“What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of? If morning dreams are true, why I should guess That she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way We should have led her by this time of day." "Never mind," said Lionel, "Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar tops; and see! The white clouds are driving merrily, And the stars we miss this morn will light List, my dear fellow, the breeze blows fair; The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, And hangs upon the wave, Which fervid from its mountain source It sweeps into the affrighted sea; In morning's smile its eddies coil, Into columns fierce and bright. The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove A LAMENT. SWIFTER far than summer's flight, Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone. There is evidently something wrong in this passage. As the earth when leaves are dead, I am left lone, alone. The swallow Summer comes again, To fly with thee, false as thou. My heart each day desires the morrow, Vainly would my winter borrow Sunny leaves from any bough. Lilies for a bridal bed, Roses for a matron's head, Violets for a maiden dead, Pansies let my flowers be: On the living grave I bear, Scatter them without a tear; Let no friend, however dear, Waste one hope, one fear for me. ΤΟ I. THE serpent is shut out from paradise; The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower, Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs Fled in the April hour: I too, must seldom seek again Near happy friends a mitigated pain. II. Of hatred I am proud,-with scorn content: But, not to speak of love, pity alone Turns the mind's poison into food,— III. Therefore if now I see you seldomer, Dear friends, dear friend! know that I only fly Your looks because they stir Griefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die : The very comfort that they minister I scarce can bear; yet I, So deeply is the arrow gone, Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn. IV. When I return to my cold home, you ask Why I am not as I have ever been? VOL. IV. You spoil me for the task 9 Of acting a forced part on life's dull scene,- In the world's carnival. I sought Peace thus, and but in you I found it not. v. Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot And if this meant a vision long since fled- To speak what you may know too well; VI. The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home; No bird so wild, but has its quiet nest, When it no more would roam; The sleepless billows on the ocean's breast Doubtless there is a place of peace Where my weak heart and all its throbs will cease VII. I asked her, yesterday, if she believed * See Faust. |