The smiles, the tears, the rites, beheld by thine attesting stone,

Have yet a living power to mark thy children for thine own.

The father's voice, the mother's prayer, though call'd from earth away,

With music rising from the dead, their spirits yet shall sway;

And by the past, and by the grave, the parted yet

are one,

Though the loved hearth be desolate, the bright fire quench'd and gone!

THE DREAMER.

"There is no such thing as forgetting, possible to the mind; a thousand accidents may, and will, interpose a veil between our present consciousness and the secret inscription on the mind; but alike, whether veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains for ever."

ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER.

"Thou hast been call'd, O sleep! the friend of woe,
But 'tis the happy who have call'd thee so."

SOUTHEY.

PEACE to thy dreams! thou art slumbering now—
The moonlight's calm is upon thy brow;
All the deep love that o'erflows thy breast
Lies midst the hush of thy heart at rest—

Like the scent of a flower in its folded bell,

When eve through the woodlands hath sigh'd fare

well.

Peace! The sad memories that through the day
With a weight on thy lonely bosom lay,

The sudden thoughts of the changed and dead,
That bow'd thee as winds bow the willow's head,
The yearnings for faces and voices gone-
All are forgotten! Sleep on, sleep on!

Are they forgotten? It is not so!

Slumber divides not the heart from its woe.
E'en now o'er thine aspect swift changes pass,
Like lights and shades over wavy grass:
Tremblest thou, Dreamer? O love and grief!
Ye have storms that shake e'en the closed-up leaf!

On thy parted lips there's a quivering thrill,
As on a lyre ere its chords are still ;

On the long silk lashes that fringe thine eye,
There's a large tear gathering heavily-
A rain from the clouds of thy spirit press'd:
Sorrowful Dreamer! this is not rest!

It is Thought at work amidst buried hours-
It is Love keeping vigil o'er perish'd flowers.
-Oh, we bear within us mysterious things!
Of Memory and Anguish, unfathom'd springs;
And Passion-those gulfs of the heart to fill
With bitter waves, which it ne'er still.

may

Well might we pause ere we gave them sway,
Flinging the peace of our couch away!

Well might we look on our souls in fear

They find no fount of oblivion here!

They forget not, the mantle of sleep beneath—
How know we if under the wings of death?

66

THE WINGS OF THE DOVE.

'Oh, that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away
and be at rest."-PSALM lv.

OH, for thy wings, thou dove!

Now sailing by with sunshine on thy breast;
That, borne like thee above,

I too might flee away, and be at rest!

Where wilt thou fold those plumes,

Bird of the forest-shadows, holiest bird?
In what rich leafy glooms,

By the sweet voice of hidden waters stirr'd?

Over what blessed home,

What roof with dark, deep summer foliage crown'd, O fair as ocean's foam!

Shall thy bright bosom shed a gleam around?

Or seek'st thou some old shrine

Of nymph or saint, no more by votary woo'd,
Though still, as if divine,
Breathing a spirit o'er the solitude?

Yet wherefore ask thy way?

Blest, ever blest, whate'er its aim, thou art!
Unto the greenwood spray,

Bearing no dark remembrance at thy heart!

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, unknown

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

more.

PSYCHE BORNE BY ZEPHYRS TO THE ISLAND OF PLEASURE.*

"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 mortelles." SCHLEGEL, translated by MADAME DE STAEL.

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.