THE CONFESSIONAL. When thou hast met with careless hearts and cold, Remember me-remember me I passionately pray of thee! LADY E. S. WORTLEY. I THOUGHT of thee - I thought of thee, We stole along by isles of balm, We flew beneath the straining sail- I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Is pregnant with impassion'd thought, With one warm meaning fraught - Of Italy are breathed away In wonders of the deathless arts; On many an eve, and thought of thee. I thought of thec-I thought of thee, when on the Palatine In Rome, Night left the Cæsars' palace free To Time's forgetful foot and mine; Or, on the Coliseum's wall, When moonlight touch'd the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all That o'er this scene has come and gone The shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Where nobles born the friars be By life's rude changes humbler made. I thought the cowl would fit me well- but I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, In Venice, on a night in June; When, through the city of the sca, Like dust of silver slept the moon. Slow turn'd his oar the gondolier, And, as the black barks glided by, The water to my leaning ear Bore back the lover's passing sighIt was no place alone to be I thought of thee-I thought of thee. I thought of thee I thought of thee, Old Homer's songs around me playing; Who sung the song that Sappho knew— I thought of thee-I thought of thee, And heroes with it, one by one; I lay at noontide in the shadeThe Egean wind, the whispering tree, Had voices- and I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Each wave some sweet old story tells; Which sleeps by Ilium's ruins old, (The fount where peerless Helen drank, And Venus laved her locks of gold,) (b) I thrill'd such classic haunts to see, I thought of thee I thought of thee, Where glide the Bosphor's lovely waters, All palace-lined from sea to sea; And ever on its shores the daughters Of the delicious East are seen, Printing the brink with slipper'd feet; And oh, the snowy folds between, What eyes of heaven your glances meet! Peris of light no fairer be Yes in Stamboul -- I've thought of thee I thought of thee. I've thought of thee, Through change that teaches to forget; Thy face looks up from every sca, In every star thine eyes are set, Though roving beneath Orient skies, Whose golden beauty breathes of rest; I envy every bird that flies Into the far and clouded West: I think of thee--I think of thee! Oh, dearest! hast thou thought of me? THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING A GRAVE FOR A NEW-BORN CHILD. ROOM, gentle flowers! my child would pass to heaven! Ye look'd not for her yet with your soft eyes, O watchful ushers at Death's narrow door! But lo! while you delay to let her forth, One look upon thy face ere thou depart! My daughter! It is soon to let thee go! My daughter! With thy birth has gush'd a spring And turning with strange tenderness to thee A love-oh, God! it seems so - which must flow 1 |