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And starry river buds among the sedge,

And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge

With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

Methought that of these visionary flowers

I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers

Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours

Within my hand, -and then, elate and gay,
I hastened to the spot whence I had come,
That I might there present it !--Oh! to whom?

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me -who knows how?
To thy chamber window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must on thine,
Beloved as thou art !

O lift me from the grass !
I die, I faint, I fail !
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas !
My heart beats loud and fast,
Oh ! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.

TAE sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear

The purple noon's transparent light The breath of the moist earth is light

Around its unexpanded buds ; Like many a voice of one delight,

The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's.

I see the Deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple seaweeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore,

Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone,

The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is fashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measured motion, How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion.

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,

Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found,

And walked with inward glory crowned

Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
Others I see whom these surround

Smiling they live and call life pleasure ;-
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Yet now despair itself is mild,

Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child,

And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear,

Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air

My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I were cold,

As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,

Insults with this untimely moan; They might lament-for I am one

Whom men love not,-and yet regret, Unlike this day, wbich when the sun

Shall'on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.

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AUTUMN;

A DIRGE.

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,

And the year
On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,

Is lying
Come, months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest

array ;
Follow the bier

Of the dead cold year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling

For the year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone

To his dwelling;
Come, months, come away;
Put on white, black, and

grey,
Let your light sisters play-
Ye, follow the bier

of the dead cold year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.

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