And sorrow, like the simoom, past O'er Cleopatra's brain. Too like her fervid clime, that bred Its selt censuming fires, Her breast, like Indian widows, fed Its own funereal pyres. -Not such the song her minstrels sing Live, beauteous, and for ever!" As the vessel darts, with its purple wing, Away-down the golden river! THE GROTTO OF EGERIA A GUSH of waters!-faint, and sweet, and wild, Yet speaking like a trumpet to the heart, And he whose worship was, and is-a dream? Silent, yet full of voices!-desolate, Yet fill'd with memories, like a broken heart! Oh for a vision like to his who sate With thee, and with the moon and stars, apart, By the cool fountain, many a livelong even, That speaks, unheeded, to the desert, now, When vanish'd clouds had left the air all heaven, And all was silent, save the stream and thou, Egeria!-solemn thought upon his brows, For all his diadem; thy spirit-eyes His only homage; and the flitting boughs And birds, alone, between him and the skies! Thy look, that utter'd wisdom while it warm'd, To feeling gave a voice-to truth a tongue! Oh! what if gods have left the Grecian mount, And shrines are voiceless on the classic shore, And long Fgeria by the gushing fount Waits for her monarch-lover never more, Who hath not his Egeria?-some sweet though, In the heart's trance-the calenture of mind The long-deserted chambers of the brain, To clasp them, and they vanish, once again; At even, -when the fight of youth is done, And sorrow-like the "searchers of the slain,”-Turns up the cold, dead faces, one by one, Of prostrate joys and wishes,-but in vain! And finds that all is lost,-and walks around, Mid hopes that, each, has perish'd of its wound: Then, pale Egeria! to thy moon-lit cave The madden'd and the mourner may retire, To cool the spirit's fever in thy wave, And gather inspiration from thy lyre; In solemn musings, when the world is still, To woo a love less fleeting to the breast, Or lie and dream, beside the prophet-rill That resteth never, while it whispers rest; Like Numa, cast earth's cares and crowns aside, And commune with a spiritual bride! THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER OLYMPIUS, AT ATHENS. Thou art not silent!-oracles are thine Which the wind utters, and the spirit hears. Lingering, mid ruin'd fane and broken shrine, O'er many a tale and trace of other years! Bright as an ark, o'er all the flood of tears That wraps thy cradle-land-thine earthly love, Where hours of hope, mid centuries of fears, Have gleam'd, like lightnings through the gloom above, [Jove! Stands, roofless to the sky, thy home, Olyinpian Thy column'd aisles with whispers of the past Thou art not silent! when the southern fair- Smiling, as pity smiles above despair, Soft as young beauty soothing age to rest,— Sings the night-spirit in thy weedy crest, And she, the minstrel of the moonlight hours Breathes-like some lone one, sighing to be blestHer lay, half hope, half sorrow, from the flowers, And hoots the prophet owl, amid his tangled bowers! And, round thine altar's mouldering stones are born Mysterious harpings,-wild as ever crept From him who waked Aurora, every morn, And sad as those he sung her, till she slept! A thousand and a thousand years have swept O'er thee, who wert a moral from thy spring, A wreck in youth! nor vainly hast thou kept Thy lyre: Olympia's soul is on the wing, And a new Iphitus has waked, beneath its string! SLUMBER LIE SOFT ON THY BEAUTI. FUL EYE! SLUMBER lie soft on thy beautiful eye! Spirits, whose smiles are-like thine of the sky, Play thee to sleep, with their visionless strings, Brighter than thou, but because they have wings! Fair as a being of heavenly birth, But loving and loved like a child of the earth! Why is that tear?-art thou gone, in thy dream, To the valley far-off, and the moon-lighted stream, Where the sighing of flowers and the nightingale's song Fling sweets on the wave, as it wanders along!- own, And muse on the wishes that grew in that vale, heart! Still art thou all which thou wert, when a child Only more holy-and only less wild! TO MYRA. I LEAVE thee now, my spirit's love! Thou scarce hast learnt to dream of night. With much that made thy childhood gay! Than in thy glow of gladness, now! Then come to me,-thy wounded heart All-all thine own, mid good and ill! Thou leavest me for the world! then go! And, should that world look dark and cold, Then turn to him whose ent truth Will still love on, when worn and old, The form it loved so well in youth! Like that young bird that left its nest, Lured, by the warm and sunny sky, From flower to flower, but found no rest, And sought its native vale to die; Go! leave my soul to pine alone; But, should the hopes that woo thee, wither, Return, my own beloved one! And let-oh, let us die together! STANZAS TO A LADY. THE rose that deck'd thy cheek is dead, Thy brow has lost its gladness; Before the touch of sadness!- And grief has given to thine eye Receives, when daylight's splendour A bloom more pure and tender; When angels walk the quiet even, On messages of love from heaven! Thy low sweet voice, in every word, Breathes-like soft music far-off heardThe soul of melancholy ! And oh! to listen to thy sigh! The evening gale that wanders by The rose is not so holy! But none may know the thoughts that rest In the deep silence of thy breast! For oh! thou art, to mortal eyes, HOPE. AGAIN-again she comes!-methinks I hear Was scarce more tuneful than the glad reply: That hung enamour'd round her fairy feet, When, in her youth, she haunted earthly bowers, And cull'd from all the beautiful and sweet.. No more she mocks me with her voice of mirth, Nor offers now the garlands of the earth. Come back, come back-thou hast been absent long, And sings a sadder song, and every year But come-thy coming is a gladness yet— The places where its buried treasures rest That grief had check'd, and ruin had conceal'd, She comes-she comes-her voice is in mine ear, Exulting throbs, though all save hope departs. Thus the glad freshness of our sinless years in water'd ever by the heart's rich tears. She comes-I know her by her radiant eyes, Before whose smile the long dim cloud departs; And if a darker shade be on her brow, And if her tones be sadder than of yore, And if she sings more solemn music now, And bears another harp than erst she bore, And if around her form no longer glow The earthly flowers that in her youth she wore-That look is loftier, and that song more sweet, And hea en's flowers-the stars-are at her feet HOMES AND GRAVES. How beautiful a world were ours, But for the pale and shadowy One That treadeth on its pleasant flowers, And stalketh in its sun! Glad childhood needs the lore of time To show the phantom overhead; But where the breast, before its prime, That carrieth not its deadThe moon that looketh on whose home In all its circuit sees no tomb? It was an ancient tyrant's thought, That lesson dark and dread; The dreary moral of his artSome form that lieth, pale and chill, Upon each living heart, Tied to the memory, till a wave To boyhood hope-to manhood fears! If childhood seeth all things loved Where home's unshadowy shadows wave, A few short years-and then, the boy A shade within its sadden'd walls And years glide on, till manhood's come; And where the young, glad faces were, Perchance the once bright, happy home Hath many a vacant chair: A darkness, from the churchyard shed, And much of all home's light Lath fled Ere sorrow's wings be furl'd; Itself appears a tomb; And his tired spirit asks the grave Go bravely trusting-trusting on; Until the old man come A home where but the life-trees wave; A VISION OF THE STARS. For ever gone! the world is growing old! Gone the bright visions of its untaught youth! The age of fancy was the age of gold, And sorrow holds the lamp that lights to truth! And wisdom writes her records on a page Whence many a pleasant tale is swept awayThe wild, sweet fables of the dreaming age, The gorgeous stories of the classic day. The world is roused from glad and glowing dreams, Though roused by light awaking still is pain, And oh could men renew their broken themes, Then, would the world at times might sleep again. Oh for the plains-the bright and haunted plainsWhere genius wander'd, when the earth was new, Led by the sound of more than mortal strains, And gathering flowers of many a vanish'd hue! The deathless forms that on the lonely hill Came sweetly gliding to the lonely breast, Or spoke, in spirit whispers, from the rill That lull'd the watcher to his mystic rest! The shapes that met his steps by green and glade, Or glanced through mid-air, or. their gleaming wings; [play'd; That hover'd where the young, wild fountains And hung in rainbows o'er the dancing springs. Or drew aside the curtains of the sky, And show'd their starry mansions to his eye! Oh! the right tracks by truth from error won! The price we pay for knowledge, and in vain! For half the beauty of the world is gone, Since science built o'er fancy's wild domain! A dream of beauty! such as came, of old, To him who came and watch'd the hosts of light, As one by one their fiery chariots roll'd, In golden pomp along the vaults of night, Till another, and another deep Sent forth a spirit to the shining train, Their myriad motion rock'd his heart to sleep, But left bright pictures in the haunted brain, Where forms grew up, and took the starry eyes That gleamed upon him from the crowded skies! A dream like his to whom the boon was given To read the story of the stars, at will, And, by the lights they held for him in heaven, Talk with their lady on the Latmos hill! A vision of the stars! the moon, to-nightHer arder'd coursers by the nymph-train driven, Rides in the chariot of her own sweet light, To hunt the shadows through the fields of heaven And oh the hunting-grounds of yonder sky, Whose streams are rainbows, and whose flowers are stars! The shapes of light that, as they wander by, Their fiery gambols in their lady's sight; Looks out to see the huntress and her train; Or darkly hang about its shining rim; Leap from their presence, to their caverns din! On-onward, at her own wild fancy led, Along the cloud-land paths she holds her flight Where rears the battle-star his crested head, And bears his burning falchion through the night! Where, hand in hand, the brothers of the sky Sit, like twin angels, or pure heavenward sleep, While far below, with urns that never dry, The mourning Hyads hang their heads and weep! Where brightly dwell in all their early smiles Ere one was lost-the sweet and sister seven, Like blessed spirits, pausing from their toils, Or some fair family at rest, in heaven. Where, swifter than her steeds, that never tire Some comet-shape-those couriers of the skyIn breathless haste, upon his barb of fire, On some immortal message, rushes by! O'er the dim heights where, encircled by his train And wearing on his brow his sparkling crown, The planet-monarch holds his ancient reign; And, from his palace of the clouds, looks down With stately presence and a smiling eye On his bright people of the boundless sky! Mid northern lights, like fiery flags anfurl'd, And soft, sweet gales that never reach the world Mid flaming signs, that perish in their birth, And ancient orb, that have no name on earth; Hail'd by the songs of everlasting choirs, And welcomed from a thousand burning lyres ! Oh! for the ancient dreamer's prophet eye, To see the hunting grounds of yonder sky; MORN on the waters!-and, purple and bright, Bursts on the billows the flushing of light! O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on; Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, [gale! And her pennant streams onward, like hope, in the The winds come around her, in murmur and song, And the surges rejoice, as they bear her along! Upward she points to the golden-edged clouds, And the sailor sings gayly, aloft in the shrouds! Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, Over the waters-away, and away! Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, Passing away, like a dream of the heart!Who-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, Music around her, and sunshine on high,Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, Oh! there be hearts that are breaking, below! Night on the waves!-and the moon is on high, Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky; Treading its depths, in the power of her might, And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light! Look to the waters !-asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate plain! Who--as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Alone on the deep,-as the moon in the sky,A phantom of beauty!—could deem, with a sigh, That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, And souls that are smitten lie bursting, within! Who-as he watches her silently gliding,Remembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, Hearts that are parted and broken for ever! Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave, T'he death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave! "Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song! Gayly we glide, in the glaze of the world, With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurl'd; All gladness and glory to wandering eyes, Yet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with sighs!— Fading and false is the aspect it wears, As the smiles we put on-just to cover our tears; And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; While the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and o'er! I AM ALL ALONE. I AM all alone! and the visions that play And the light of my heart is dimm'd and gone, [brain: And faces are bright and bosoms glad, TO MARY. THE eye must be dark that so long has been dim, Ere again it may gaze upon thine; But my heart I as revealings of thee and thy home, I need but look up with a vow to the sky, And though, like a mourner that sits by a tomb, A hope-like the rainbow-a being of light, I know thou art gone to the home of thy rest; I know thou art gone where the weary are blest, And hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the sɛth Lies asleep on the boson of bliss, |