ANDOVAL. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously, But Oropeza EARL HENRY. Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, Fragrant with flowering trees-I well remember I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.- [EARL HENRY retires into the wood. SANDOVAL, (alone.) O Henry always strivest thou to be great As though they were the pillars of a temple, Their snow-white blossoms made-thither she led And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins! me, To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own. SANDOVAL. A rude and scaring note, my friend! EARL HENRY. O! no! I have small memory of aught but pleasure. SANDOVAL, (with a sarcastic smile.) EARL HENRY. Ah! was that bliss Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man? I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice, I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN, WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE. MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill-besped, Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soil'd beneath the common tread, Far from thy protecting spray! When the partridge o'er the sheaf Whirr'd along the yellow vale, Sad I saw thee, headless leaf! Love the dalliance of the gale. Lightly didst thou, foolish thing! Heave and flutter to his sighs, While the flatterer, on his wing, Woo'd and whispered thee to rise. Gayly from thy mother-stalk Wert thou danced and wafted highSoon on this unshelter'd walk Flung to fade, to rot, and die. TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE. MAIDEN, that with sullen brow Sittest behind those virgins gay, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough, Leafless 'mid the blooms of May! Him who lured thee and forsook, Oft I watch'd with angry gaze, Fearful saw his pleading look, Anxious heard his fervid phrase. Soft the glances of the youth, Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth, But no true love in his eye. Loathing thy polluted lot, Hie thee, maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping mother's cot, With a wiser innocence. Thou hast known deceit and folly, Thou hast felt that vice is wo: With a musing melancholy Inly arm'd, go, maiden! go. Mother sage of self-dominion, Firm thy steps, O melancholy! The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Is the memory of past folly. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn, While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms; Soon with renovated wing Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring, And embathe in heavenly light. LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM. NOR cold nor stern my soul! yet I detest These scented rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign Hark the deep buzz of vanity and hate! Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer My lady eyes some maid of humbler state, While the pert captain, or the primmer priest, Prattles accordant scandal in her ear. O give me, from this heartless scene released, To hear our old musician, blind and gray, (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kiss'd,) His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, The while I dance amid the tedded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light. Or lies the purple evening on the bay Unheard, unseen, behind the alder trees, Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears. But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the outhouse shed Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of wo, Ballad of shipwreck'd sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The things of nature utter; birds or trees, Or moan of ocean gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. THE KEEPSAKE. THE tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil, By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side, And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. In the cool morning twilight, early waked In the smooth, scarcely-moving river-pool. She would resign one-half of that dear name, TO A LADY. WITH FALCONER'S "SHIPWRECK." AH! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams, In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams, To harp and song from lady's hand and voice; * One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole empire of Germany, (Vergissmein nicht,) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden. Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings, Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark! "Cling to the shrouds!" In vain! The breakers roar Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, No classic roamer, but a shipwreck'd man! Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains, And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains, Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name Of gratitude! remembrances of friend, Or absent or no more! Shades of the past, Which love makes substance! Hence to thee I send, O dear as long as life and memory last! I send with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship form'd! this work to thee: And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me. In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong, What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny, warm weather, And singing, and loving-all come back together. But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he"I love my love, and my love loves me !" TO A YOUNG LADY. ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER. WHY need I say, Louisa dear! A lovely convalescent; The sunny showers, the dappled sky, Their vernal loves commencing, Believe me, while in bed you lay, You made us grow devouter! Besides, what vex'd us worst, we knew, They have no need of such as you In the place where you were going; This world has angels all too few, And heaven is overflowing! HOME-SICK. WRITTEN IN GERMANY. "Tis sweet to him, who all the week Through city crowds must push his way, To stroll along through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day; And sweet it is, in summer bower, Sincere, affectionate, and gay, One's own dear children feasting round, To celebrate one's marriage-day. But what is all, to his delight, Who having long been doom'd to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back Before the door of his own home? Home-sickness is a wasting pang; This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings, Thou breeze that playest on Albion's shore! ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove, The linnet and thrush, say, "I love and I love!" THE VISIONARY HOPE. SAD lot, to have no hope! Though lowly kneeling He fain would frame a prayer within his breast, Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of heal ing, That his sick body might have ease and rest; Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast, That hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he would For love's despair is but hope's pining ghost! Dreams, (the soul herself forsaking,) Tearful raptures, boyish mirth; Silent adorations, making A blessed shadow of this earth! O ye hopes, that stir within me, THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS. CUPID, if storying legends* tell aright, With these the magic dews, which evening brings, And hope, the blameless parasite of wo. The eyeless chemist heard the process rise, Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' enamour'd dove Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love. III. MEDITATIVE POEMS. IN BLANK VERSE. Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived, Schiller. HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY. Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides, and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the gentiana major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue." HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star *Effinixt quondam blandum meditata laborem On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! And who commanded, (and the silence came,) Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! Decussos violæ foliis ad miscet odores Carm. Quod. Vol. II. |