Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick, Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last, And they who watch'd her nearest, could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the blackOh! to possess such lustre, and then lack! Thus lived-thus died she never more on her Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth: her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful-such as had not stay'd Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell. That isle is now all desolate and bare, Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away; None but her own and father's grave is there, And nothing outward tells of human clay. Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair, No one is there to show, no tongue to say, What was no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. Id. EUPHEMISM. TRUTH is always strange, Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold! How oft would vice and virtue places change! The new world would be nothing to the old, If some Columbus of the moral seas Would show mankind their souls' antipodes. What antres vast and deserts idle' then Would be discover'd in the human soul! What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men, With self-love in the centre as their pole! What Anthropophagi are nine of ten Of those who hold the kingdoms in control! Were things but only call'd by their right name, Cæsar himself would be ashamed of fame. THE SECRET PASSION. WHEN We two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. Id. The dew of the morning They name thee before me, Who knew thee too well:- In secret we met :-- If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee?- DAUGHTERS OF JUDAH. THE wild gazelle on Judah's hills That gush on holy ground: Its airy-step and glorious eye May glance in tameless transport by : A step as fleet, an eye more bright, The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone! More blest each palm that shades those plains For, taking root, it there remains In solitary grace: It cannot quit its place of birth, It will not live in other earth. But we must wander witheringly, And where our fathers' ashes be, Our temple hath not left a stone, Hebrew Melodies. 'MALE TENEBRÆ ORCI!' OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Ꭰ Ꭰ Away! ye know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forgetThy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 'ANIMULA, VAGULA, BLANDULA.' WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, But leaves its darken'd dust behind. By steps each planet's heavenly way? Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, A Thought unseen, but seeing all, Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the farthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. Id. |