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MUTABILITY.

Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered, and shifted,
To and fro.

IV.

In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,

Like a blood-hound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame;

On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame;

And with curses as wild
As e'er cling to child,
He devotes to the blast
The best, loveliest, and last
Of his name!

MUTABILITY.

THE flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;

All that we wish to stay,

Tempts and then flies; What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.

Virtue, how frail it is!

Friendship too rare!

Love, how it sells poor bliss

For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy and all
Which ours we call.

Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,

Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;

Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou-and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.

ΤΟ

MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm-thus wert not thou ;-
My baffled looks did fear yet dread
To meet thy looks-I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine
With soothing pity upon mine.

To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;
To curse the life which is the cage
Of fettered grief that dares not groan,
Hiding from many a careless eye
The scorned load of agony.

Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,

The [

thou alone should be,

To spend years thus, and be rewarded, As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near-Oh! I did wake

From torture for that moment's sake.

Upon my heart thy accents sweet

Of peace and pity fell like dew

On flowers half dead; thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw
Their soft persuasion on my brain,
Charming away its dream of pain.

We are not happy, sweet! our state
Is strange and full of doubt and fear;
More need of words that ills abate ;-

Reserve or censure come not near
Our sacred friendship, lest there be
No solace left for thou and me.

Gentle and good and mild thou art,
Nor can I live if thou appear
Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart
Away from me, or stoop to wear
The mask of scorn, although it be
To hide the love thou feel'st for me.

LINES.

FAR, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory!

Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast ;-
No news of your false spring
To my heart's winter bring;
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.

Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future's towers!

Withered hopes on hopes are spread;

Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey
Many a day.

SONG.

RARELY, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!

Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,

Thou with sorrow art dismayed,
Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,

And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure;—

Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure;

Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thor wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,

Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,

And the starry night;

Autumn evening, and the morn

When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost

Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

I love tranquil solitude,
And such society

As is quiet, wise, and good;
Between thee and me

What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love-though he has wings,
And like light can flee,

But, above all other things,

Spirit, I love thee

Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home.

A FRAGMENT.

As a violet's gentle eye
Gazes on the azure sky,

Until its hue grows like what it beholds;
As a gray and empty mist

Lies like solid Amethyst,

Over the western mountain it enfolds,
When the sunset sleeps
Upon its snow.

As a strain of sweetest sound Wraps itself the wind around, Until the voiceless wind be music too; As aught dark, vain and dull, Basking in what is beautiful,

Is full of light and love.