness of a perfect day
Far through our Souls, and let each stainless ray
Meet with a thought as pure and as serene,
And brighten thou that Spiritual Scene,
For powers of darkness there full often brood,
And turn to evil all our hopes of good.
Sun!—Beatific Sun! no ray of thine
Upon that Spiritual Scene can shine,
A Heavenlier Light—a Spiritual Sun
Must shine and smile those clouds away—or none.

385

TO ONE DEPARTED.

Thou'rt gathered like a shock of corn
For the eternal harvest—Lo!
A few years since thou wert not born,
A few more—none thy name shall know!

So is it with the race of man,
Well may we say he passeth soon,
His troubled days are but a span—
His breath a vain and fleeting boon.

We pass each other on the race,
One falls—the others struggle on,
We ever take each other's place,
Nor think on those who are past and gone.

386

Yes!—where they trod we careless tread,
Inheriting the world from them,
Successors of those shrouded Dead
Whom to oblivion we condemn.

Millions have died to give us place,
But we need pity not their lot,
Once dead—they live throughout all space,
We dying, live on one small spot!

For day by day we're dying still,
And waning on unto the end,
No strength, no science, and no skill,
Can from the eternal Foe defend.

And thou hast joined that countless host
Who have departed from the Earth,
Thou art among the many lost
Who leave no record of their birth.

387

But whilst I yet am spared to breathe,
In thoughtful prayers thy name beloved,
Thou shalt remembered be beneath,
Though far beyond all dreams removed!

DEFIANCE.

Away strong Love!—away, I will resist,
I will defy thee still while I exist,
I dare not sink before thy flowery shrine,
Another part—a different lot is mine;
I will defy thee, Love,
And ne'er thy mastery prove.

388

If once I yielded to thy fearful sway,
My passionate Soul would pour itself away
In luxury of self-scorning recklessness,
Even to thy worship—wreaked upon excess,
And should I thus forego
My nobler hopes below?

No! I will still avoid thee—still disown,
Nor make my Heart thy world, my Soul thy throne,
By higher duties called, and loftier claims,
That Heart and Soul are warmed by prouder flames;
I may not weakly pine
Beneath such rule as thine!

I know if my impassioned hope and trust
Were once bowed down unto the dismal dust,
My misery and mine agonized distress
Should grow still darkling, deepening to excess
And madness 'twere indeed,
To nail them on Love's reed.

389

No! Love! I will defy thee and deny,
I will forswear thy pow'r—thy presence fly,
And at thy least approach will shrink away,
Lest I be won to yield unto thy sway;
I will defy thee still
Dark Love! thou deadliest ill!

No word of thine shall reach my guarded ear,
Too much thy false and fatal power I fear,
I shun thee still—Ah! treacherous that thou art,
Who 'scapes the shaft that once hath struck his heart?
Far—far must I remove,
Ere I can shun thee, Love!

Vain are the guarded ear, the watchful eye,
(Alas! I own it with a shuddering sigh)
When the dire Foe, the dark unbidden Guest
Doth in the heart's own core securely rest;
Vain are the vauntings now—
The vigil and the vow!

390

BRIGHTEST SPRING.

Brightest Spring, thou'rt here again,
And Nature drops her Winter's chain;
The world seems young and fresh once more,
Creation doth thy smile adore!
Beautiful thou art! and thou
Makest our world as beauteous now;
Golden lights are in the skies,
On the Earth ten thousand dyes,
Fair the Sun in Heaven's vault shines,
And as though the Earth's golden mines
All were o'er her surface spread,
She the splendour overhead—
Doth as lustrously reflect,
And an equal pomp affect!
Brightest Spring, thou'rt here again,
The world now drops its winter's chain,

391

It is free and glad once more,
And with beauty running o'er;
Oh! enchanted time and dear,
Spring for ever welcome here!
Hark! it is the warbling thrush,
Quick his notes of rapture gush!
Listen! 'tis the gladsome lark,
Hence! away with care and cark!
Look! Oh transport to the view,
'Tis the violet bursting through!
Pause!—feel'st thou the velvet sod?
Soft as ever fairies trod;
Mark—is not that odorous breath
Wafted from Spring's new-pleached wreath?
Oh! thou brightest season smile
O'er field and rock and mount and isle,
O'er Earth and air, o'er sea and shore—
For the ocean's purple floor
Wins a more enchanting hue,
A deeper and diviner blue,

392

When thy steps of lightness pass
O'er it—making it thy glass,
(Worthy of thy radiant form
When untroubled by the storm—
And thou bid'st the storm away—
To await a darker day;)
While the grateful Ocean flings
O'er thy many-coloured wings
Its bright waters—like a charm,
Thee with mightier power to arm,
Every drop hath freshening power
To improve thy lustrous hour;
And o'er all the smiling land,
Where thou tak'st thy happy stand,
From his treasury is shed
Freshness, beauty, widely spread;
The air too richly overflows
With tints and treasures of the Rose!—
Up its golden labyrinths run
My strong thoughts! unto the Sun!

393

Whence this lovely thing is born
That doth all the scene adorn,
Bask in his unbounded blaze
Twine yourselves 'mid his rich rays!
All the air is flushed and filled
With those beams that deepening gild
Day by day the enkindling Earth,
Wakening from her wintery dearth?
Spring! the world at thy sweet call
Startles from its gloomy thrall,
Rises up as from the tomb
In a glory of young bloom—
Should not this remind all men
How themselves will rise again
From the dark and frozen grave
The yet unopened world-wide cave?
Where unknown, unseen, remain
Bound in more than icy chain,
Myriads, upon myriads heaped
Heaven's vast harvest yet unreaped—

394

Spring! more precious far than thine
Through thy treasures brightly shine,
Are the treasures deeply laid
In the Grave's far-reaching shade—
They that there await the hour
Which shall call them forth in power
From the darkness of the tomb,
To put on immortal bloom—
Spring! thy beauty makes me glad,
Should thy lessons make me sad?
No! that beauty is as nought
To the hopes that thou hast brought!

LINES,

WRITTEN IN MY GARDEN AT ---.

Birds, bells, and lulling bees, and measured oars,
Mixed with a calm the raptured Soul adores,
Here captive make the senses and the heart,
Each lovely sound would lovely be apart,

395

But thus commingling in one full-toned strain,
'Twould charm the deaf dull ear of groaning pain,
Disperse the thoughts of Sorrow's mournful breast,
And bid delight a moment be its guest;
Exalt the worldling's grovelling fancies even,
And give the erring Soul one dream of Heaven!
Yet, no! this harmony might discord prove
To hearts not gently tuned to perfect love;
It is the bosom's concord that alone
Can lend its sweetness to each separate tone.
Birds, bells, and bees, and dip of measured oars
Should grating be as when the night wind roars
Against the watcher's casement, if no note
From the deep Soul might with them thrilling float,
And stamp them into music—if it send
No breath of bliss with their sweet sounds to blend,
If no pure tone of glad and calm assent
Spring from the peaceful bosom of content,
No Jubilate from the heart bursts forth
To lend them mystic and melodious worth—

396

Then glad am I by this sure test to find
That peace and hope are throned within my mind—
For all is music to my ear and heart,
While thus I linger sheltered, and apart
From the World's busy, noisy, troubled scenes,
From which my Spirit with aversion leans—
No tone discordant o'er my sense doth jar,
No sigh the enchanted melody can mar—
But all is pleasure still, for all is peace,
And need I fear the blessed charm should cease?
No! all must still be gladness and repose,
And harmony, which no distraction knows—
All, still sweet music to my ear and heart,
Dearest! since discord comes not where thou art,
While truth and faith and gratitude combine
To make me wholly Love's and wholly thine!

397

LOVE ME NOT!

Love me not!—love me not!—I could not be
A sorrow and a bitterness to thee,
I would not be thy chastisement, thy doom,
And shouldst thou love me, such must I become!

Thou, whose glad path with starry beams is lit,
Canst little guess how gloomily unfit
A dark deep Spirit like mine own must prove
For Love's light dream—for the sweet sway of Love!

I would not haunt thee with mysterious gloom,
Nor cast o'er thee the shadows of my doom,
Nor teach thee the misdoubtings, the mistrust
With which I look on all things that are dust.

398

And all I see and meet still seems to me
To share the dust of my mortality,
Hope is a flutterer that just forward flies,
Then folds her fairy wings and falls and dies.

Love is but selfishness in lovelier shape,
A struggle from our suffering solves to 'scape,
And to avoid the storms by which we're tossed,
And so 'twill last—till the illusion's lost!

Love me not!—love me not!—look not on me
If thou would'st happy and unchastened be,
A penalty of suffering thou should'st pay
For such fond rashness—smile that dream away.

Shall the controlling check of my dark fear
Bid thy hope fade—and shall the untimely tear
From my dim melancholy joyless eye
Melt thy young spirit's worlds of phantasy?

399

Aye! all thy fancy's fabrics of delight
That shine so beautiful in Hope's charmed sight—
Love me not, gentle One, or these thou'lt lose,
As lose the flowers at noon, morn's freshening dews.

Love me not!—love me not!—I could not bear
To bend thee nearer earth with doubt and care,
That lovely head was never meant to droop—
Uplifted now so gloriously in hope.

Leave me to mine own dark and dismal fate,
And move thou on triumphant and elate
In gladness and in freedom—move thou on
In peace and pleasure—leave me lorn and lone!

Withdraw from me thine every gentle thought,
Say not that once thy dear regard I sought;
I met an angel on my shadowy way,
And paused a moment—charmed into delay.

400

Ah! me, that sweetest moment I forgot
The dire and desperate sorrows of my lot—
But woke full soon to their remembrance back,
And silently pursued my lonely track.

Love me not!—love me not!—look not on me,
Leave me—and be the happiest of the free—
Say, could it cheer me or console to know
Thou wert the sharer of my hopeless woe?

Deem'st thou thy love could win me from my grief?
It might, but for a season short and brief,
And heavier should recoil upon my head—
The undying sorrows and the sufferings dread!

Oh! love me not!—my heart is full of fear,
New forms of terror to my view appear,
Fate threatens me, and all around me grows
Darker and darker in this waste of woes!

401

And would'st thou have me unto thee reveal
Why this reluctance of distrust I feel—
Must I to thee the hidden truth unfold?
Ah! better far to mask it and withhold!

Yet, since thou will'st it—let me own to thee
Why thus I tremble at thy love for me,
To thee the painful truth with candour tell,
It is because I love thee—but too well!

Because too well—too well I love thee still—
And fain would spare thee every earthly ill;
And know I not that loving me must call
On thy devoted head Earth's miseries all?

Ah? know I not that loving me must bring
To thy devoted heart each keenest sting,
Each deadliest dart of suffering and of pain—
And clasp round thee my harsh and heavy chain.

402

I could not live—I could not live and know
Thou wert the sharer of my wasting woe;
Then, then farewell to pride and to disdain
Which arm me now to grapple with my pain!

Then should I grow the weakest of the weak,
The changing colour on thy perfect cheek,
The gathering moisture in thy matchless eye,
Should crush my soul with sick despondency.

And it would be so! Oh! I know—I feel
The griefs ev'n thou must fail to soothe or heal,
Would pierce me through thy heart with ten-fold force,
But spare me dear affection's fond remorse!

In that affection's name I pray thee spare—
My wounded spirit dreads this worst despair—
Nor seek to know what are the griefs which stand
'Twixt thee and me—that wave the flaming brand!

433

Thy gentler heart were withered by the shock,
The bare crags of the thunder-blasted rock
Have little left to suffer or to dread—
Death hath no farther terrors for the Dead!

But Oh! from gay Prosperity's fair heights
Swift to be hurled, to endure sharp Sorrow's blights,
Yet fresh from joy's own soft and sunny clime
This, this were anguish—shun it then in time.

Love me not!—love me not!—Oh! hear my prayer,
And leave me, to my doom of lonely care,
Let me but know that cloudless, smiles thy lot—
For thy sake, and for my sake—love me not!

404

EAST, WEST, SOUTH, AND NORTH.

Sweet South! thine be the scenes for me,
How beautiful those scenes must be,
There grow the golden fruited trees,
And myrtle-thickets scent the breeze,
The fountains fall in music still,
And vineyards gird the sunny hill.

The royal Heavens of purple shine
From dawn of day to day's decline,
Still beautiful and blue and bright,
One boundless Paradise of Light,
As Heaven restored to us in love,
That fair One, lost below—above!

405

There all is love!—and all is light,
To chain and charm the Soul and sight,
And Poetry breathes still around,
Soft from the kindling air and ground,
And Nature bloometh like a bride
In all her pomp, and all her pride!

There all things living live in joy
Without a measure of alloy—
There seems the World in its glad prime,
Fair is the country—fair the clime,
Nay, there the golden plains and bowers
Remind of lovelier Worlds than ours.

Oh! balmy breeze—Oh! bounteous beam,
Your sighs, your smiles entrancing seem
To waft us Heavenwards for awhile,
But still you sigh—but still you smile,
It is no trance—no dream of bliss—
A true and lasting joy is this!

406

Sweet South! Sweet South! thy scenes I choose,
All brightening o'er with sunniest hues,
Aye! snatch me to the Southern Land
Where prospects fair as Hope expand,
Where all is blessed, all is bright,
A World of Love—a World of Light!

Yet farther South, still farther, where
More scorching grows the breezeless air,
Full of the Sun-god—evermore
Whom fervent Earth appears to adore—
And like a worshipper to gaze
Upon his full unfolded blaze.

Where days of boundless beauty break,
And Earth, Air, Heaven one glory make,
Where nights of awful majesty
Make yon starred sky one dark-blue sea
Heaving round blazing isles of fire,
That tempt the coldest thoughts to aspire.

407

But, beauteous East, can I pass o'er
Thy treasures' proud exhaustless store?
Can I forget what splendours there
Shine kindling out, supremely fair,
Even where thy scenes of glorious pride
Expand and smile on every side!

Bright beauteous East, to thee I turn,
Where gems of rainbowed glory burn
All dazzlingly and strangely fair,
As sunbeams shone imprisoned there,
Still struggling to escape, in vain,
And to their source to flow again!

Blushing to be thus still detained,
And thus by earthly bonds enchained!
As though those sunbeams evermore
Pent in the jewel's burning core—
Trembling and quivering sought to evade
The stubborn fetters on them laid.

408

The East—the East—the gorgeous East,
Not yet the mighty charm hath ceased
Which governed me with mystic power
Through many a rapt and dreaming hour,
While o'er the fabling Eastern lore
'Twas mine with pleased amaze to pore—

There did the fairy's form alight—
Vouchsafed to some more favoured sight,
There did the powerful Genii lurk,
And their dark deeds of mystery work—
There magic took for evermore
The fairest shape she ever bore!

Who hath not dreamt, (that ever bent,
That ever mute and breathless leant
O'er that rich page whose space contains
The records of their golden reigns)—
Of the old crowned Caliphs of the East,
And all the pomps that with them ceased?

409

Who hath not courted for awhile,
And bade those scenes of splendour smile
Around them in their full-blown pride,
That there are imaged forth, and dyed,
With colourings magical and strange,
Beautiful in their boundless change?

Who hath not all those splendours seen,
Who hath not overshadowed been
By the proud pile's fair roof sublime
That mocked all works of art and time,
Whose walls by Genii hands were wrought
To shame the speed of tardier thought?

Who hath not, with youth's blood astir,
With Sindbad been a voyager?
And rapt in a delicious awe,
Heard all he heard, seen all he saw—
While wonder after wonder came
His kindling fancy to inflame?

410

Then lived he in the enchanted tales—
Now o'er the unknown seas he sails,
Now lands with him, his fearless guide,
On some strange shore, and doth abide
'Mid the alien habitants, or try
Its haunts of lonelier mystery!

Who hath not gazed in thought on thee
Sweet Sultaness Zobeidé,
And basked in Schemselnihar's smile,
And owned the Queen of Beauty's wile,
And with the awakened sleeper blessed
Fair “Lip of Coral,” and the rest?

Who hath not in the Enchanted Halls,
'Midst murmuring tones of fountain falls,
And precious gleams of glory bright,
And odorous breathings of delight,
Feasted his senses and his Soul,
And raptured, made his own the whole?

411

The East—the East—the gorgeous East—
Both sense and Soul we there may feast,
Oh! bear me to the East, for there
The Earth is golden and the air—
The rising Sun there rears a throne,
And claims the empire for his own.

There the pomegranite trees extend
Their lovely umbrage to defend
The wanderer from that Sun so bright,
Which reigns omnipotent of light,
And date-trees too their soft shade spread,
And the proud palm exalts its head.

There float the birds of Paradise,
Like natives of the upper skies—
Sent from the Edens of their birth
To bear glad messages to Earth—
While to their glorious crests and wings
Surely a light celestial clings.

412

But, mighty West! I turn to thee,
Canst thou passed o'er in silence be?
Of loftiest charms art thou possessed,
Oh! thou sublime and wond'rous West,
Let me with startled eyes behold
Thine ample beauties wide unrolled.

Oh! West! whose shadowy world of Woods
Re-echoes to the roar of floods,
And in the Sun's immortal face
Heaves up a darkness in his place,
How must thy boundless features melt
The Soul with awe, before unfelt!

Thy mighty mountains proudly rise
To lose themselves within the skies,
Broad spread thy lakes of aspect bright,
Unbounded oceans to the sight,
Fair seas of beauty—that unfold
Glassed Heavens of purple and of gold.

413

Oh! West! in fancy I can hear
Thy stunning cataract peals of fear—
In fancy I can see extend
Thy forest shadows without end,
In all the umbrageous pride of gloom
Which deepens like a cloud of doom!

And follow too the serpentine
Of thy proud rivers' silvery line,
And those broad boundless prairies view
Which please the eye with verdant hue—
And gaze upon thy mountain-heights
Crested with jewel-coloured lights.

Nor let me only in a dream
Behold the forest, mount, and stream,
Of vast proportions and sublime,
That glorify that distant clime—
Oh! bear me o'er the severing sea
To where the Western wonders be.

414

Bear, bear me to the far-off West
Across the ocean's billowy breast,
And let my lifted mind expand
In sight of the Majestic Land,
And let my Soul be girt to hail
Nature on her sublimest scale!

But thou, Oh! stern and frozen North,
Hast thou no glory and no worth?
Have thy far frowning regions wide
No beauties of severer pride?
Hast thou no wonders to display,
No mighty and sublime array?

Aye! verily, Old North! thou hast,
And o'er thine outstretched icy waste
'Twere marvellous to mark the sway
Of lengthened night or lingering day,
While spreads the frozen World beneath,
As though it knew no life, nor breath.

415

And marvellous and strange 'twere too,
Thy mighty monster-things to view,
Thy huge leviathans that keep
Their hoary empire of the deep—
And in their wrath or in their play
Lash the great waters into spray!

And beautiful I guess 'twould be
The arrows of keen light to see,
That dart with dazzling splendour there,
Enkindling all the brightened air,
Making at once Earth, Air, and Sky
A more than starry galaxy!

And much of beauty might we mark
Where spread thy fir-formed forests dark,
Like a vast pall of funeral gloom
Hung o'er some old imperial tomb—
Blackening and massive, cumbering all
The ground where but its shadows fall.

416

And wond'rous must it be to see
The boiling geysers bubbling free,
And strange to view the icebergs vast
Like moving islands floating past,
And strange and beauteous to behold
The snow a thousand winters old!

Oh! North and South and East and West,
Each are of mighty charms possessed,
Wherever thou, great Nature, art,
In beauty hast thou still thy part,
And still dost thou disclose sublime
Thy triumphs through each varying clime.

And North and South and East and West
Are by their mighty Maker blessed,
All parts of one great Work Divine,
All portions of one grand Design—
The Eternal Lord pronounced it good,
And fast the proud Creation stood!

417

And still where'er we wander forth,
Or East or West or South or North,
The Heavenly Hand we still may trace
Through every clime and every place—
And wondering own on sea or land
The triumphs of that Heavenly Hand!

And North and South and East and West
The Almighty Ruler's power attest,
And far as Wanderer's foot can stray,
As eye of mortal can survey,
Still all is glorious—all is fair,
Nature and Nature's God are there!

418

EARTH IS PITILESS.

If Sorrow overtake us here
In this harsh World, the bleak and drear,
Then are we left to mourn alone,
To make in solitude our moan!

The proud, the thoughtless, and the gay
Press onwards on their prosperous way,
With eager hope they onwards press,
And leave us to our weariness.

Aye! burdened with a weary mind,
Unpitied we are left behind,
By sickness of the Soul bowed down,
With little comfort for our own.

419

We feel we are deserted here
On this harsh hollow World and drear,
And vainly look, for none are nigh
Our needs—our solace to supply.

Then do we grasp the empty air,
Or hug our own o'erwrought despair,
Since nought for us remains on Earth
But its worst darkness and its dearth.

Then, then that last resource—the Grave
Full oft, as our sole good we crave,
And with the arrow in his breast
The doomed one seeketh for his rest.

Our dear Companions of the Past
All from our view have vanished fast,
Each on his shining path is gone,
And we are left to sink alone!

420

Like the Indian Woman left to die
In lone and helpless misery,
When faints her Soul and fails her strength
On the laborious march—at length!

Like the Indian Woman left to die
In desolate despondency,
Her heavy eyes still straining far
To gaze where her beloved ones are.

None linger by her death-bed cold,
Her death-bed and her grave—Earth's mould—
None, none with kind compassion wait,
Till stricken falls the blow of Fate.

Her last convulsive broken sigh—
The close of all her agony—
With the receding footsteps blends
The footsteps of her faithless friends

421

Or happly with the lowering tones
Of her own dearly cherished ones—
While each along the pathway hies,
Nor turns to weep o'er her who dies!

Or like the outwearied Soldier left—
Of energy and hope bereft—
In some forced march of fearful length,
Deprived of power, and shorn of strength.

Oh! better far the rage of war,
The battle's terrors better far,
Than this deserted desperate doom,
This sinking piecemeal to the tomb!

The trampling of the host he hears,
Catches the bickering light of spears,
Then sees at last the long array
Fade in the horizon—slow away.

422

And of his ancient comrades none
Remain to soothe the hopeless one,
To breathe some parting words of cheer
Or love in his unsolaced ear.

Even so it is with us, when we,
Oh! Grief! are smitten sore by thee,
When we sink down by ills o'erborne,
Wasted and wearied—wrung and worn!

Alas! it is with us even so,
When we are crushed by Mortal Woe,
When we are in our worst distress
Who stops to soothe—to cheer—to bless?

Doth then remain to us one friend
To help or guide—to watch or tend?—
No! all are hastening hurrying on,
Forgetful of the stricken One.

423

Each hath some darling hope in view,
Some favourite object to pursue;
All are urged on unto the close,
Still lured by things that bar repose.

In vain we breathe the imploring prayer,
'Tis lost in the unconscious air,
In vain our suppliant hands we raise,
And lift a long and yearning gaze—

No heart by that vain prayer is stirred,
The feeble wail is scarcely heard,
Amidst the unceasing din, and loud
The clamour of the restless crowd!

Back on our hearts that prayer is sent,
And we with heavier grief are bent,
Darker and darker frowneth round
The iron doom wherein we're bound.

424

Ah! cease complaint's fond cry to raise,
He prays in vain who weakly prays
For pity or for mercy here,
They dwell within a distant sphere!

Look round!—are all not hurrying on
As some fair goal was to be won?
All, all are wrapt in some dear dream,
Devoted to some smiling scheme—

No time have they to spare for those
Who faint beneath the weight of woes,
And yet they might, could they foresee
How useless their fond haste must be.

Could they foresee their vain pursuit
Should have but ashes for its fruit,
For such, full oft becomes the fate
Of those who strive with hope elate!

425

But no! they may not this foresee—
They gather from the uncertainty
But keener hopes—but wilder zeal
Until their fate they haply seal!

And they in turn are left behind
With wounded heart and wearied mind,
By those who still are lured along
By hopes and passions deep and strong.

And they deserted in their turn
Feel how the stricken heart can burn,
And in their turn they darkly know
How bitter is the draught of woe.

Then comes the anguish and the fear,
And all is desolate and drear—
Awhile they struggle and they sigh,
Then earthwards drawn they droop and die.

426

But Oh! how proudly deeply blessed
Am I on Earth—beyond the rest—
What joys must with my sorrows blend
While thou art near—my Soul's own friend!

That kind commiserating voice
Can bid me even in grief rejoice—
That dear consoling tone can charm
Away from me each sterner harm.

That pitying sympathizing sigh
Can win me from despondency!
And Oh! that smile—that cheering smile
Can half my woes at once beguile!—

But when I see that brow of thine
(Where but unclouded peace should shine!)
For my sake darkened shadowed o'er—
For thy sake then I mourn no more!

427

For much is still in our own power—
(Through every varying trying hour)
Of self command and self controul,
And we full oft can rule the Soul!

Find but a motive, deep and strong,
And Passion's wild tumultuous throng
Submits unto the yoke—the chain—
Ev'n Passion's fierce and fiery train!

And Sorrow's pale retinue too
That pierce the wrung heart thro' and thro'.
Unto subjection can be brought—
And order and obedience taught.

And Oh! can there a motive be
More mighty than my love for thee,
Which prompts the wish thy heart to spare
From every dream of pain and care.

428

It makes my very Happiness—
(Which most that generous heart can bless)
Like a sweet sacred duty still
That I am called on to fulfill.

And happy, happy I must be,
Loved of my Soul! when near to thee,
Dire must the blow be—dark the grief,
To which thy love brings no relief!

MY THOUGHTS! ASCEND.

Victoriously—Victoriously
My rushing Thoughts! ascend,
And cleave the Air and climb the Sky,
And with the Sunlight blend.

429

The imperial mysteries strive to sound
Whose fountains are above
The glorified, the illumed, the crowned,
They may be pierced by Love!

By Love whose reverential breath
Is stilled down to a prayer,
That Dove-like thing—yet strong as Death
To brave—to brook—to bear!

Triumphantly—Triumphantly—
My thoughts! from Earth arise—
And soar into the opening Sky—
To a thousand opening Skies!

For Height still stretcheth beyond Height—
In endless glory there—
And boundless are those Seas of Light—
And realms of Golden Air!

430

From World to World—from Sun to Sun
There may ye shoot in might—
While yet your flight but seems begun,
Your space-devouring Flight!

Illustriously—Illustriously—
In characters august—
Trace ye along the Eternal Sky
The triumphs of your trust!

Your glorious aspirations write—
Your towering hopes and fair—
As 'twere with Fire on flameless Light—
With Wind on waveless Air!

My Thoughts!—'midst Seraph ranks above
Through zealous trust be found
Crowned, glorified, and raised by Love,
Though born on Mortal Ground.

431

THE ISLE OF BEAUTY.

Where glitters the Isle where the sunny tract glows,
All baptized by the odours that drop from the rose,
Where in Paradise-breathings the Southern-Wind blows
So rich is the Soul of its sighs!

Where laughs the sweet Isle that is washed by the wave,
O'er whose silvery tremour no storm dares to rave,
The olden Venus' bright haunt! the lost Sun-God's warm grave,
Like some Star fallen away from the Skies!

Lit up by the purple Heaven's mightiest of rays—
Yet tender the radiance, and softened the blaze!
Oh! precious its nights are—and beauteous its days!
Love—Love!—'tis a realm meet for thee.

432

A glad tumult of murmurs, through copse and flowered shade
Speaks of life and of joy—all undimmed—undecayed—
And, melody-fraught, shakes each leaf of the glade,
Like a faint moaning shell of the Sea.

Where the orange-bowers all their fair treasures unfold,
Till the grove hath a Star-light of red burning gold!
Where in beautiful gloom stand the lone fanes of old,
The fanes of the glorious dead!

Where thrillingly low, sing the echo-voiced doves,
Till music—the awakener!—ruffles the groves—
May blessings fall round ye! sweet Land of the Loves!
May blessings around ye be shed!

Yet is nothing but Beauty—and Beauty in bloom,
In that young world of Sunshine and flowers and perfume,
Ah! the Cypress grows there, as awaiting the tomb
In darkness and silence it towers!

433

Thus, thus whispers of Death pierce Earth's tumults of joy,
All love and all loveliness—strong to destroy!
And our life-cup hath there even its wormwood-alloy
'Mongst those Heaven-breathing exquisite bowers!

THE FAREWELL TO EARTH.

Must, must I die?-leave all I've loved or known,
Possessed or cherished—called and dreamed mine own?—
This glad bright world, this laughing air and sky,
This blessed home of love—must, must I die?
Oh! beautiful hath life seemed unto me,
Death—hence! away! thou ghastly Mystery!

Youth's flushing characters o'erpaint my cheek,
Round my bright path the glitt'ring moments break
In sudden star-showers, or soft vernal dews!—
Till life but wears the rose's sumptuous hues;—
My heart is borne on gusts of quivering joy,
Must Fate its fervid happiness destroy?

434

A power is given to wood and breezy hill,
My Soul with gushing tenderness to fill;
As magic poured through clouds, and leaves, and streams,
Mantling with glory all my gladsome dreams;
The very breeze is murmuring, “Stay! Oh! stay!”—
A chain winds round me with each morning ray!

How can I, poor, reluctant trembler, part
From the beloved ones of my yearning heart?—
How turn my lingering, aching sight away
From the familiar glories of the day—
Whilst Summer's breathings float so sweetly round,
And morning's unisons of gladness sound?

Even now warm Southern winds are faintly flowing
Through answering leaves and flowers of June's bestowing;
And Death is in the world, and on his way,
Rushing like midnight in its haughty sway—
Unpitying 'mongst all gentle loving things,
O'ersweeping all with his vast shadowy Wings!

435

And thou, my home! thy dim and antique bowers,
Must they no more, while glow noon's conquering hours,
Shade me with woven veil of scented boughs,
Through which no dazzling beam its pathway ploughs?
Thy singing birds shall yet haunt each loved gloom,
While I am in the dark unwhispering tomb!

Even now their full victorious joy is swelling
Through the green leafy precincts of my dwelling,
Their glimmering colours glance along the air
Like rainbow-fragments, quivering restless there;
Far have ye journeyed, birds of Summer's sky,
O'er Waste and Deep to bring rich melody.

Far have ye journeyed! but my journeyings lone
May not like yours, with starry joys be strown,
To my green native Earth no hurrying back,
On the Spring's glorious and exulting track;
Alas! 'tis therefore with dejected eyes
I mark the Queenly Morning's dawn and rise.

436

Yet doth it haste towards cloudy vapourous Eve,
No brilliant record, no bright trace to leave,
Of all it hath been, so to mournful Eld
My life will float if doom be now withheld;
'Tis o'er the grave the undying Mornings glow—
Triumphantly, though mournfully—I go!

A VISIT TO A COUNTRY HOUSE.

Mrs. Marchmont! I'm charmed and delighted
Your blooming good looks to remark,
Ever since we were kindly invited,
We've thought but of Easterwell Park!

Pray allow me — my dear eldest daughter,
I think you've ne'er seen her before,
And my youngest besides I have brought her,
'Tis shameful though bringing the four

437

For here is my sweet Araminta,
Oh! you must make acquaintance with her,
She came out but this very last winter,
And caused some sensation and stir!

And my lovely and gay Juliana—
Her I think you can hardly forget—
You remarked on her mein and her manner
When at Brighton last season we met.

And my School-boy—your kindness he shared not,
But, alas! he's so wildly inclined,
So rude and so rough—that we dared not
By any means leave him behind!

I've another dear boy that's more steady,
My poor Frederick—but he's far away,
You must know he's a gallant young middy
That will grace his profession some day!

438

His arrival indeed we're expecting—
You'll permit him to join us All here,
The reunion will be most affecting—
For to all of us Freddy is dear.

I am quite a weak fool about Freddy,
Though he has some slight faults I must say,
Since, although he's so good and so steady,
From his ship he ran seven times away.

He's a fine, frank, affectionate creature—
All he has in the world he would give—
And so generous and kind is his nature,
That we must check its warmth; I believe.

When on shore—scarce the tale you will credid—
Twenty pounds from his father he stole,
(Though this tale we would wish not to spread it)
And spent on his sister the whole.

439

For he purchased her earrings and necklace,
(He had heard her admire much the set)
And though may be, this was rather reckless,
Such an act we can scarcely forget!

As for William my youthful Collegian,
He is studying most zealously now,
But escaped from the classical region,
He'll hasten to make you his bow.

He will prove a companion delightful
For your promising son I expect,
And in general 'tis really quite frightful
The friendships that young men select.

My son's most distinguished and clever,
Though a little too wild I allow,
Since I grieve much to say he's for ever
Engaged in some riot or row.

440

He's too fond too of drinking and gambling,
But 'tis natural and right at his age!—
One must pardon a little wild rambling,
I like not to see young men too sage.

I don't doubt he'll amend soon his living—
But at present his passions are play,
Slang, cock-fighting, boxing, and driving,
But he'll soon change his course, I dare say!

To the turf too he's strangely devoted,
I wish there was no turf at all!
My brother too much on it doated,
To the ruin of Rantriot Hall!

Willy last week a watchman assaulted,
And for this was imprisoned and fined—
But most dignified still and exalted
Is he, both in his manners and mind!

441

He's too easily led on by others,
From whence these slight weaknesses come,
Full of spirit too just like his brothers,
And for faults—we have all of us some!

Your son can't do better than make him
His bosom companion and friend,
As his model I trust he will take him,
On his worth he may firmly depend!

For the light venial errors I've mentioned,
To that worth they but serve as a foil,
He's well principled, soundly intentioned,
I but fear the world's homage will spoil!

One so full of all talent and spirit,
So superior and shining as he,
Must be courted and prized for his merit,
And the Idol of thousands must be!

442

I am told his young friend, my Lord Burten,
Now cuts him—sheer envy no doubt—
Yes! 'tis malice and envy I'm certain,
Just because my dear boy cuts him—out!

To be sure they do say he's delightful,
The best brother and son ever known,
But he must be most horridly spiteful—
Since he thus doth my Willy disown.

For a time they were sworn friends, believe me,
And for nothing Lord Burten turned round,
(So said Willy, who ne'er would deceive me)
And a friend more congenial soon found.

I suspect the youth's too strict and rigid,
(Besides—envious of William's great powers!)
He looks odiously formal and frigid!
I am glad he is no son of ours!

443

May I ask who you have here at present?
I was told young Lord Glasville was here,
Oh! I'm sure we shall find it so pleasant
You will tempt us to stay half the year!

Not a word, my dear friend!—I assure you
'Tis no flattery—Oh! no, not a bit,
Why, my Julia, this fine air will cure you
Of the small-pox you've scarcely lost yet.

Nay, pray don't be alarmed, my dear Lady!
You see she is scarce marked at all,
Indeed, our friend Doctor O'Brady
Said—those slight marks all hearts would enthrall,

That they suited her air and complexion,
And gave an additional charm,
And agreed with her looks to perfection,
And indeed there's no ground for alarm.

444

Yes! I see you're afraid of infection,
But I'm sure nothing bad will befall,
Though I own 'tis my rooted conviction
Vaccination's of no use at all.

All my faith in it now's gone for ever,
'Tis a weak superstitious vain charm,
I can never again trust it—never,
Do just look at the mark on her arm.

She'd this cow-pox before she could prattle,
And of small-pox I ne'er had a fear,
Though my sister with me had a battle
When she heard the disease was so near!

It was brought from the town by some stranger—
The town near to where we reside—
And I own I ne'er thought of the danger,
Her maid caught it from her and died!

445

So they said—which does sound rather fearful—
'Twas a bad and most virulent sort,
But we can but be watchful and careful,
In case of its spreading—in short

Have your daughters ne'er had it? believe me
If I'd guessed this, she should not have come,
But I knew when you said you'd receive me,
You ne'er meant I should leave her at home.

I was really afraid Araminta
Was sickening of it to-day,
Not the least ray of colour did tint her
Sweet cheek—not the least faintest ray.

And at breakfast her appetite failed her,
She ate but one small slice of toast,
Then I truly did think something ailed her,
And she looked yet more pale than a ghost!

446

If she should take this dreadful disorder,
What medical men have you near?
Ah! they'll prove of inferior order
To our Doctor O'Brady I fear!

And alas! for my poor Araminta,
The season's against her beside,
She'll be laid up here, all the whole Winter,—
'Tis provoking—it can't be denied!

But we'll hope that these symptoms deceive us,
And if not 'twill but be common sense
In your house for some months then to leave us,
And to take your whole family hence!

If we keep well, 'twill be most enchanting,
Our daughters such great friends will grow—
And we all for so long have been panting
To pay you this Visit you know.

447

'Tis a sacrifice, doubtless, we're making,
Such a very long distance to come,
The opportunity though we are taking
Of effecting improvements at home!

Our house wanted great alterations,
'Tis now thoroughly under repair,
From the roof to the very foundations
It required much revision and care.

We shall have to pull down, to my sorrow,
And rebuild the chief parts—and dear friend,
If my husband, constrained is to borrow,
Mr. Marchmont, I'm certain, will lend!

'Tis a very expensive proceeding—
And a tiresome process indeed,
And to new expense, still, it is leading,
The more done, the more seems still to need!

448

And the time that 'twill take in rebuilding!—
I begin in real earnest to fear,
What with painting, whitewashing, and gilding,
At the very least, 'twill be a year!—

Then there's furnishing too, in addition!
We shall never get through in the year!
I half fear we must make our petition
That you'll let us stay all the time here!

Oh! No, pray—you're so kind and so pressing,
I must turn a deaf ear to you now—
Your entreaties are really distressing,
No!—no!—I'll not listen—I vow!—

I hate nothing so much as encroaching,
No!—I cannot stay on quite so long;
And the season for hunting's approaching,
When I know your friends muster here strong!

449

Well, indeed, if you'll take no denial,
I suppose I must yield with good grace,
But believe me, to me 'tis a trial,
Although 'tis quite a singular case!

I'm convinced that on Earth there's no creature
That hates burthening my friends as I do,
It is quite my remarkable feature,
And no doubt you've discovered 'tis true!

'Tis most grievous, afflicting, and odious,
And I ever avoid it with care,
Howe'er it may be incommodious,
'Tis a thing that I never could bear!

Some people you see go on staying,
Where you're sure they're not wanted at all,
Daily still their departure delaying,
I have known it at Ragtatter Hall.

450

But I never would bear or endure it,
'Tis too shameful and shocking you know—
And there is but one way left to cure it,
To say that yourself you must go.

But now I must just ask you whether
My room to my girls' rooms is near,
We must all be placed quite close together,
Though 'twill prove rather puzzling I fear.

And will probably be inconvenient,
(Since your House does not seem over large!)
But pray do be indulgent and lenient!
Four daughters—they are such a charge!

I do hate from my girls to be distant—
With sad fears it at once fills my mind,
(I may say I'm in all things consistent,
As whilst I stay here you will find!)

451

My poor husband is terribly gouty,
But he swears that the air of this place
Makes him sound now, and vigourous, and doughty,
And ready to join in the chase!

As we came here we met the hounds running,
And his joy he could scarcely contain,
And though hunting he long has been shunning,
I think now, he'll take to it again.

His great weight was, poor man, the chief reason
That made him forsake it before,
He has ceased not with each circling season
His sad heavy case to deplore!

But he killed all his horses for ever,
And 'twas ruinous quite you may think,
But for this I am sure he would never
From a sport he's devoted to, shrink!

452

I ne'er saw him yet look so delighted
As when swept the hounds past in full cry,
'Twas alarming—he seemed so excited,
That I thought in a fit he would die.

Mr. Marchmont I doubt not will mount him
The best of his hunters upon—
And perhaps they will yet have to count him
As the first in some capital run!

He will never give in, I can tell you,
Mr. Marchmont—mark me he'll be first,
And despite his vast weight will excel you,
And show you the way in a burst!

I am told that your stud is quite splendid,
So you'll lend him a hunter each day—
By the time that the season is ended
He will grow a light weight I daresay

453

Oh! dear!—Oh! my goodness!—good gracious!—
Why, Johnny! now what have you done?—
I declare it is deeply vexatious,
Oh! do look at my mischievous son!

He has brought out our monkey!—how shocking!
(I had given him to Jane in strict charge)
And your china about he's been knocking—
Why how dared you, sir, set him at large?

In the carriage I left him chained closely,
Since this monkey's a mischievous elf,
And now you have thus loosed him jocosely,
Why indeed you're as bad as himself.

Oh! dear Madam—pray do not go near him—
He will bite you to death if you do!—
I have excellent reason to fear him,
For he once bit my arm through and through.

454

Now what is to be done?—Juliana!
Ring the bell—what a noise he does make,
Oh! don't stand there and stare in that manner,
Or that fine Dresden set he will break!

What a clattering and chattering—'tis horrid,
Mrs. Marchmont has fainted away,
Eau de Cologne!—quick! quick! bathe her forehead—
Araminta! my salts bottle, pray!

There's the clock gone!—I tremble all over!—
Oh! here are the servants—at last—
Mrs. Marchmont will quickly recover,
Her colour is coming back fast!

Ah! what havoc!—how dire a disaster,
I am grieved beyond all I can say—
Yet I hope that both mistress and master
In the house will let poor Jacko stay!

455

As for you, Johnny, go! I desire you—
You more mischievous monkey! begone—
For effrontery we all must admire you,
Leave my presence—I order you, John!

Now that riotous boy has departed,
We can hear our own voices once more;
Mrs. Marchmont, you're too tender hearted,
No! such conduct I cannot pass o'er!

And you, too, you so nervous and frightened!
It was enough to destroy you outright,
But I see that your eye now has brightened,
So I trust you'll recover the fright!

I am sure your head must be distracted,
Such a sad invalid as you are!
How outrageously Johnny has acted,
I could swoon away now I declare!

456

Ere this strange interruption so frightful,
I was going to impart a new plan,
Which indeed would be truly delightful—
We must bring it about if we can!

Anne, my dear married daughter, has lately
Had twins—lovely creatures they say,
Now to meet, would rejoice us all greatly,
Do then send and invite her here pray!

I am dying to see the sweet treasures,
And without them of course she won't come,
I do hope you will quickly take measures
To tempt her to bring them from home!

She is very domestic and quiet,
(She's afflicted with deafness you know)
But I think were she only to try it,
Very fond of the World she would grow!

457

So ask her and her babies I pray you,
I feel sure you will doat on them quite,
And a charming long visit they'll pay you,
Do write off the letter to-night!

Miss Marchmont, I hope you speak German,
Araminta does speak it so well,
I can tell you she'll read you a sermon
If she finds that you do not excel!

All my daughters have endless resources,
Any mother in them might feel pride;
By the way—have you good Ladies' horses?
For all of them charmingly ride!

I assure you they're perfect equestrians,
They want nothing but horses indeed,
But perhaps you are only pedestrians,
Young ladies—and shrink from a steed!

458

All my girls are accomplished and clever,
And their minds with deep knowledge are stored,
They are thought acquisitions wherever
I take them with me—on my word!

They are subtle and sound Politicians,
And in arguments close are oft tried,
And so sweet are their meek dispositions,
They oft argue against their own side!

For myself, I was ne'er a great talker,
But quite the reverse—am I not?
Oh! I think I forgot—here's Miss Walker—
Lucy's Governess—Yes! I forgot.

You will find her most pleasing and charming,
I rejoice in presenting her now;—
But indeed it is truly alarming,
Your cheek grows so pale, and your brow!

459

'Tis that horrible monkey's mischances
That you cannot get over, I'm sure,
When your eye at that shattered clock glances,
It brings back all you've had to endure!

By the bye, it would suit us completely
If you would but lend Julia your harp,
For she plays very finely and sweetly,
Though she ne'er knows a flat from a sharp.

Her ear is most sadly deficient,
But that signifies little, they say,
She in truth is a perfect proficient,
Every night she shall sing here and play!

As for Lucy, she's but a beginner,
But she practises much—I believe!—
Will you let us up stairs have our dinner,
If 'tis not too much trouble to give.

460

Let us see what o'clock 'tis—Oh! shocking!
I forgot the poor clock's dismal plight—
It might seem your mishap I was mocking,
Which would ill become me—Well! Good night!

CHANGES.

It was a brilliant Summer's day,
Unclouded shone the Sunny ray,
And gaily sang the feathered throng,
The air was all one gush of Song!

Oh! smiling was that day and fair,
The Rose burnt dark upon the air,
'Twas so transparent and so clear,
And not a wreath of cloud was near.

461

The Rose burnt dark upon the air,
(So silvery glancing 'twas and rare)—
The Atmosphere around ev'n blushed,
Rose! with thy glorious shadows flushed.

Ah! glorious is the Rose full blown,
All Beauty in its form is shown!
The South and all its Sun-gifts seem
Burnt into its deep core, to beam.—

Burnt deep into its deepest heart,
Not to decline or to depart!—
Yet, Ah! how soon in pale decay
The Rose of Beauty fleets away!

Methought “no, never yet on Earth
So bright a day has leaped to birth,
Never have Earth and Heaven and Air
Yet been so beauteous and so fair!”

462

The scene had found in mine own Soul
To smile back its enchanted whole,
A mirror stainless and serene
That flung new glory o'er that scene.

For every beauty, clear, and fair,
Redoubled seemed and deepened there,
Another Heaven—another Earth
There quickened into radiant birth.

Oh! many a lovely Summer's day
Hath shone forth since with smiling sway,
But not o'er me their power retained,
The mirror shattered is and stained!

No longer spreads it smooth and clear,
The Heavens—the Earth—therein appear
But mighty Ruins—changed and crushed,
O'er which a storm-black cloud hath rushed.

463

And wherefore?—whence this change so dire,
Ah! little boots it to enquire,
Submit in patient silence still—
My Soul—and all thy fate fulfill!

TO ---

I saw thee once, thou fair and lovely thing,
And trembled for thee—such rich gifts will bring
Upon thy fearless and uplifted head,
Those storms of fate, whose terrors still seem spread
Around the loveliest and the best below,
In this probationary State of Woe.—
I trembled for thee-but I trembled more
Because I saw thy brow of Beauty bore
The certain stamp of feelings too refined,
Yea—of too quick a heart—too deep a mind.

464

Those dark eyes streamed with overburthening thought,
That clear smooth cheek was all too richly fraught
With the warm light—the varying troubled light—
Of kindling Passion-blushes strangely bright—
That came and went—receded now, now rushed
With deeper glow, till thy whole aspect blushed!
I trembled for thee—Since too well I know
What thou art surely doomed to undergo
In this dark theatre of wrath and strife,
This World of trials—this o'ershadowed Life—
To natures sensitive as thine—how stern
Shall seem those lessons, all that live must learn
How bitter those beginnings of distrust
Which must be felt, by all whose life is dust!—
And then, and now, I felt and feel too much—
Most keenly—that Fate harshly deals with such—
Aye! such as thou—thy very charms appear
To mark thee out for a bright Victim here—
Apparelled proudly as with zealous care,
With costly pomp—as other Victims are.

465

Oh! Sorrow singles out things fair as thou,
With Beauty's living halo round their brow,
'Mongst her sad train of tearful gloom to be—
And 'mongst her pale and silent company,
Thou may'st be loved, fair matchless thing, thou must,
But not in love may Woman place her trust;
Thou must be loved, but Oh! that very love
(While thy warm heart shall deeply learn to prove
Responsive passion) may for thee become
The worst infliction and the darkest doom.
Thou must be loved, all beauteous as thou art,
Thou must be worshipped, as a thing apart,
An idol and a treasure—but alas!—
That wildest warmest love may wane and pass,
Not ev'n Perfection can its truth secure
In this dim life where things infirm, impure,
Mingle with all of noblest and of best,
Until too often they corrupt the rest—
And then, what anguish shall that heart subdue,
So quick, so warm, so feeling, and so true?

466

What fearful pangs shall pierce that lovely mind,
So tenderly and faultlessly refined?
How shall thine own deep feelings darkly grow
The truest source of suffering and of woe?
And all thy fair endowments, all thy powers
But make more torturing those long wasting hours
Of heart-sick cold suspense, or blighting fear,
Or pale despair that cannot shed a tear,
Till even thy richest gifts shall seem to be
The heaviest portion Fate hath stored for thee,
'Twas thoughts like these, that crowded on my mind
When first I saw thee artless yet refined,
Gentle but stately in thy lofty grace,
With all thy Soul of Beauty in thy face,
I trembled for thee then and turned away,
Lest that I might those mournful thoughts betray—
I trembled for thee then—I tremble now!
But to recall that bright and beaming brow,
That kindled earnest eye too much inspíred,
With rays too ardent and too restless fired—

467

That glowing cheek whose quick rich blushes past
In dazzling change, each lovelier than the last,
Must make me sighing tremble for thee still
With sad prophetic bodings, deep and chill,
All makes the Heart fear for the future doom
Of one so lovely with Love's dangerous bloom.
Oh! Earth, how dark, how mournful, must thou be,
Where thus we sigh and tremble, but to see
The fairest and most beauteous things that smile
Thy gloom away, and light thee for awhile.
While thus we sigh, and shudder, but to look
On forms too fair thy stormy hours to brook,
And turn from smiling Loveliness away
To weep o'er coming ruin's certain day.

468

THE ONLY CHARM.

I said unto myself of old
Now weakling heart—be strong—or still,
Arm thyself well—be calm and cold,
Forget to bound, to heave, and thrill.

A dangerous thing it is to have
A heart so wild, so warm as mine,
I deemed I could all perils brave,
And hope and love and fear resign.

I deemed so, and forbore to shrink
In time from all I most should shun,
Still hovering near the flower-dressed brink
Till heart and hope were both undone.

469

For Oh! with feelings keen and warm,
So keen and warm as mine then were,
The only guard, the only charm
Is flight—'tis flight alone can spare!

For through suspense and through alarm,
Which haunt us in Life's clouded night,
The only guard, the only charm,
The only safety—is in flight!

I CAN BUT SAY—I LOVE!

Some, some may pour their passion forth
In words of rich and feeling worth,
And well express and well explain
The rapture of that costly pain,
And wreak on utterance strong the whole—
Of that sweet madness of the Soul,
And pity raise and feeling move—
And I—I can but say—I love!

470

Oh! some in Inspiration's tone
May make their deep emotions known—
And lofty argument and high
Build on their heart's idolatry,
And breathe with burning words of fire
Thoughts, Passion's Soul might well respire,
And soar to starry heights above—
And I—I can but say—I love!

Some may, with full and gushing strains,
Dwell on Love's pleasures and his pains,
Discoursing with elaborate art
On the rich secrets of the Heart,
Pourtraying with consummate skill
Each precious throb—each priceless thrill—
And paint the Passion that they prove—
And I—I can but say—I love!

With streams of glowing eloquence,
With fervid language, and intense,

471

Some may to all the World, proclaim
The ardour of their bosom's flame,
And Strike-strike with hand of fire the chords,
And weave a dazzling web of words,
(Subtle as those Arachne wove)
While I—I can but say—I love!

I can but say I love—but sigh
That sweet truth forth all faulteringly—
And if I could I would not seek
The secret of my Soul to speak!
Oh! all who truly love must feel
Weak language faileth to reveal
Such Passion as the Impassioned prove—
And then—they can but say—they love!

Howe'er the eloquent may strive,
'Tis but the outlines that they give
Of that deep Truth whose founts amid
The Soul's own living depths lie hid;

472

Oh! never mortal tongue shall tell
The mystery indescribable—
Then still let me, and let the dove,
In murmurs breathe—“I love—I love!”

INDIFFERENCE.

Indifference—in some mood of pride
For thee full often have I sighed,
And deemed Life's happiest moments were
Ev'n those that owned no love-born care.

And now against suspense I railed,
By which the trembling heart assailed,
Through every pulse feels keener life,
Wrought to one agony of strife!

473

And now 'gainst racking jealousy
(With scorching tear and choaking sigh)
That hoard up poisons evermore
As doth the bee its honeyed store!

And now 'gainst blushing shrinking shame
That dares not own the heav'n-born flame,
But dwells in silent fear apart
With the whole burthen at her heart!

And still 'gainst these I railed—and prayed
That thou wouldst come unto mine aid,
Indifference—with thy healing balm,
Thy dreamless rest—thy breathless calm.

But when I sought indeed to move
Free from the fettering power of Love—
How beautiful—how bright I found
The chain wherewith my Soul was bound.

474

Even these worst pangs of fevered pain
That shot like fire through breast and brain,
And racked me with a restless fear,
I felt as Life itself were dear.

Like jewels on a dazzling chain
That each doth Sunlight-hues retain,
Seemed those rich Sorrows then to be,
And could I still wish to be free?

With none could I resolve to part,
Oh! wavering weak and yielding heart,
Each pang was precious, and my pride
In the unequal struggle died!

The vain and foolish dream is flown,
Oh! Feeling—I am all thine own,
Indifference! hateful, hated state,
Away!—I fling thee from my Fate!

475

SWEET NIGHTINGALE.

The throbbing music of that throat,
How softly doth it swell and float,
Lend me, Oh! lend me that dear note,
Sweet Nightingale!

While thou so richly dost complain,
Surely that Heavenly, heavenly strain
Must soothe, must turn to joy thy pain,
Sweet Nightingale!

Oh! that it might be so with me,
But gloomy is my minstrelsie,
And bids my sufferings sharper be,
Sweet Nightingale!

476

For we but ransack Nature still
For chords that may responsive thrill
To our own bosom's aching ill,
Sweet Nightingale!

Whilst thou—the voice which Nature gave
Sufficeth thus from Grief to save,
Thou hear'st thyself—nor more dost crave,
Oh! Nightingale!

Nature the eternal balm supplies,
Thou sing'st—Joy lives—and Sorrow dies—
If in thy breast the famed thorn lies—
Poor Nightingale!

But surely 'twas a fable all,
Thy little heart owns no dull thrall,
No shadow o'er thy life doth fall,
Sweet Nightingale!

477

Ah! surely Bird, no thorn is there,
We seek an echo everywhere,
For our own sigh of human care,
Sweet Nightingale!

And then by chance we make our choice
Of some beloved and blessed voice—
Haply thy song but saith, Rejoice—
Oh! Nightingale!

THE CAPTIVE'S SONG.

The Captive wailed, in mournful strain,
And sought to pour his bosom's pain,
From out its burthened stifled core,
In words of sadness evermore.

478

The voice of his own bitter grief
Afforded him a faint relief—
Though words may not unfold, at least
They shroud the sufferings of the breast!

And thus he poured his song of woe—
Oft broken by faint sighs and low,
And Pity's self had paused to hear
Ere she had checked a strain so dear.

If ever Freedom may be mine on this broad Earth again—
A glorious recompense shall be the guerdon of my pain,
For I have learned and deeply too and well to feel and know
How precious Joy and Freedom are while I have wept in woe.

Of old I gazed all carelessly upon the Earth and Air,
Nor saw the gracious glories and the boundless beauty there,
Though thousand lovely things were round, scarce, scarce I heeded these,
Now could I prize the lightest leaf that trembles to the breeze.

479

The flowers that gild the ground should seem like Stars of Heav'n to me,
And Oh! those Stars divine, say, what then, what should they not be?
Worlds—Worlds of Beauty—where my thought on Angel wings might soar,
And with a holier rapture thrill than ere they did before.

And wheresoe'er mine eye might rove, my liberated eye,
Or on this beauteous Earth below or in the beaming Sky,
There should my very Soul look forth, and make the scene its own,
And seize unnumbered new delights it ne'er before hath known.

The Universe belongs to those who grasp it and who claim,
And if its empire be not ours, ours surely is the blame,
Each Being born into the World receiveth from that hour
The wide World for his appanage, Creation for his dower!

480

Since to the conscious eyes that see, and to the ears that hear,
Heaven gives the treasures of the whole, howe'er it may appear,
Not he is blest who saith, “behold! the gold and gems are mine,”
But he who most delighteth still in their resplendent shine!

Sharp Sorrow and Captivity have well my Spirit taught,
How all this wond'rous World below with wealthiest gifts is fraught,
For me if e'er I break my chain, the Lord of Light and Day
Shall burn in the illumined Sky with a redoubled ray,

And monarchs, monarchs shall be poor, the captive freed beside,
For richer than the richest he, who claims Creation wide,
And Creosus were a bankrupt near the master of that mine
Which teemeth with exhaustless stores—o'erflowing Nature—thine!

481

Then shall I feel mine own freed eye an empire can command,
Oh! talk not of the Student's lore nor of the Enchanter's wand,
We need but look, and all is light—but ask, and all is ours,
Since Heaven hath given us Senses armed with all-sufficient Powers.

And thus, poor Captive, may it be indeed
With us, when from our Mortal fetters freed—
We may be taught in this uncertain life,
So dark with sorrow, and so wild with strife,
With deeper ecstacy of bliss to prize
The Freedom and the Glory of the Skies—
Even Heaven may brighten with redoubled light
To these who long have mourned in Earth's dense Night.

482

DEPARTED JOYS.

We toil along this weary heavy Waste
With our best joys left in the darkened Past
Far, far behind—Oh! what wild grief, what pain
This draught of fire which yet we oft must drain,
The thought that never more can be our own,
The dearest hopes and pleasures we have known,
For these are still the earliest—nor can bear
The lightest breath of Life's more bitter air,
When doubt and sin, suspense and freezing fear
Make these fair leaves of fragrance pale and sere,
Those fair but frailest flowers, their life was done
Soon as one cloud came floating o'er the Sun—
Our after joys are hardier—and can dare
The unkindly breath of this World's blighting air,

483

And ev'n survive the shock of storms, perchance,
If yet from time to time one golden glance
Down from the Sun of Hope enkindling shoots,
To warm them to their deep embedded roots—
But Oh! though fitted to our trying fate,
They are not dear as those more delicate—
Those tenderer and more fragile ones that fade
If but one moment thrown into the shade,
They are the treasured of the Soul, the dear
Beyond all others that may bless us here.
And Oh! the thought that they ne'er come again
Is as a draught of fire which we must drain
In sadness and in sorrow evermore—
That thrill and rankle in the heart's sick core.
Memory, forbear to bring them thus in view—
The retrospective eye which tears bedew
Hails them too fondly, faithfully for peace—
Oh! Memory—but thy persecutions cease,
Nor come with cruel keenness, to remind
How bright these joys were, which are left behind,

484

Which never more can gladden us below,
And whose remembrance makes our weal seem woe,
Our present weal, so poor with that compared,
Which in those hours of rainbow-light we shared!
When all was transport—mystery of delight—
And all was ecstacy to Soul and Sight—
Oh! leave us to the Present, let us cling
To each consoling and each cherished thing,
Nor turn distracted ev'n from Hope away,
Because less bright than on a former day,
Our present pleasures were enough, could we
Forget but those that dwell in Memory.
Farther and farther must we pass from those
Ere yet we come indeed unto the close,
But yet they sadly shine out to the last,
And shed their mournful Beauty o'er Life's waste,
While all our other joys in turn decay,
And leave but graceless wrecks to strew our way;
Those earliest, loveliest, happiest, dearest, best,
Assert their gentle sway above the rest—

485

And make our yearning Spirits long once more
To feel that freshness which they felt before,
That glow of confidence, that hush of peace,
That buoyant energy in glad increase,
Which bore them onwards as with wings of fire,
That could not cease to soar—that could not tire,
At least so deemed they, but in vain, in vain,
They faultering fell—and not to rise again!
But when the weary time indeed is o'er,
The time of tears and sighs and sufferings sore—
The Soul shall then regain its long lost youth,
Its strength, its calm, its confidence, and truth—
And joys more pure know then, than it may know
It its first bloom of young delight below!

486

MINE IS A GRIEF.

Mine is a Grief that time shall scarce make less,
It is indeed a dark and dire distress,
When Thoughts and Feelings strangely still at strife,
Divide us in the Deep of our own Life!

These struggling upwards to their native home,
And those abiding by their Mortal doom,
So the Soul's deepest depths are roused and stirred,
And war for such war were too weak a word!

Oh! heavy, hopeless, and profound distress,
It is indeed the worst of loneliness—
This solitude of separate Thoughts and Wills,
Which with strange doubts the haunted Spirit fills;

487

Aye! lonely 'tis in self-division thus
When 'gainst ourselves ourselves grow mutinous,
When—in the centre of the living Soul
Betwixt our Hopes, such waves, such oceans roll!—

When we are parted with mysterious power,
Even self from self through Life's long torture-hour
As but this inborn feud of Feeling parts—
That plants a Death within our heart of hearts!

It is indeed the dreariest loneliness,
The sharpest strife, the deepest worst distress,
When Thoughts and Feelings with unnatural strife
Divide us in the Deep of our own Life!

488

THE FADING IMAGE.

Oh! loved as thou art lovely—to excess—
Why dost thou leave me to this long distress,
This agony of absence—which destroys
All hope, and leaves but memory of past joys.

O'er thy remembered Image still I hang,
It is a pleasure, yet too like a pang—
And in my heart of hearts I watch to trace
The Beauty of thy Form and of thy Face.

But fainter grows that Image day by day,
Not that my love is fainter—but dismay,
And doubt, and weariness, and grief, and dread,
A cloud of gloom o'er brain and spirit spread.

489

Not that my love is fainter—Oh! not so,
Its deepest life seems fed by thoughtful woe,
But Memory's skill is weakened by distress—
All is confusion—all is bitterness.

Yes! hopelessness hath fallen with heavy chill
On Memory's earnest zeal and marred her skill,
A deadly languor, cold and dull and slow,
Hath checked and palsied every effort now!

I see that Image darkening day by day,
And fading, passing, mournfully away,
I seek to arrest it still, the power is gone!
The Eternal effort hath itself undone!

Return! Oh! but return to me again—
Give me thyself—and banish fear and pain—
'Stead of this faded Image shadowed o'er—
Give me the bright Original once more!

490

AND SHALL I LONGER BEND AND BOW?

And shall I longer bend and bow
Beneath a blighted doom,
Nor seek to lift from off my life
This pall of crushing gloom?

Why, Night herself boasts Worlds of light,
Her frowning Vault to pave—
And roses too are scattered o'er
The stern and shadowy Grave.

And shall unbroken darkness spread
Around me evermore?
No! though the dearest hopes be fled
That blessed my Soul before.

491

Ah! Sunny World, thou'rt still as bright,
As smiling still art thou,
As when reflected was thy smile
From my once stainless brow!

And clouds have liberty above,
And restless birds below,
While I am prisoned in my pain,
And wound about with woe!

But let me now make others' joys
Unenvyingly mine own—
And try once more to taste the bliss
Which I before have known!

For Oh! in this wide Sunny World
Deep bliss abideth still,
And they may taste that bliss and share,
Who strive with steadfast will.

492

And much there is to snatch and glean,
If we but know the way—
And let the glorious light pour in
Upon our clouded day.

Joy—joy is scattered far and wide
O'er all this Earthly scene,
And they may rest in peace and hope
Who long have mourners been.

If but of the Universal Feast
These to partake consent,
Not on a single separate bliss
With selfish spirit bent!

Yes! I will dash this cloud away,
And fling this gloom aside—
'Twas not a hopeless fate that crushed—
'Twas selfishness and pride.

493

THE RETURN TO ENGLAND.

White Cliffs of England! there ye stand,
Like Angel-watchers round
The one beloved and beauteous Land,
Our Hearts' own Holy ground.

White Cliffs of England! robed in light,
Your precious charge ye hold,
Dazzling the gazer's gladdened sight,
Now topped with Sunlight's gold.

White Cliffs of England!—Rocks of Home!
I hail your sacred heights—
Crowns ye the Sky like some bright dome
That loveth what it lights!

494

White Cliffs of England!—Rocks of Home!
I greet you with Love's tears,
To ye shall slave and stranger come
To count auspicious years.

Cliffs of my Country's glorious shores!
Her Ocean bathes your base—
And forth its mighty challenge roars,
That echoeth strong through Space!

Cliffs of my Country! do ye stand
Round Paradise restored—
A white-robed Guardian Angel band,
Without the threatening sword?—

White Cliffs of England! ye might seem
That Heavenly Host sublime
Of Cherubim—while thus ye gleam—
To shadow forth to Time!

495

FIREFLIES AT MILAN.

Bright lovely things,
Like Stars on wings,
Ye daze the eye
Thus flashing by.

Ev'n brief as bright,
Your life—your light
Not long may last,
Their prime soon past!

But that is nought,
Things free as Thought!—
To ye who know
Nor fear, nor woe!

496

Beyond this hour
Ye have no power
To look—bright things—
Like Stars on wings!

In your mid-joy
No dull alloy
Its truth to bound
Can e'er be found—

While free ye play
Each seems a ray
With life instinct,
With rapture linked!

Shot from the Sun,
In joy begun,
In joy as true,
Completed too.

497

Oh! revellers bright!
Your Life is Light!—
Ye breathe—and blaze—
Like quickened rays!

TO PAIN.

Why, what is Life but thee! triumphant Pain?
Vast is thy power and endless is thy reign,
Life seems but one Illusion wild and strange,
One mystery of perplexity and change;
Illusion?—Aye! its hopes, joys, blessings all,
But none, stern Pain, shall thee Illusion call,
Thou bleak and black yet blank Reality,
The veriest sceptic cannot doubt of thee,
The mightiest Conqueror can controul thee not,
Thou art the ruler of our Earthly lot—

498

Lawgivers are thy Subjects—Kings thy Slaves—
Philosophers thy fools—staid Wisdom raves
Like babbling ideotcy on thy keen rack,
When all thy murderous train are at thy back,
Twin-Empires hast thou—thou hast Kingdoms twain,
Oh! thou Earth-desolating Power of Pain—
The sentient Frame—the conscious Soul of man,
And these have been thine own since Life began;
By the most thoughtless art thou ne'er forgot,
Sovereign of Life—chief Sovereign of our lot,
Thou art the known, felt, Truth—the Certainty,
The touchstone of Existence, since to thee
The keenest sense of Being still we owe,
Thro' thee, thro' thee, our deepest powers we know—
Capacites of suffering still transcend
The rest by far, and have no bound nor end,
He who becomes thy prey at once he lives
A life, that Nature at our birth ne'er gives—
An animated Universe of strife
Grows his extended and enlarging life,

499

Without a bourne—illimitably wide,
By torture's deadly mystery magnified
A Chaos of quick consciousness—intense
With every nerve o'erwrought, and every sense
A Chaos, whose black discord and whose war
Where all things join and only join to jar—
Shall ne'er in harmony and order close—
From ruin and destruction 'tis it grows!
A Chaos not of Hope but of Despair,
With stern perdition, but no promise there!
A Chaos of inextricable Ill
That shall remain a barren Chaos still,
And this is thy vile work—thou ruthless Pain,
Dark uncreator!—with too wide a reign!
Death, like an Angel, smileth by thy side,
We court him, as the bridegroom might the bride,
And pant to rest within that quiet grave,
Whose sleep from all thine agonies shall save,
Thou Spirit-crushing Power—all-dreaded Pain,
Who wide dost spread thine undisputed reign

500

O'er this still groaning and ill fated Earth,
Which, but for thee, gives all her children birth.
But art thou then, the Ruler over all,
Do all indeed stoop meekly to thy thrall?
Dost thou indeed such boundless sway exert,
Wide, wide o'er th' Universal Frame and Heart—
The helpless Frame to thee must ofttimes yield,
But boasts the Heart no shelter and no shield?
Oh! most unworthy thought—it is not so,
(Though vast in truth thy Empire spreads below)—
But Hope, but Faith, but Fortitude, and Love,
How oft have these thine influence towered above,
And taught thee in thy turn an humbler mood—
Faced, dared, confronted, challenged, and subdued!—
Thou wring'st the quivering nerves with fiendish art,
Till very Life appears to come and part
At thy stern will, as though at hideous strife
With threat'ning Death—or e'en as Death and Life
At once were shut within the sufferer's Soul,
Disputing inch by inch the tortured whole—

501

Torn—riven between them—to its centre wrung
With every pang of every anguish stung,
Or through that Soul thou driv'st thy deadlier fangs,
Not throes corporeal but keen mental pangs.
And yet that Soul at times hath nobly been
Even in such strife in its own self serene!—
In its own self thus martyred and thus made
A scene of ghastly waste—in ruins laid!
And while all Earthly hope was snatched away,
And every feeling thy defenceless prey,
It hath exulted in the holier trust,
Which buildeth not its bulwarks of the dust—
And ev'n the fleshly Form when armed, inspired—
By that All-conquering Soul's proud impulse fired,
Can strengthen its strong nerves and suffer less,
Though pang on pang to assail it still may press,
And may e'en fortify itself with zeal
That half forbids the unshrinking flesh to feel,
For sure to shun and to resist is still
But to aggravate the antagonizing Ill!

502

To arm it 'gainst ourselves—while nerve by nerve
Doth shuddering shrink away, and shivering swerve,
First from the upcoiled contraction must they be
Torn, wrenched perforce in quivering agony,
Then by the mastering throes that crowd in thick,
Pierced, wrung, and thrilled unto the tortured quick!
But when the Victim dares to meet those throes
Half way, at once their keenest power they lose,
The quickened blood bears strength thro' ev'ry part,
Nor curdles sickening round the withering heart—
The mind—the mind can blunt Pain's deadliest sting,
And teach the flesh to brave its suffering—
'Tis as the etherealized—th' exalted Frame
Part of the immortal Spirit then became—
Behold Oh! Pain, thy dark and direful sway
Disputed thus in Nature's last decay,
By vigourous spirits that know not to bend,
But strive and struggle nobly to the end!
I call thee now no more the unconquered Power,
Though many yield in thy destructive hour—

503

Our Human Nature can thy might defy,
When keen roused energies their strength supply,
Pain! countless rebels rise against thy reign,
And challenge thee and all thy fearful train—
Affection mocks thee, and Repentance craves,
The Martyr loves thee, and the Savage braves.

THE HEART'S HOPE.

My heart—apart
Still watch—to snatch
Hope's smile awhile,
The fair—the rare
From sighs arise,
Forget regret,
Disdain thy pain,
Repress distress—

504

Hope's light shines bright
For all who call
Without weak doubt
On her, nor err—
Nor make mistake,
Nor deem a dream
Her scene, whose sheen
Seems given from Heaven!
That light spread bright
In love above
Our World—close furled
In gloom, one tomb—
Didst thou, ev'n now
Oh! Hope! faint droop—
And shun the Sun—
Nor throw thy glow
Thus even, o'er Heaven,
Nor deign thy train
To bring—and fling
O'er Day a ray—

505

A gleam supreme!
Heart, heart, apart
Now watch to snatch
That smile, whose wile
Can charm from harm,
Can win from sin,
Make fear appear
A thought—a nought—
Ideal—unreal,
And still with skill
Complete, most sweet
The thought, o'erfraught
With dreams—vain schemes—
(And woes that rose
To o'ercloud and shroud
The mind, resigned
To bear with care)—
Soothe down and crown
With blaze of rays
That shine divine.

506

My heart, now part
With fear, take cheer—
Be strong—for wrong
Are they who say
'Tis vain 'gainst pain
To strive—to drive
Away dismay—
Is't so?—no—no—
Proud Powers are ours
Would we but be
Unbowed and proud—
And choose to use
Those powers in hours
Of gloom and doom.—
Now heart, that art
So weak—or break,
Or rise from sighs—
And scorn to mourn—
Even so thy Woe,
Disdain, and Pain!—

507

And dare Despair!
Oh! meet and greet,
So face Disgrace,
'Twill melt unfelt
If thou but now
At length in strength
Defy—deny—
Nor deign the chain
To wear—the snare
For thee shall be
Ne'er set, though yet
'Twere well to dwell
Girt round and bound
With zeal—to steel
Thy core—once sore
With grief, and chief
To cling—faint thing!
To rocks which shocks
Of waves when raves
The gale, must fail

508

To rend or bend,
To break or shake!—
No shocks those rocks
Shall make to quake!—
Seas flow below,
Storm-scourged—fierce urged
In foam to come—
While death and wrath
Abound, around—
But Oh! below
If we can be
But taught—but brought
At last to cast
Our eyes where lies
Our goal!—the Soul
To free from thee,
Oh! Earth, whose dearth
We own, long known—
(Though long full strong
Its chain remain

509

Fast wound around
Our hearts—while smarts
With pain in vain
The breast oppressed,)
If we can be
But taught, our thought
To raise in days
Of fear, ev'n here,
In flights, to heights
Of Love above—
And found and ground
Our fair Hope there,
Even we may see
Storms sink, and shrink
That dread, thick spread
Before, even o'er
Our Souls (while rolls
Away from day
Each cloud whose shroud
Had bound it round—

510

The last—furled fast,
The worst—dispersed!)
And strong among
Earth's woes that close
Still thus round us
Shall we then be—
If so we throw
Our care but there
On High, and try
To grasp and clasp
Those Rocks which shocks
Of storms (whose Forms
Of dread are spread
Around) are found
Too weak to shake.
Oh! Heart!—your part
Is still to thrill
With love, and prove
The zeal you feel!—
No plaint though faint—

511

No sigh will I
Allow even now
To shame mine aim—
To chide my pride,
To daunt the vaunt
That fills and thrills
Inspires and fires
My thought, o'erwrought,
And Soul—the whole!—
I will fulfill
My part, and—Heart!
Teach thee to be
(Despite each blight
That may essay
To chill, to kill—
And joy destroy)
A thing whose spring
Ne'er dies, while Skies
Of Love above
Outshine divine—

512

Whose Light makes bright
This Life of strife!—
Those Dreams—whose streams
Flow free, shall be
No more traced o'er
With clouds, whose shrouds
Of old did fold
Them round, uncrowned—
Of pride—deep dyed
With gloom—dark doom!
No! plays Heaven's blaze
In light, thrice-bright—
Now round them crowned
With beams and gleams
That gild Life's field,
New given from Heaven!

513

AUTUMN.

How mournfully I view thy pomp depart,
Oh! Nature, yet thou ever glorious art,
'Tis but a change of glory, and the light
Of Summer, erst so lovely and so bright,
Yields to the splendour of these Autumn hours,
Which turn to living gold the Emerald bowers,
This change indeed hath its own charms, and dull
Are they who see not it is beautiful,
But yet 'tis mournful thus to see decay,
Though clad in Loveliness, assert its sway;
Mournful are these dusk shades that swiftly close
The shortened day, and brood in grey repose
O'er all the scene, a little while before
So rich with rainbow-colouring's dazzling store.
Oh! the pathetic Beauty of the Year,
When flowers forget their bloom and leaves grow sere,

514

Autumn! Thou glorious Autumn! it might seem
Thou wert a Prophetess in passionate dream,
Foretelling to this fleeting World its fate,
This World of brief though of uncertain date,
And crying still “Decay—Death—Death—Decay”—
To all that breathe and live from day to day.
Sad Autumn, for the pomp wherewith thou'rt clad,
But makes thee seem more exquisitely sad,
The Earthly scene is given thee for awhile,
And vainly dost thou smile thy Sunset smile
As though to check the ruin then begun,
Which thou mayst mask awhile but canst not shun.
In sooth thou dost array the wond'rous scene
With rainbow hues more rich than Summer's green,
And lend'st the gorgeous colourings of the rose
To things whose life must soon and sadly close,
And sheath'st in burning gold the withered leaf,
And shroud'st in pomp the passion of thy grief,
Sad Autumn! thou art here, ev'n now thou'rt here,
And 'tis a dazzling World although a drear!

515

Oh! melancholy Season—thou art now
Stamped with a World's decay upon thy brow,
And drawest near unto thine own, ere long
Shall Winter reign thy disrobed haunts among;
And Oh! less dreary shall he seem to me
With all his rough and bleak austerity,
Than those proud funeral splendours that array
Thy changeful scene and blazon forth Decay.
The leafless bough I rather had behold
Than that which glistens with thy lifeless gold,
The snow-piled ground than this embroidered floor,
As though with blazing jewels covered o'er,
And yet whose radiant and illumined store
Is very dust and ashes spread in vain—
When breathes one breeze they're swept away again—
Winter! thy barrenness less shocks my sight
Than this sad mockery of a lost delight,
Come with thy frowning and o'ershadowing gloom,
And sweep the pompous gilding from the tomb!

516

THE WORLD'S TRUE VALUE.

Once how I loved this World below,
I trusted it and prized it so—
I laughed when others sighing said,
“It is a gloomy World and dread.”

I laughed and I believed them not,
So glad and cloudless was my lot,
I thought within my very heart,
Sweet World! how bright how fair thou art.

I laughed! and feared no future day,
I nothing knew of Grief's dark sway,
And Pain for me was but a word
Which all incredulous I heard.

517

How deep and dark and change soon came
O'er Soul of Light and Thought of Flame,
Then cried I loud, Grief's veriest slave,
“Oh! World!—thou'rt cruel as the Grave!”

I deemed none could be happy here,
I thought the smile but masked the tear,
I cried within mine inmost Heart,
“Dark World!—how sad a World thou art!”

Those who ne'er look this Life beyond,
Are mocked thus by illusions fond—
The truth to them may not appear
In living beauty—fair and clear.

Now, now, Oh! World! I know thy worth,
I praise thee not—nor blame thee, Earth,
But oft unto myself I say—
“Oh! World! thou art but dust and clay.”

518

This Earth is not the abiding place
Of man's immortal mighty race—
It is the school where he must learn
Deep lessons ofttimes harsh and stern.

Now, now—the hopes of higher things
Uplift me on their viewless wings,
I walk 'mid Earth's poor vanities,
With heart estranged and loveless eyes.

The treasures of my former trust
I know are ashes all and dust,
But Earth hath treasures, and I prize
Those things that feeling sanctifies.

Oh! Love! thy treasures here can bless
With all but Angel happiness—
And did not one dark shadow fall
O'er thee, thou wert enchantment all.

519

Did that dread shadow o'er thy path
Not brood in stern unpitying wrath,
Thou wert Heav'n's own beatitude,
But Death hath still thy steps pursued.

Oh! World!—when others sighing say,
With hopeless tone of grief to-day,
“A heavy, gloomy World is this,”—
I answer—“But it leads to bliss!”

Or if, like me in other days,
Some all too fondly lightly praise,
And cry, “It is a World of joy,”
I warn them 'twill their hopes destroy!

Those, those but in the Present live,
Who think that it is formed to give
True lasting pleasure to their Souls,
Soon breaks the wave that foam-lit rolls.

520

'Tis not a World of Joy or Grief,
But in its hurried passage brief
Both, both are ever mingled still—
A World commixed of Good and Ill!

The storm hath still its rainbow bright,
A myriad myriad Stars the Night!—
In the sweet South the Death wind blows—
And still the thorn lives with the rose!

Its precious and its fearful things,
Its sweetest and its bitterest springs,
Still joined together oft are found
In strange and startling union bound—

And he who hopes the rose to pull
Nor yet with this the thorn to cull,
Must learn a lesson soon or late,
That shall crush down his Heart elate!

521

And he who seeks the rainbow's gleam
In Skies that but with Sunshine stream,
Shall know ere long 'tis storms that bring
That beautiful and blessed thing!

And he who watcheth in the Day
For the rich Stars' etherial ray,
Must wait until the closing Night
Affordeth their enchanted light!

And he who would expect to inhale
Thou sweet, sweet South, thine odorous gale
Without one drawback to Delight,
Perchance may perish in its blight!

Oh! World! from out thine Ill springs Good—
Thy best may be with wrong imbued—
'Tis change and contradiction still!
But, praised be Heaven, 'tis not all Ill!

522

For who can say—with open Heart—
“Good is my due and my desert?”—
Oh! who can say he merits aught
But Griefs that Man on Man hath brought?

PROUD GRENADA'S CHIEFTAIN LORDS.

Chieftains! Ye Sons of Fame and Glory!
Sons of mighty Fame,
Moorish Chieftains!—speaks your story,
When men speak your name,
'Tis a dark pathetic tale!
There seems something of stern mystery
In the mournful fate ye found,
'Twas the Poetry of History,
How—how were ye uncrowned—
Forth scattered in confusion pale
Fled the Lords of bright Grenada,
Proud Grenada's Chieftain Lords!

523

They forgot—without regretting—
Their dark Sires' old place,
Their Fathers' Fatherland forgetting—
A transplanted Race—
But 'twas not to be forgot;
From their happy seats and glorious
They were forced to fly,
Banished by a Foe victorious,
With a bosom-bursting sigh
They forsook the enchanted spot,
Crowned by Towers of the Old Alhambra,
By the Alhambra's royal Towers!

Back, back to the Ancestorial Regions
Ye were hurried then,
Who seemed a race (ere quailed your Legions)
Of Monarchic Men!—
So you nobly played your parts
While all things under you still flourished—
Art and Science grew—

524

Emulation's strength was nourished,
Moorish Chiefs, by you!—
But how bowed the mighty hearts
Of the Monarchs of Grenada,
Of Grenada's Masters proud!

Loudly rose the voice of wailing,
Many a cry of grief—
Banners low in dust were trailing,
Fallen like Autumn's leaf!
All was horror and dismay;
Faint the tecbir-shouts were swelling
Ever and anon
In vain—while Life-blood streams were welling,
And all hope was gone—
While fled their vanquished Lords that day
From the fair Towers of the Alhambra,
From the Alhambra's glorious Towers!

525

Oh! the gloom—the desolation—
The anguish and the woe—
'Twas the death-stroke of a Nation—
Fell and fiery blow!
Allah!—'twas a fearful day.—
Weep o'er the Empire's dark declining—
(Weep—weep burning tears—)
O'er whose throne the Sun rose shining
Full Seven hundred years.—
Then wrenched was the Old—the Imperial sway
From the Sovereigns of Grenada—
Proud Grenada's Sovereign Lords!

Their great pomp—their palaced splendour—
Earth's most dazzling boast—
They were destined to surrender—
All was left—and lost!—
Came the conquering thousands on
Through paths and places of their glory,
Darkened and disgraced,

526

Breathless, dust-defiled, and gory,
Through the streets they paced,
To where the Palace crescents shone
O'er the emblazed Domes of the Alhambra,
O'er the Alhambra's sumptuous Domes!

What brave heart but then was breaking
In that day of doom—
Fair Grenada's streets forsaking—
Shadowed o'er with gloom!
Those were desperate, desperate hours!
Afric then, once more possessing,
Her proud children, mourned—
To her dusky bosom pressing
Those who scourged—returned—
Royal Chivalry's bruised Flowers
Once Liege Lords of strong Grenada,
Proud Grenada's Warrior Lords!

527

Their state, their pride, their strength departed—
Crossed they then the Sea,
Sighed in vain the valourous hearted—
Such was Heaven's decree—
Such Heaven's dread and strong command,
But while rolls in might victorious
The great stream of Time—
Stand their monuments—all glorious
Monuments sublime—
On the Spaniard's soil they stand,
The old Towers Imperial of the Alhambra,
The Alhambra's many-clustering Towers!

Since that, stern European Morning,
Which crushed Afric's race—
They have towered on high adorning
Their proud ancient place
Fair—and glorious still to see—
And in dazzling pomp unfaded
Still may they outshine—

528

Though the crowned heads they o'ershaded
Low in dust recline—
Though deserted must they be—
The Chiefless Castles of Grenada!
Proud Grenada's Kingless Courts!

The old crowned Liege Lords, whose dread Dominion
Stretched forth, far and wide—
These soared upon the Eagle's pinion
But to vail their pride!
How froze Life's currents in their veins!—
How while still on Earth remaining
Must they have deplored
Their palmy state—triumphant reigning
'Mongst those Bowers adored—
Scattered o'er the Elysian Plains,
O'erhung by Towers the Old Alhambra—
By the Alhambra's Heaven-kissed Towers!

529

OLD NORWAY.

Old Norway rises up to war,
The Signal-summons free and far
Arouses all her fair-haired Sons,
The dauntless and the Mighty Ones!

The embattled rocks—the emblackened woods—
The gusty hills—and roaring floods—
These too might well appear to share
In stern Old Norway's marshalled war!

But blackened woods—and battled rocks—
And bellowing torrents' startling shocks—
Thundering defiance and command—
These cannot guard—nor save a Land.

'Tis Love's unconquerable heart
That plays on Earth a Godlike part—
Mightier than thunderbolt and brand—
That makes invincible—the Land!

530

TRUE STRENGTH.

Yes! we walk, Earth, uncertain and afraid,
Encompassed round about with gloom and shade,
And still in sorrow and in shame we cry
“Out upon this abhorred uncertainty!”
But Oh! these wearying doubtings, this distrust,
While yet we are but dwellers in the Dust,
(While yet our Earthly journey we pursue)
Human misgivings, human faulterings too,
These prove our Strengths, our Sovereign Strengths, if these
Teach us to strive with outstretched hand to seize
On that Almightiest Rock of Aid above,
Which Mercy hath vouchsafed to us—and Love!
Yes! those who in the depth of self-distrust
Contemn their own vain powers, with scorn most just,
Shall find, 'mid all the griefs of mortal doom
That very helplessness and doubt become
The source of their most Kingly Strengths—if still
A sage and steadfast part they here fulfill!
Oh! what a solace shall the weary find,
Their minds reposing on the All-Knowing Mind!

531

BRITOMART.

Oh! Britomart loveliest!—Oh! loved Britomart!
Unto me yield thy virgin and innocent heart,
For the smile of thy lip is to me more, far more,
Than the treasures that heap El Dorado's rich shore!

Oh! Britomart!—beautiful, bright Britomart!
'Tis for thee that I bear Love's deep, Soul-piercing smart;
The least knot that hath on thy gemmed stomachere lain,
Is more precious to me than all guerdon and gain!

Thou art far from me now—thou'rt the pride of the Court,
Where the great and the gay and the gallant resort,
And a crowd of young lovers there sigh in thy train,
For I know where thou art—Love for ever must reign!

532

Let the Court-gallants flatter—the Court-nobles swear—
Let the Court-minstrels praise thee—thou first of the fair!
'Tis afar from the Court that with fond faithful breast
Mourns the poor contemned Lover who loves thee the best.

Ever fairest art thou, in Hall, Palace, and Bower,
In the garland of Beauty thou'rt still the chief flower;
Thou'rt the Queen of the Lovely!—Oh! deign but to prove
For the sake of thine Arnulf, the Queen too of Love!

No! I feel 'tis all hopeless—I know 'tis in vain—
Thou look'st scornfully down on my prayers and my pain,
Then away to the wars—let me give unto fame
My bright, tyrannous Ladye's too dearly-loved name!

Where'er shines the fair Sun, or the quartered Winds blow,
I will make men the pomp of thy beauty to know,
Where'er blow the free Winds, where'er Sunlight doth shine,
All mankind will I make sighing Lovers of thine!

533

I will build such a Pyramid—mighty and proud—
To thine honour, Oh! Ladye!—my Sovran avowed!
All of passionate hearts fired with dreams of thy charms,
That e'en thou shalt say “Praised be his zeal and his arms!”

All Europe, and Asia, and Afric shall share
In the passion I boast of—the penance I bear—
The World shall throb high with one deep mighty heart—
And that shall but beat for the adored Britomart!

Then perchance with a late, but a precious remorse,
Thou mayst turn to thine Arnulf—to arms! then—to horse!
Oh! that thought is enough to uphold, and inspire,
Still the hand is all strength, when the heart is all fire!

All the wide World shall ring with my love and thy fame,
Tens of thousands shall echo my sighs, and thy name
And that World shall henceforth have but one burning heart,
And Oh! that shall but burn for the adored Britomart!

534

TELL ME, SWEET SPRING!

Tell me, sweet Spring! thy tale,
Thy joyous tale and bright,
Sorrow and memory pale—
These should from thee take flight!

Thy dear Interpreters,
Cuckoo and soaring lark,
How their rich language stirs
Sense, heart, and spirit—hark!

Hark! how they fill the air,
Deeply with their delight,
Oh! let us chase vain care—
Bid weary Grief take flight!

535

Tell me thy tales of joy,
Spring—golden glorious Spring,
Hope shall my heart rebuoy,
Fear shall ere long take wing!

Thou tell'st of mighty things—
Bright and enchanted Time!—
Hasten—Oh! Spring of Springs!
Season of Heaven sublime!

Every flower withered here,
Then shall be found once more,
All lost things—bright and dear—
Shall Heaven's Spring-time restore!

And these glad vernal hours
Tell us, while fast they flee,
How fair 'mid deathless bowers
Thou—Spring of Heaven!—must be!

536

THE HUSH OF NIGHT.

The Hush of Night!—the Majesty of Stars!
How do these chide our secret bosomed wars,
Oh! who can look from troubled Earth to Heaven
Nor feel how much they have to be forgiven!

While thoughts strike thoughts—as spears strike spears—to bring
Wild jars—vain flashes—but no worthier thing,
Say, dare we think these strifes that never cease,
Can please the Almighty Author of all Peace?