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Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously,
Blessings gather round her!
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;
As though they were the pillars of a temple,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled
I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own.
A rude and scaring note, my friend!
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
SANDOVAL, (with a sarcastic smile.)
Ah! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.-
[EARL HENRY retires into the wood.
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice,
O Henry! always strivest thou to be great
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill-besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs,
Woo'd and whispered thee to rise.
Gayly from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high-
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT
MAIDEN, that with sullen brow
Sittest behind those virgins gay,
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Soft the glances of the youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh;
But no true love in his eye.
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 tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,
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.
And sweet it is, in summer bower,
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:
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 innet and thrush, say, "I love and I love!"
TO A YOUNG LADY.
ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.
WHY need I say, Louisa dear!
Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
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,
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
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
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.
With these the magic dews, which evening brings,
Brush'd from th' Idalian star by faery wings:
And hope, the blameless parasite of wo.
Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love.
III. MEDITATIVE POEMS.
IN BLANK VERSE.
Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,
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
* 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 !
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
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,
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy:
As in her natural form, swell'd vast to heaven!
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink:
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
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.