"A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL."

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees,

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

"I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN."

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine is too the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

L

TO THE CUCKOO.

O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass

Thy twofold shout I hear;

From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off and near.

Though babbling only, to the Vale,

Of sunshine and of flowers,

Thou bringest unto me a tale

Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No Bird but an invisible Thing,

:

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my School-boy days

I listened to; that Cry

Which made me look a thousand ways

In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget

That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faery place;

That is fit home for Thee !

THE CUCKOO AGAIN.

YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,

Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound!

Unsolicited reply

To a babbling wanderer sent;
Like her ordinary cry,

Like-but oh, how different!

Hears not also mortal life?
Hear not we, unthinking creatures!
Slaves of folly, love, or strife-

Voices of two different natures?

Have not we too ?-yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence; Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognised intelligence !

Often as thy inward ear

Catches such rebounds, beware!— Listen, ponder, hold them dear;

For of God,-of God they are.

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL Minstrel ! Pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring Warbler ! that love-prompted strain,
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain :
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood;

A privacy of glorious light is thine;

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home !

"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT."

SHE was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine ;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

TO A HIGHLAND GIRL.

(AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.)
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower !
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head:

And these grey Rocks; this household Lawn; These Trees, a veil just half withdrawn ;

This fall of water, that doth make

A murmur near the silent Lake;

This little Bay, a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy abode ;