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XIX.

THE SPELL.

THY presence dwells around, above, below, On all things lovely and most beautiful, I hear thy voice in every fountain's flowBehold thy smile on every flower I cull Along the hills, and vales, and gliding streams ;— I see thine eyes' soft hues in the blue heavenThy brow's bright radiance in the iris' beams— Thy mind in the calm pensiveness of even. The tuneful birds, the rills, the rustling treesThe beings of the air-the stars-the moon— All sounds, and tones, and stirring melodies— And aught with which my spirit doth commune In heaven, or earth, or space, or thought, to me Hold eloquent discourse, adorèd one, of thee.

XX.

I THINK OF THEE.

I THINK of thee till all is dim confusion,
And Reason reels upon her fragile throne-
The past and present blend in strange illusion-
Thoughts, feelings, all commingle into one,
As streams and rills into the ocean run,

And my pale cheeks are drenched with a suffusion
Of drops upheaved from lava-founts of woe;
And while these burning tides my lids o'erflow,
Impassioned Fancy to thy presence hies,

And suns her in the radiance of thine eyes

At the pure well-spring of thy bosom sips,

And feeds upon the nectar of thy lips,

Then back, with gathered sweets, returns to me, As homeward comes at eve the honey-freighted bee.

XXI.

BURIED YEARS.

YEARS have been tombed, Adhémar, since we met,
Sorrow and change have brooded o'er my way—
Thine image floated o'er me night and day,
Like some lone-wandering star that could not set.
I've sought in other climes for other friends
To quench the fire that on love's altar burns
For ever but to thee my spirit tends
Constant as magnet to Alru'ba turns.

Beneath the stars I've wrapped me up in dreams,
And talked with phantoms till the morning light;
I have run races with the laughing streams,

And sung with birds from early dawn till night,

To wean my heart and win my thoughts from thee—

But thou wert still my star, my sun, my Deity.

XXII.

THE FAILURE.

LONG have I left the world, each dazzling scene
Of joy, and mirth, and hall of gayety,
To seek in solitude tranquillity,

If soul so tost can ever be serene ;

From vulgar eyes my bosom's woe to screen, And strive, beloved one, if such thing can be, To rend the chain that binds my life to theeAll tears and pinings banish-and again To mingle in the world as proud and gay. But here, week after week, and year I stay Feeding my heart upon its hoarded sighsThe memory of thy form and radiant eyes, Which woke the plaintive spirit of my lyre, And kindled in my breast a never-dying fire.

XXIII.

THE RESIGNATION.

A THOUSAND times I've vowed to say farewell-
A thousand times that word's died on my lip-
A thousand times resolved no more to sip
The cup, in which delicious poisons dwell.

A thousand times I've striven the storm to quell
That in this desolated breast doth rave,

And sworn to cool my heart in Lethe's wave-
Against all bonds of Cupid to rebel;

But such resolves like morning mist depart,
And, like Prometheus on his rocky peak,
Writhing beneath the eagle's slakeless beak,
I feel the vulture gnawing at my heart;
And to its fangs my bosom have resigned,
Till death in mercy shall my chain unbind.

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