I have wrought mountains, seas, waves, and clouds,
And lastly light, whose interfusion dawns

In the dark space of interstellar air.

A good Spirit, who watches over the Pirate's fate, leads, in a mysterious manner, the lady of his love to the Enchanted Isle. She is accompanied by a youth, who loves her, but whose passion she returns only with a sisterly affection. The ensuing scene takes place between them on their arrival at the Isle.

INDIAN YOUTH AND LADY.

Indian. And if my grief should still be dearer to me Than all the pleasures in the world beside,

Why would you lighten it?

Lady.

I offer only

That which I seek, some human sympathy
In this mysterious island.

Indian.

My sister, my beloved!
My brain is dizzy, and I
I speak to thee or her.
Lady.

Oh! my friend, What do I say? scarce know whether

Peace, perturbed heart!

I am to thee only as thou to mine,

The passing wind which heals the brow at noon,
And may strike cold into the breast at night,

Yet cannot linger where it soothes the most,

Or long soothe could it linger.

Indian.

You also loved?

Lady.

But you said

Loved! Oh, I love. Methinks

This world of love is fit for all the world,

And that for gentle hearts another name

Would speak of gentler thoughts than the world owns.

I have loved.

Indian.

And thou lovest not? If so

Young as thou art, thou canst afford to weep.
Lady. Oh! would that I could claim exemption
From all the bitterness of that sweet name.

I loved, I love, and when I love no more
Let joys and grief perish, and leave despair
To ring the knell of youth. He stood beside me,
The embodied vision of the brightest dream,
Which like a dawn heralds the day of life;
The shadow of his presence made my world
A paradise. All familiar things he touched,
All common words he spoke, became to me
Like forms and sounds of a diviner world.
He was as is the sun in his fierce youth,
As terrible and lovely as a tempest;
He came, and went, and left me what I am.
Alas! Why must I think how oft we two
Have sat together near the river springs,

Under the green pavilion which the willow
Spreads on the floor of the unbroken fountain,
Strewn by the nurslings that linger there,
Over that islet paved with flowers and moss,

While the musk-rose leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, Showered on us, and the dove mourned in the pine,

Sad prophetess of sorrows not her own.

Indian. Your breath is like soft music, your words are The echoes of a voice which on my heart

Sleeps like a melody of early days.

But as you said—

Lady.

He was so awful, yet

So beautiful in mystery and terror,

Calming me as the loveliness of heaven
Soothes the unquiet sea :-and yet not so,
For he seemed stormy, and would often seem
A quenchless sun masked in portentous clouds;
For such his thoughts, and even his actions were;
But he was not of them, nor they of him,
But as they hid his splendour from the earth.
Some said he was a man of blood and peril,
And steeped in bitter infamy to the lips.
More need was there I should be innocent;

More need that I should be most true and kind;

And much more need that there should be found one
To share remorse, and scorn, and solitude,

And all the ills that wait on those who do

The tasks of ruin in the world of life.

He fled, and I have followed him.

Indian.

Such a one

Is he who was the winter of my peace.

But, fairest stranger, when didst thou depart

From the far hills, where rise the springs of India,

How didst thou pass the intervening sea?

Lady, If I be sure I am not dreaming now,

I should not doubt to say it was a dream.

A SONG.

A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound.

THE INVITATION.

BEST and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,

Which like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.

The brightest hour of unborn spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found it seems the halcyon morn,
To hoar February born;

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,

And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May,
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear

Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonises heart to heart.

I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomed visitor :-
"I am gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields;—
Reflection, you may come to-morrow,
Sit by the fireside of Sorrow.-

You with the unpaid bill, Despair,
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,
I will pay you in the grave,
Death will listen to your stave.—
Expectation too, be off!

To-day is for itself enough;

Hope in pity mock not woe

With smiles, nor follow where I go;

Long having lived on thy sweet food,
At length I find one moment good
After long pain-with all your love,
This you never told me of."

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
To the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun,
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea,
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new ;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one,
In the universal sun.

THE ISLE.

THERE was a little lawny islet
By anemone and violet,

Like mosaic, paven :

And its roof was flowers and leaves

Which the summer's breath en weaves,

Where nor sun nor showers nor breeze

Pierce the pines and tallest trees,

Each a gem engraven.

Girt by many an azure wave

With which the clouds and mountains pave

A lake's blue chasm.

THE RECOLLECTION.

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
Up, do thy wonted work! come, trace
The epitaph of glory fled,

For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

L

We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.

The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,

And on the bosom of the deep,
The smile of Heaven lay;

It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.

II.

We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste,

Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced.

And soothed by every azure breath,
That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own;

Now all the tree tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

III.

How calm it was !-the silence there
By such a chain was bound,
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;

The breath of peace we drew

With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.