RIVER OF THE MORN.
RIVER of the morn!

Fast thou flowest and bright;

From the sundered East thou flowest, Bearing down the Night:

Every cloud thy beauty drinketh; Darkness from thy current shrinketh; Leaving the Heavens empty quite, For the conquering Light!

O, the Thought new-born!

Lovely 'tis, and bright;

Like some jewel of the morn, Nursed in frozen night.

But it trembleth soon and groweth And dissolved in splendor floweth, (Like the flooding dawn that pours O'er and o'er the cloudy shores,) Till blind Ignorance wings her flight From the conquering Light!

O, ye Thoughts of youth,

Long since flown away!

What ye want in truth,

Ye in love repay!

Though in shadowy forests hidden, Like the bird that's lost and chidden, Back again with all your songs, Ye do come and sooth our wrongs, Till the unburthened heart doth soar Wiser than before!

SONG SHOULD BREATHE.

SONG should breathe of scents and flowers;
Song should like a river flow;
Song should bring back scenes and hours
That we loved-ah, long ago!
Song from baser thoughts should win us;
Song should charm us out of wo;
Song should stir the heart within us,
Like a patriot's friendly blow.
Pains and pleasures, all man deeth,

War and peace, and right and wrongAll things that the soul subdueth

Should be vanquished, too, by Song. Song should spur the mind to duty; Nerve the weak, and stir the strong: Every deed of truth and beauty

Should be crowned by starry Song !

I DIE FOR THY SWEET LOVE.

I DIE for thy sweet love! The ground
Not panteth so for summer rain,
As I for one soft look of thine:
And yet I sigh in vain!

A hundred men are near thee now-
Each one, perhaps, surpassing me:
But who doth feel a thousandth part
Of what I feel for thee?

They look on thee, as men will look

Who 'round the wild world laugh and rove: I only think how sweet 'twould be To die for thy sweet love!

THAT USE IS ALL THE LOVE I BEAR THEE?

WHAT use is all the love I bear thee
Without thy sweet return?

What use in Fate's cold patient lesson,
Which my soul can not learn?

I love thee-as, they tell in story,
Men love in burning climes:

And I let loose my wild heart before thee,
In burning, burning rhymes !

Were't not for this, my chafed Spirit
Would burst its bonds and flee'
And Thou? Ah, yes, thy gentle heart
Woul: still give a thought to me!

SONG FOR OUR FATHER LAND.
HURRAH! Here's a health to the land,
Brave brothers, wherein we were born;
Here's a health to the friend that we love!
Here's a heart for the man that's forlorn!
Let us drink unto all,

Who help us or lack us,

From the child and the poor man,
To Ceres and Bacchus;

And to Plenty (thrice over!) not forgetting her hors'
Here's a health to the Sun in the sky;

To the corn-to the fruit in the ground;
To the fish-to the brute-to the bird;
To the vine-may it spread and abound!
To good fellows and friends
Whom we love or who love us,
Far off us, or near us,

Below, or above us;

For a friend is a gem, wheresoever he's found! Here's a curse on bad times that are past! Were they better-but now they're no more. So here's to all Good-may it last!

And a health to THE FUTURE-thrice o'er! May the hope that we look upon

Never deceive us !

May the Spirit of good

Never fail us or leave us;

But stand up like a friend that is true to the core Ambition-oh lay it in dust!

Revenge-'tis a snake; let it die!

And for Pride-let it feed on a crust,
Though sweet Pity look out from the sky!
But Wisdom and Hope,

And the honest endeavor-
May they smile on us now,
And stand by us for ever,

Fast friends, wheresoever the tempest shall fly!

TO THE SNOW-DROP PRETTY firstling of the year! Herald of the host of flowers, Hast thou left my cavern drear, In the hope of summer hours? Back unto my earthern bowers! Back to thy warm world below,

Till the strength of suns and showers
Quell the now relentless snow!
Art still here ?-Alive? and blythe?

Though the stormy night hath fled,
And the Frost hath passed his scythe
O'er thy small unsheltered head?
Ah!-some lie amid the dead,
(Many a giant stubborn tree,-

Many a plant, its spirit shed,)

That were better nursed than thee! What hath saved thee? Thou wast not 'Gainst the arrowy winter furred,— Armed in scale-but all forgot

When the frozen winds were stirred Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth,

Till the cuckoo's song was heard, And the Spring let loose her mirth. Nature-deep and mystic word, Mighty mother, still unknown! Thou didst sure the Snow-drop gird With an armor all thine own! Thou, who sent'st it forth alone To the cold and sullen season,

(Like a thought at random thrown,) Sent it thus for some grave reason! If 'twere but to pierce the mind With a single gentle thought, Who shall deem thee harsh or blind? Who that thou hast vainly wrought? Hoard the gentle virtue caught From the Snow-drop-reader wise! Good is good, wherever taught, On the ground or in the skies!

WILT THOU LEAVE ME? WILT thou leave me? I did give

All my fond true heart to thee,
Dreaming thou might'st scorn it not;
And canst thou abandon me ?
I have loved--oh, word of love,
Bear me to thy star of bliss,
Let me know if worlds above
Can requite the pain of this?

I have loved-oh lover, why
Must I all my fondness teil?
Do not do not bid me die

At thy cruel word-" Farewell."

IN COMMEMORATION OF HAYDN. COME forth, victorious Sounds-from harp and horn, From viol, and trump, and echoing instruments!

A hundred years have flown! A hundred years,
Of toil and strife, of joys and tears,

Have risen to life, and died 'mid vain laments,
Since that harmonious morn,

Whereon the Muse's mighty Son was born!

Sound-Immortal Music, sound!
Bid the golden words go 'round!
Every heart and tongue, proclaim
Haydn's power! Haydn's fame!
Sing-how well he earned his glory!
Sing-how he shall live in story!
Sing-how he doth live in light;

Shining like a star above us,
Bending down to cheer and love us
Crowned with his own divine delight!
Sound-Immortal Music, sound!
B'd thy golden words go 'round!

Every grand and gentle tone,
Every truth he made his own;
Gathering from the human mind
All the bloom that poets find-
Gathering, from the winds and ocean,
Dreams, to feed his high emotion.
When the Muse was past control-
Gathering, from all things that roll
Within Time's vast and starry round,
The thoughts that give a Soul to sound!

ON THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.

A YEAR-an age shall fade away,

(Ages of pleasure and of pain)
And yet the face I see to-day
For ever shall remain-

In my heart and in my brain!
Not all the scalding tears of care
Shall wash away that vision fair;

Not all the thousand thoughts that rise,
Not all the sights that dim mine eyes,
Shall e'er usurp the place
Of that little angel face!
But here it shall remain

For ever; and if joy or pain
Turn my troubled winter gaze
Back unto my hawthorn days,
There among the hoarded past,
I shall see it to the last;

The only thing, save poet's rhyme,
That shall not own the touch of Time!

INSCRIPTIONS.

I. FOR A FOUNTAIN.

REST! This little Fountain runs
Thus for aye :-It never stays
For the look of summer suns,

Nor the cold of winter days.
Whosoe'er shall wander near,
When the Syrian heat is worst,
Let him hither come, nor fear

Lest he may not slake his thirst: He will find this little river Running still as bright as ever.

SHE SATE BY THE RIVER SPRINGS.
SHE sate by the river springs,

And bound her coal-black hair;
And she sang, as the cuckoo sings,
Alone-in the Evening air,

With a patient smile, and a look of care,
And a cheek that was dusk, not fair:
She sate, but her thoughts had wings,
That carried her sweet despair
Away to the azure plains,

Where Truth and the angels are:

She sang-but she sang in vain :

Ah! why doth she sing again?

She mourns, like the sweet wind grieving in
The pines on an autumn night;

She will fade, like the fading Evening,
When Hesper is blooming bright:

And her song?-it must take its flight!

So pretty a song

Must die ere long,

Like a too, too sharp delight!

She was-like the rose in summer;

She is like the lily frail;

Yet, they'll welcome the sweet new-comer, Below, in the regions pale!

And the ghost will forget his pain,

As he roams through the dusk alone: And We?-We will mourn in vain, O'er the Shadow of beauty flown!

WILT THOU GO? WILT thou go? Thou'lt come again? Swear it, Love, by love's sweet pain! Swear it, by the stars that glisten In thy brow as thou dost listen! Swear it, by the love-sick air, Wandering, murmuring, here and there, Seeking for some tender nest, Yet, like thee, can never rest. Swear!-and I shall safer be Amid love's sweet mutiny!

GOLDEN-TRESSED ADELAIDE.

A SONG FOR A CHILD.

SING, I pray, a little song,
Mother dear!

Neither sad nor very long:
It is for a little maid,
Golden-tressed Adelaide!

Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear,
Mother dear!

Let it be a merry strain,

Mother dear!

Shunning e'en the thought of pain:

For our gentle child will weep,

If the theme be dark and deep;

And We will not draw a single single tear, Mother dear!

Childhood should be all divine,

Mother dear!

And like an endless summer shine;
Gay as Edward's shouts and cries,
Bright as Agnes' azure eyes:

Therefore, bid thy song be merry :-dost thou hear,
Mother dear?

LOVE FLYING.

LOVE flies, fond wretch, across the desert air;
Pursued by passionate thoughts and phantom fears,
His tender heart, though young, the home of care,
His eyes (now hidden) blind with many tears:
To what less hopeless region can he flee,
Sweet and gentle Iole!

Tell me, and bid me fly; and tell me, too,

Why Love goes weeping when he looks at thee? Why do his eyes, like mine, forsake Heaven's blue? Why can we nothing see,

Save that one spot of earth where Thou mayst be?
Give me one smile, sweet heart!-for my eyes now
Grow dim, like Love's, with tears; and I could fade
Beneath the beauty of thy gentle brow,

Into the everlasting fatal shade,
Where cold Oblivion near pale Death is laid,
Could I but win one tender thought from thee,
Sweet-sweet Iole!

A DREAMER'S SONG.

I DREAM of thee at morn,
When all the earth is gay,
Save I, who live a life forlorn,
And die thro' a long decay.

I dream of thee at noon,

When the summer sun is high, And the river sings a sleepy tune, And the woods give no reply.

I dream of thee at eve,

Beneath the fading sun,

When even the winds begin to grieve; And I dream till day is done.

I dream of thee at night,

When dreams, men say, are free; Alas, thou dear-too dear delight! When dream I not of thee?

WISHES.

WEET be her dreams, the fair, the young Grace, beauty, breathe upon her! Music, haunt thou about her tongue! Life, fill her path with honor!

All golden thoughts, all wealth of days,
Truth, Friendship, Love, sur:ound he:.

So may she smile till life be ciosed,
And Angel hands have crowned her!

A POET'S THOUGHT.
TELL me, what is a poet's thought?
Is it on the sudden born?
Is it from the star-light caught?
Is it by the tempest taught?
Or by whispering morn?

Was it cradled in the brain?

Chained awhile, or nursed in night? Was it wrought with toil and pain? Did it bloom and fade again,

Ere it burst to light?
No more question of its birth:
Rather love its better part!
"Tis a thing of sky and earth,
Gathering all its golden wor.h
From the Poet's heart.

TO A LADY ATTIRING HERSELF. FOR Whom-(too happy for the earth or skies!) Dost thou adorn thee with such restless care? Or veil the star-light beauty of thine eyes?

Or bind in fatal wreaths thy golden hair? He dies who looks on thee as I have died,

(Love's ghost and victim) slain by thy cold pride He dies, oh! he must die-but will he wander (As I have done) for ever round thy door? Or on thy deadly beauty dream and ponder, (As I still dream) for ever and evermore ?

WILT THOU REMEMBER ME? WILT thou remember me when I am gone

Gone to that leaden darkness, where men lie, Shut out from friends, in chambers all of stoneWaiting my summons from the awful sky? Think of me, sometimes, sweet!—all cold, all pale, Beyond the power of pain-a Spirit taken

By Death to regions where no hearts awaken; Where no hopes haunt us-no wild sorrows wailWhere even thy love itself can then no more avail!

I GO, AND SHE DOTH MISS ME NOT!

I GO and she doth miss me not!
So shall I die, and be forgot-
Forgot, as is some sorrow past,
Or cloud by fleeting sickness cast.
Death, and the all-absorbing tomb,
Will hide me in eternal gloom;
And she will live-as gay-alone,
As though I had been never known!

'Tis well, perhaps, that this should be;
"Tis surely well sad thoughts should flee!
Nor would I wish-when I am hid
Underneath the coffin's lid-

That thou shouldst spoil one blooming thought for me,
Fair and for-aye-beloved Iole!

A PETITION TO TIME.

TOUCH us gently, Time!
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently-as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream!

Humble voyagers are We,

Husband, wife, and children three-
(One is lost-an angel, filed
To the azure overhead!)

Touch us gently, Time.

We've not proud nor soaring wings, Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are We, O'er Life's dim unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime;Touch us gently, gentle Time!

NAPOLEON.

HARK' the world is rent asunder:
Nations are aghast; and kings
(Mingling in the common wonder)
Shake, like humbler things.

Only thou art left alone,

Napoleon! Napoleon!

Plague, from out her trance awaking,

Quits her ancient hot domain;

And War, the statesman's fetters breaking, Shouts to thee-in vain!

Both to thee are now unknown,

Napoleon! Napoleon!

He who rode War's fiery billows

Once, and ruled their surges wild,
Now beneath Helena's willows
Sleepeth-like a child!

All thy soaring spirit flown:
Napoleon! Napoleon!

In his grave the warrior sleepeth,
Humbly laid, and half forgot,

And naught, besides the willow, weepeth
O'er that silent spot!

Calm it is, and all thine own;
Napoleon! Napoleon!

But-what columns teach his merit?
What rich ermines wrap him round ?—
None; His proud and plumed Spirit
Crowns alone the ground!

Proud and pale, and all alone,
Lies the dead Napoleon!

A PRAYER IN SICKNESS.

SEND down thy winged angel, God!
Amid this night so wild;

And bid him come where now we watch,
And breathe upon our child!

She lies upon her pillow, pale,

And moans within her sleep,
Or wakeneth with a patient smile,
And striveth not to weep.

How gentle and how good a child
She is, we know too well,
And dearer to her parents' hearts,
Than our weak words can tell.

We love we watch throughout the night,
To aid, when need may be;
We hope and have despaired, at times;
But now we turn to Thee!

Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God!
Amid the darkness wild,

And bid him sooth our souls to-night,
And heal our gentle child!

TO A VOYAGER.

My Love is journeying o'er the sea,
God guard her on the deep!
And force the Ocean harms to flee,
And bid the tempests sleep.
To-night she leaves our English strand,
To sail unto the Indian land!

She goes, all ignorant of my love!
And fit it thus should be!

For why should waves or winds above
Bear hopeless sighs from me?
Tis better I should bear-in vain,
Than she should answer-pain for pain!
Bright Stars, look gently on her sleep!
Sweet guardian Heaven, enfold her round;
And quell all madness in the deep;

And banish from the air its sound!
Oh! guard her from all ill-all strife;
And bless her through the boom of life!

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.
HITHER come, at close of day,
And o'er this dust, sweet Mothers, pray!
A little infant lies within,

Who never knew the name of sin,
Beloved-bright-and all our own;
Like morning fair-and sooner flown!
No leaves or garlands wither here,
Like those in foreign lands;
No marble hides our dear one's bier,
The work of alien hands:

The months it lived, the name it bore,
The silver telleth-nothing more!

No more ;-yet Silence stalketh round
This vault so dim and deep,

And Death keeps watch without a sound.
Where all lie pale and sleep;

But palest here and latest hid,

Is He-beneath this coffin-lid.
How fair he was-how very fair-
What dreams we pondered o'er,
Making his life so long and clear,
His fortune's flowing o'er;
Our hopes-(that he would happy be,
When we ourselves were old,)
The scenes we saw, or hoped to see-
They're soon and sadly told.

All was a dream!—it came and fled,
And left us here, among the dead!
Pray, Mothers, pray, at close of day,
While we, sad parents, weep alway!
Pray, too (and softly be't and long),
That all your babes, now fair and strong,
May blossom like-not like the rose,
For that doth fade when summer goes-
('Twas thus our pretty infant died,
The summer and its mother's pride!)
But, like some stern enduring tree,
That reacheth its green century,
May grow, may flourish-then decay,
After a long, calm, happy day,
Made happier by good deeds to men,
And hopes in heaven to meet again!
Pray! From the happy, prayer is due;
While we-('tis all we now can do!)
Will check our tears, and pray with you.

SONG FROM A PLAY.

WHY art thou, Love! so fair, so young
Why is that sad sweet music hung,
For ever, on thy gentle tongue?

Why art thou fond? Why art thou fair?
Why sitteth, in thy soft eye, Care?
Why smil'st thou in such sweet despair?

Youth, beauty, fade-like summer roses;
Sad music sadder love discloses ;
Dark Care in darker death reposes !

All's vain! the rough world careth not
For thee-for me-for our dark lot.
We love, Sweet, but to be forgot!

We love and meet the world's sharp scorn:
We live to die some common morn-
Unknown, unwept, and still forlorn!
Why, dear one, why-why where we born?

TO A POETESS.

DREAD'ST thou lest thou shouldst die unknown
What matter? All the strength of Fame
And Death have this poor power alone--
To give thee an uncertain fame.

The critic dull and envious bard

Will quarrel o'er thine ashes dear; That past-thy single sad reward Must be some lonely lover's tear!

A NIGHT SONG.

"Tis Night! 'tis Night! the Hour of hours, When Love lies down with folded wings, By Psyche in her starless bowers,

And down his fatal arrows flings-
Those bowers whence not a sound is heard,
Save only from the bridal bird,

Who 'mid that utter darkness sings:
This her burthen soft and clear-
Love is here! Love is here!

'Tis Night! The moon is on the stream.
Bright spells are on the soothed sea
And Hope, the child, is gone to dream,
Of pleasures which may never be!
And now is haggard Care asleep;

Now doth the widow Sorrow smile;
And slaves are hushed in slumber deep,
Forgetting grief and toil awhile!

What sight can fiery morning show
To shame the stars or pale moonlight?
What bounty can the day bestow,

Like that which falls from gentle Night
Sweet Lady, sing I not aright?
Oh! turn and tell me-for the day
Is faint and fading fast away;
And now comes back the Hour of hours,
When Love his lovelier mistress seeks,
And sighs, like winds 'mong evening flowers,
Until the maiden Silence speaks!

Fair girl, methinks-nay, hither turn
Those eyes, which 'mid their blushes burn-
Methinks, at such a time one's heart
Can better bear both sweet and smart-
Love's look-the first-which never dieth,
Or Death-who comes when Beauty flieth,
When strength is slain, when youth is past,
And all, save TRUTH, is lost at last!

TO ADELAIDE.

CHILD of my heart! My sweet beloved Firstborn! Thou dove who tidings bring'st of calmer hours! Thou rainbow who dost shine when all the showers Are past or passing! Rose which hath no tbгn— No spot, no blemish-pure, and unforlorn!

Untouched, untainted! O, my Flower of flowers! More welcome than to bees are summer bowers, To stranded seamen life-assuring morn! Welcome-a thousand welcomes! Care, who clings 'Round all, seems loosening now its serpent fold: New hope springs upward; and the bright world seems Cast back into a youth of endless springs! Sweet mother, is it so ?—or grow I old Bewildered in divine Elysian dreams? November, 1825.

A CONCEIT.

SWEET sights, sweet scents, sweet sounds, All to my sweet Love hie:

Some go their viewless rounds;

Some sail before her eye;

But the sweetest-oh! the sweetest,
Deep in her bosom lie!

The violet comes to woo her,

With an eye like Heaven above;

Night's sweet bird mourns unto her;

Soft winds all round her rove;

And tender-tenderest thoughts pursue he With a voice as sweet as love!

SEASHORE STANZAS.

METHINKS, I fain would lie by the lone Sea,

And hear the waters their white music weave!
Methinks it were a pleasant thing to grieve,
So that our sorrows might companioned be,
By that strange harmony

Of winds and billows, and the living sound
Sent down from Heaven when the Thunder speaks,
Unto the listening shores and torrent creeks,

When the swoll'n sea doth strive to bursts his bound! Methinks, when tempests come and kiss the Ocean, Until the vast and terrible billows wake,

I see the writhing of that curled snake,
Which men of old believed-and my emotion
Warreth within me, till the fable reigns
God of my fancy, and my curdling veins
Do homage to that serpent old,
Which clasped the great world in its fold,
And brooded over earth, and the charmed sea,
Like endless, restless, drear Eternity!

AN EPITAPH.

He died, and left the world behind!
His once wild heart is cold!

His once keen eye is quelled and blind!
What more ?-His tale is told.

He came, and, baring his heaven-bright thought,
He earned the base World's ban:
And having vainly lived and taught,
Gave place to a meaner man!

A QUESTION AND REPLY "WHAT is there on this dark cold bank, That thou so long hast sought? Methinks these briers and rushes dankThis hollow, with the wild grass rank, Show nothing worth a thought!" "I seek what thou canst value not, What thou canst never seeSoft eyes, by all but me forgot, Which here-ay, on this dark cold spot, Bent their last look on me!"

A PARTING SONG.
WILT thou leave thy home so kind,
For the Ocean wild?
Canst thou leave me, old and blind,
Untender child?

Dost thou think the storms above thee
Will respect my son ?

Dost thou dream the world will love thee
As I have done?

Boy, through nights and years I've nursed thee,
How-thy heart should tell,

And (come what will) I have not cursed thee: And so-farewell!

A FAREWELL.

FAREWELL !-Now Time must slowlier move
Than e'er since this dark world began;
And thou wilt give thy heaven of love
Unto another, happier man!

And then-I never more will see

Those eyes-but hide, far off, my pain:
And thou wilt have forgotten me,
Or smile thou see'st me not again.

Live happy, in thy happier lot:
And I will strive (if't so must be)
To think 'tis well to be forgot,
Since it may keep a pang from thee!