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Buch lovely ministers to meet
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And mountain seas, that are the voice
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine ?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted ; The glory of the moon is dead ;
Night's ghost and dreams have now departed; Thine cwn soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to
mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine, Which thou too feel'st; yet I alone deplore : Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar; Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude ; In honoured poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty ;Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814.
Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of
even : Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness
soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene
lights of heaven. Pause not ! the time is past ! every voice cries,
Away! Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's un
gentle mood : Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not
entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth ; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and
come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy
mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float
around thine head, The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath
thy feet But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost
that binds the dead,
Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ero
thou and peace may meet.
The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own
repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is
in the deep; Somo respite to its turbulence unresting ocean
kitows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its
appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms
flee Which that house and heath and garden made
dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep
wusings, are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of
one sweet smile.
Tue cold earth slept below,
And all around
From caves of ice and fields of snow,
Beneath the sinking moon.
The wintry hedge was black,
The birds did rest
On the bare thorn's breast,
Which the frost had made between.
Thine eyes glowed in the glare
As a fen-fire's beam
On a sluggish stream Gleams dimly—so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy tangled hair,
That shook in the wind of night.
The moon made thy lips pale, beloved ;
The night did shed
On thy dear head
Might visit thee at will.