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
The place they held in bosoms all their own,
Soon with new shadows fill'd, new flowers o'ergrown, Is theirs no more."
Hast thou such power, O Love?-And Love replied,
"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.
And Song made answer-"It is not in me,
Though call'd immortal; though my gifts may be
A place of lonely brightness I can give ;—
A changeless one, where thou with Love wouldst liveThis is not mine!"
Death, Death! wilt thou the restless wish fulfil?
And Death, the Strong One, spoke :-"I can but still
Each vain regret.
What if forgotten?-All thy soul would crave,
Thou too, within the mantle of the grave,
Wilt soon forget.'
Then did my heart in lone faint sadness die,
As from all nature's voices one reply,
"Earth has no heart, fond dreamer! with a tone To send thee back the spirit of thine own
And seek the things beyond mortality."-Manfred.
THY voice prevails; dear Friend, my gentle Friend!
This long-shut heart for thee shall be unseal'd,
And though thy soft eye mournfully will bend
Over the troubled stream, yet once reveal'd
Shall its freed waters flow; then rocks must close
For evermore, above their dark repose.
Come while the gorgeous mysteries of the sky
Fused in the crimson sea of sunset lie;
Come to the woods, where all strange wandering sound
Is mingled into harmony profound;
Where the leaves thrill with spirit, while the wind
Fills with a viewless being, unconfined,
The trembling reeds and fountains ;-Our own dell,
With its green dimness and Æolian breath,
Shall suit th' unveiling of dark records well-
Hear me in tenderness and silent faith!
Thou knew'st me not in life's fresh vernal noon-
I would thou hadst !-for then my heart on thine
Had pour'd a worthier love; now, all o'erworn
By its deep thirst for something too divine,
It hath but fitful music to bestow,
Echoes of harp-strings, broken long ago.
Yet even in youth companionless I stood,
As a lone forest-bird midst ocean's foam;
For me the silver cords of brotherhood
Were early loosed;-the voices from my home
Pass'd one by one, and Melody and Mirth
Left me a dreamer by a silent hearth.
But, with the fulness of a heart that burn'd
For the deep sympathies of mind, I turn'd
From that unanswering spot, and fondly sought
In all wild scenes with thrilling murmurs fraught,
In every still small voice and sound of power,
And flute-note of the wind through cave and bower,
A perilous delight! for then first woke
My life's lone passion, the mysterious quest
Of secret knowledge; and each tone that broke
From the wood-arches or the fountain's breast,
Making my quick soul vibrate as a lyre,
But minister'd to that strange inborn fire.
Midst the bright silence of the mountain-dells,
In noontide-hours or golden summer-eves,
My thoughts have burst forth as a gale that swells
Into a rushing blast, and from the leaves
Shakes out response ;-O thou rich world unseen!
Thou curtain'd realm of spirits!—thus my cry
Hath troubled air and silence-dost thou lie
Spread all around, yet by some filmy screen
Shut from us ever?-The resounding woods,
Do their depths teem with marvels?—and the floods,
And the pure fountains, leading secret veins
Of quenchless melody through rock and hill,
Have they bright dwellers ?—are their lone domains
Peopled with beauty, which may never still
Our weary thirst of soul?—Cold, weak and cold,
Is Earth's vain language, piercing not one fold
Of our deep being !-Oh, for gifts more high!
For a seer's glance to rend mortality!
For a charm'd rod, to call from each dark shrine,
The oracles divine!
I woke from those high fantasies, to know
My kindred with the Earth-I woke to love:-
Oh, gentle Friend! to love in doubt and woe,
Shutting the heart the worshipp'd name above,
Is to love deeply-and my spirit's bower
Was a sad gift, a melancholy power
Of so adoring-with a buried care,
And with the o'erflowing of a voiceless prayer,
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