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O give me, from this heartless scene released,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
But O, dear Anne ! when midnight wind careers,
The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd
* One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the .Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Finpire of Germany (Vergussmein nicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
THE VISIONARY HOPE.
SAD lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed innature, wander where he would— For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! For this one Hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams So the love-stricken visionary deems) Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower! Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
THE HAPPY HUSBAND. A FRAGMENT.
OFT, oft methinks, the while with Thee
A promise and a mystery,
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep! A feeling that upbraids the heart With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep! Nor bless I not the keener sense And unalarming turbulence
Of transient joys, that ask no sting,
And into tenderness soon dying,
A more precipitated vein
And leave the sweeter under-strain
Its own sweet self—a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!
RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.
How warm this woodland wild Recess! Love surely hath been breathing here, And this sweet bed of heath, my dear!
Swells up, then sinks, with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near.
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On seaward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hiddenfrills
Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'erhead the sky-lark i.
No voice as yet had made the air
That sense of promise every where?
As when a mother doth explore
As whom I long had loved before—
You stood before me like a thought,
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE, AFTER
Under STRong Medical, RECOMMENDATION not. To
God be with thee, gladsome Ocean! How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion, And men rejoicing on thy shore.
Dissuading spake the mild Physician,
But my soul fulfill'd her mission,
Fashion's pining sons and daughters, That seek the crowd they seem to fly,
Trembling they approach thy waters; And what cares Nature, if they die?
Me a thousand hopes and pleasures,
Revisit on thy echoung strand: o
Dreams (the soul herself forsaking),
Silent adorations, making
O ye hopes, that stir within me,
God is with me, God is in me!
THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS.
Cupid, if storying legends" tell aright,
III. MEDITATIVE POEMS,
LN blank Wense.
Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived.
HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE WALE OF CHAMOUNY.
Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides, and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its “flowers of loveliest blue.”
HAst thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star
* Fffinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc:
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it. Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy : Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing—there As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale : O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise' Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth srom night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shatter'd and the same for ever ? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy Unceasing thunder and eternal foam And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain— Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents' silent cataracts' Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full Moon 7 Who bade the Sun Clothe you with rainbows ' Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet 7– God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice: Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost' Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!
Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast— Thou too again, stupendous Mountain' thou That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low hadoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great Hierarch: tell thou the silent sky, And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising sun Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM. At ElbixGERode, IN THE Hartz Forrest.
I stood on Brocken's” sovran height, and saw
* The highest mountain in the Hartz, and indeed in North Germany. t——When I have gazed From some high eminence on good!y vales, And cots and villages embower'd below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home. Southew's Hymn to the Penutes.
My native land! Fill'd with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Floated away, like a departing dream, Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who framed Mankind to be one mighty Family, Himself our Father, and the World our Home.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
Sweet Flower: that peeping from thy russet stem