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No echoes that will blend
A sadness with the whispers of the grove;

No memory of a friend
Far off, or dead, or changed to thee, thou dove!

Oh! to some cool recess
Take, take me with thee on the summer wind,

Leaving the weariness
And all the fever of this life behind :

The aching and the void
Within the heart, whereunto none reply,

The young bright hopes destroy'd—
Bird! bear me with thee through the sunny sky!

Wild wish, and longing vain,
And brief upspringing to be glad and free!

Go to thy woodland reign :
My soul is bound and held—I may not flee.

For even by all the fears And thoughts that haunt my dreams—untold, un


And burning woman's tears,
Pour'd from mine eyes in silence and alone;

Had I thy wings, thou dove!
High midst the gorgeous isles of cloud to soar,

Soon the strong cords of love
Would draw me earthwards-homewards-yet once




“Souvent l'ame, fortifiée par la contemplation des choses divines, voudroit déployer ses ailes vers le ciel. Elle croit qu'au terme de sa carrière un rideau va se lever pour lui découvrir des scènes de lumière : mais quand la mort touche son corps périssable, elle jette un regard en arrière vers les plaisirs terrestres et vers ses compagnes morteiles.”


FEARFULLY and mournfully

Thou bidd'st the earth farewell;
And yet thou’rt passing, loveliest one!

In a brighter land to dwell.

Ascend, ascend rejoicing!

The sunshine of that shore
Around thee, as a glorious robe,

Shall stream for evermore.

The breezy music wandering

There through th' Elysian sky,
Hath no deep tone that seems to float

From a happier time gone by.

And there the day's last crimson

Gives no sad memories birth,
No thought of dead or distant friends,

Or partings—as on earth.

* Written for a picture in which Psyche, on her flight upwards, is represented looking back sadly and anxiously to the earth.

Yet fearfully and mournfully

Thou bidd’st that earth farewell, Although thou’rt passing, loveliest one!

In a brighter land to dwell.

A land where all is deathless

The sunny wave's repose,
The wood with its rich melodies,

The summer and its rose :

A land that sees no parting,

That hears no sound of sighs, That waits thee with immortal air

Lift, lift those anxious eyes!

Oh! how like thee, thou trembler!

Man's spirit fondly clings
With timid love, to this, its world

Of old familiar things!

We pant, we thirst for fountains

That gush not here below!
On, on we toil, allured by dreams

Of the living water's flow:

We pine for kindred natures

To mingle with our own;
For communings more full and high

Than aught by mortal known:

We strive with brief aspirings

Against our bonds in vain;

Yet summon'd to be free at last,

We shrink-and clasp our chain;

And fearfully and mournfully

We bid the earth farewell,
Though passing from its mists, like thee,

In a brighter world to dwell.


Many things answered me.”-Manfred.

I GO, I go!--and must mine image fade
From the green spots wherein my childhood play'd,

By my own streams ?
Must my life part from each familiar place,
As a bird's song, that leaves the woods no trace

Of its lone themes ?

Will the friend pass my dwelling, and forget
The welcomes there, the hours when we have met

In grief or glee?
All the sweet counsel, the communion high,
The kindly words of trust, in days gone by,

Pour'd full and free ?

A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,
To shrine my name in hearts where I would live

For evermore!
Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,

Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,

A thought restore!

In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well,
In the dim brooding violet of the dell,

Set deep that thought;
And let the sunset's melancholy glow,
And let the spring's first whisper, faint and low,

With me be fraught !

And Memory answer'd me:-“Wild wish, and vain ! I have no hues the loveliest to detain

In the heart's core. The place they held in bosom’s all their own, Soon with new shadows fill’d, new flowers o'ergrown,

Is theirs no more.”

Hast thou such power, 0 Love? And Love re

plied : -“ It is not mine! Pour out thy soul's full tide

Of hope and trust, Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain 'Tis but to write, with the heart's fiery rain,

Wild words on dust!”

Song, is the gift with thee? I ask a lay,
Soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away

From the still breast;
Fill’d with a tone-oh! not for deathless fame,
But a sweet haunting murmur of my name,

Where it would rest.

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