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,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The fox-glove tal
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath th' up-springing lark,
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.
Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk
By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not!*
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk
Has work'd (the flowers which most she knew 1
loved,)

And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim, fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely-moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name Between the moss-rose and forget-me-notHer own dear name, with her own auburn hair! That forced to wander till sweet spring return, I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood Has made me wish to steal away and weep,) Nor yet th' entrancement of that maiden kiss With which she promised, that when spring return'd,

She would resign one-half of that dear name, And own thenceforth no other name but mine!

TO A LADY.

WITH FALCONER'S "SHIPWRECK." АH! 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.

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!"

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?

TO A YOUNG LADY.

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.

WHY need I say, Louisa dear!
How glad I am to see you here
A lovely convalescent;

Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.

The sunny showers, the dappled sky, The little birds that warble high,

Their vernal loves commencing, Will better welcome you than I

With their sweet influencing.

Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray:
You made us grow devouter!
Each eye look'd up, and seem'd to say
How can we do without her?

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!

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;
He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest
Against his will the stifling load revealing,
Though nature forced; though like some captive
guest,

Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half-concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confess'd,
Sickness within and miserable feeling:
Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repell'd in vain,
Each night was scatter'd by its own loud screams,
Yet never could his heart command, though fain,
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

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, Health comes with you from above! God is with me, God is in me!

I cannot die, if life be love.

THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS.
CUPID, if storying legends* tell aright,
Once framed a rich elixir of delight.
A chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd:

With these the magic dews, which evening brings,

Brush'd from th' Idalian star by faery wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred faith he join❜d,
Each gentler pleasure of th' unspotted mind-
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness
glow,

And hope, the blameless parasite of wo.
The eyeless chemist heard the process rise,
The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs;
Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' enamour'd

dove

Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love.
The finish'd work might envy vainly blame,
And "Kisses" was the precious compound's name.
With half the god his Cyprian mother blest,
And breathed on SARA's lovelier lips the rest.

III. MEDITATIVE POEMS.

IN BLANK VERSE.

Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,
Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man.
Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead:
Naught sinks into the bosom's silent depth.
Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure
Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul
Warmeth the inner frame.

Schiller.

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY.

Fesides 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
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause

* Effinixt quondam blandum meditata laborem Basia lascivâ Cypria Diva manâ. Ambrosiæ succos occultâ temperat arte,

Fragransque infuso nectare tingit opus. Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim Non impune favis surripuisset Amor.

On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc !
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

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:
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing-there

As in her natural form, swell'd vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink:
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shatter'd and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ?
And who commanded, (and the silence came,)
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living

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

Et spolia æstivis plurima rapta rosis. Addit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores, Et quot Acidalius gaudia Cestus habet. Ex his composuit Dea basia; et omnia libans Invenias nitidæ sparsa per ora Cloës. Carm. Quod. Vol. II.