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MUTABILITY.

The flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay,

Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.

Virtue, how frail it is !

Friendship too rare ! Love, how it sells

poor

bliss For proud despair ! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy and all Which ours we call.

Whilst skies are blue and bright,

Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night

Make glad the day, Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou—and from thy sleep Then wake to weep.

TO

Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;

Yes, I was firm-thus wert not thou. My baffled looks did fear * yet dread

To meet thy looks—I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.

To sit and curb the soul's mute rage

Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage

Of fettered grief that dares not groan, Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony;

Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,
The C

] thou alone should be, – To spend years thus, and be rewarded,

As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near—0! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake.

Upon my heart thy accents sweet

Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead ;--thy lips did meet

Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.

* Read yearn?

We
e are not happy, sweet! our state

Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate ;

Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me.

Gentle and good and mild thou art,

Nor can I live if thee appear Auglit but thyself, or turn thine heart

Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be To hide the love thou feelst for me.

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Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the future's towers !

Withered hopes on hopes are spread ;
Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey

Many a day.

SONG.

RARELY, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day "Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free

Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed ;

Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let ine set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure :
Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure ;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,

Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,

And the starry night ;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms

Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,

Every thing almost
Which is Nature's, and

may

be Untainted by man's misery;

I love tranquil solitude,

And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good :

Between thee and me
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love-though he has wings,

And like light can flee,

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