Pouring itself away

As a wild bird amidst the foliage turns

That which within him triumphs, beats, or burns
Into a fleeting lay;

That swells, and floats, and dies,

Leaving no echo to the summer woods
Of the rich breathings and impassion'd sighs,
Which thrill'd their solitudes.

Yet, yet remember me!

Friends! that upon its murmurs oft have hung,
When from my bosom, joyously and free,
The fiery fountain sprung.

Under the dark rich blue

Of midnight heavens, and on the star-lit sea,
And when woods kindle into Spring's first hue,
Sweet friends! remember me!

And in the marble halls,

Where life's full glow the dreams of beauty wear,
And poet-thoughts embodied light the walls,
Let me be with you there!

Fain would I bind, for you,

My memory with all glorious things to dwell;
Fain bid all lovely sounds my name renew-
Sweet friends! bright land! farewell!

MUSIC OF YESTERDAY.

"O! mein Geist, ich fühle es in mir, strebt nach etwas Ueberir dischem, das keinem Menschen gegonnt ist."-Tieck.

THE chord, the harp's full chord is hush'd
The voice hath died away,

Whence music, like sweet waters, gush'd,
But yesterday.

Th' awakening note, the breeze-like swell,
The full o'ersweeping tone,

The sounds that sigh'd "Farewell, farewell!"
Are gone all gone!

The love, whose fervent spirit pass'd
With the rich measure's flow;

The grief, to which it sank at last-
Where are they now?

They are with the scents, by Summer's breath
Borne from a rose now shed:

With the words from lips long seal'd in death

For ever fled.

The sea-shell, of its native deep
A moaning thrill retains;

But earth and air no record keep
Of parted strains.

And all the memories, all the dreams,
They woke in floating by;

The tender thoughts, th' Elysian gleams-
Could these too die?

They died-as on the water's breast
The ripple melts away,

When the breeze that stirr'd it sinks to rest-
So perish'd they!

Mysterious in their sudden birth,

And mournful in their close,

Passing, and finding not on earth
Aim or repose.

Whence were they?-like the breath of flowers
Why thus to come and go?

A long, long journey must be ours

Ere this we know!

THE FORSAKEN HEARTH.

"Was mir fehlt ?-Mir fehlt ja alles,,
Bin so ganz verlassen hier!"

Tyrolese Melody.

THE Hearth, the Hearth is desolate, the fire is quench'd and

gone

That into happy children's eyes once brightly laughing shone The place where mirth and music met is hush'd through day

and night.

Oh! for one kind, one sunny face, of all that there made light!

;

But scatter'd are those pleasant smiles afar by mount and shore, Like gleaming waters from one spring dispersed to meet no

more.

Those kindred eyes reflect not now each other's joy or mrch, Unbound is that sweet wreath of home-alas! the onely Hearth!

The voices that have mingled here now speak another tongue, Or breathe, perchance, to alien ears the songs their mother sung. [hold tone,Sad, strangely sad, in stranger lands, must sound each houseThe Hearth, the Hearth, is desolate, the bright fire quench'd

and gone.

But are they speaking, singing yet, as in their days of glee? Those voices, are they lovely still, still sweet on earth or sea?Oh! some are hush'd, and some are changed, and never shall one strain

Blend their fraternal cadences triumphantly again!

And of the hearts that here were link'd by long-remember' years,

Alas! the brother knows not now when fall the sister's tears
One haply revels at the feast, while one may droop alone,
For broken is the household chain, the bright fire quench'à
and gone!

Not so 'tis not a broken chain-thy memory binds them still,
Thou holy Hearth of other days, though silent now and chil!!
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 called 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 forever."

English Opium-Eater.

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

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,

Southey.

When eve through the woodlands hath sigh'd farewell.
Peace!-the sad memo.ies 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 may still.

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?

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 nortelles."-SCHLEGEL, translated by MADAME DE STAEL.

FEARFULLY and mournfully

Thou bidst 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,

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