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Suvxer was dead and Autumn was expiring,
All cloudlessly and cold ;—when I, desiring
Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring,
Of ray poor heart, and o'er the grass and flowers
Pale for the falsehood of the flattering hours.
Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep
The instability of all but weeping;
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams shalt [ ] see
No death divide thy immortality.
I loved—0 no, I mean not one of ye,
As human heart to human heart may be ;—
And all that it contains, contains not thee,
Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere,
Dim object of my soul's idolatry.
By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest,
Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden, Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,
When for a moment thou art not forbidden To live within the life which thou bestowest,
A nd leaving noblest things, vacant and chidden, Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight, Blank as the sun after the birth of night.
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,
In music, and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices which are human,
Meant to express some feelings of their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,
In flowers and leaves,and in the fresh grass shown, Or dying in the autumn, I the most Abore thee present, or lament thee lost.
And thus I went lamenting, when I saw
Like ono who loved beyond his Nature's law,
Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thaw
Can blast not, but which pity kills ; the dew
Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast
I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window panes, disrobed of coid. Upon its leaves and flowers; the star which panted
In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.
The mitigated influences of air
And light revived the plant, and from it grew Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,
Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew, O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere
Of vital warmth, infolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every part The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
For one wept o'er it all the winter long
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.
Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers
On which he wept, the white the savage storm Waked by the darkest of December's hours
Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm; The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,
The fish were frozen in the pools, the form Of every summer plant was dead [ J
Whilst this • * *
d big with a May shower, healing rain Jhered flower;
on thy sleep; brain! my breast youth again, i deep
"The spell is done. How feel yon now 1"
"Better—Quite well," replied The sleeper,—" What would do You good when suffering and awake!
What cure your head and side 1—" "'Twould kill me what would cure my pain;
And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break My chain."
FRAGMENTS OF AN UNFINISHED DRAMA.
Thr following fragmentsare part of a Drama, undertaken for the amusement of the individuals who composed our intimate society, but left unfinished. I have preserved a sketch of the story as far as it had been shadowed in the poet's mind.
An Enchantress, living in one of the islands of the Indian Archipelago, saves the life of a Pirate, a man
of savage but noble nature. She becomes enamoured of him; and he, inconstant to his mortal love, for awhile returns her passion ; but at length, recalling the memory of her whom he left, and who laments his loss, he escapes from the enchanted island and returns to his lady. His mode of life makes him again go to sea, and tho Enchantress seizes the opportunity to bring him, by a spirit-browed tempest, back to her island.
Scene, before the Cavern of the Indian Enchantress. The Enchantress comes forth.
He came like a dream in the dawn of life,
He fled like a shadow before its noon; He is gone, and my peace is turned to strife, And I wander and wane like the weary moon. 0 sweet Echo, wake, And for my sake Make answer the while my heart shall break!
But my heart has a music which Echo's lips,
Though tender and true, yet can answer not,
And the Bhadow that moves in the soul's eclipse
Can return not the kiss by his now forgot;
Sweet lips ! he who hath
On my desolate path
Cast the darkness of absence, worse than death!
The Enchantress makes her spell: she is answered by a
Within the silent centre of the earth
My mansion is ; where I have lived insphered
From the beginning, and around my sleep
Have woven all the wondrous imagery
Of this dim spot, which mortals call the world;
Infinite depths of unknown elements
Massed into one impenetrable mask;
Sheets of immeasurable fire, and veins
Of gold, and stone, and adamantine iron.
And as a veil in which I walk through Heaven
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, is a mysterious manner, the lady of his love to tho En
chanted 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.
a INDIAN YOUTH AND LADY.
And if my grief should still be dearer to me
I offer only That which I seek, some human sympathy In this mysterious island.
Oh ! my friend,
My sister, my beloved! What do I say 1
And thou lovest not? If so Young as thou art, thou canst afford to weep.
Oh! would that I could claim exemption
snow, Showered on us, and the dove mourned in the pine, Sad prophetess of sorrows not her own.
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—
He was so awful, yet So beautiful in myBtery 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 land. 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.
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'
If I be sure I am not dreaming now,
The keen stars were twinkling,
The stars will awaken,
Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,
Which like thee to those in Borrow
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,
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes 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,
Now the last day of many days,
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,
The smile of Heaven lay;
Sent from beyond the skies,
A light of Paradise.
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,
As tender as its own;
Like green waves on the sea,
The ocean woods may be.
How calm it was I—the silence there
By such a chain was bound, That even the busy wood-pecker
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. There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the wide mountain waste,
A magic circle traced,
A thrilling silent life,
Our mortal nature's strife ;—
The magic circle there, Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere.
We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,
Gulfed in a world below;
Which in the dark earth lay,
And purer than the day—
As in the upper air,
Than any spreading there.
And through the dark green wood
Out of a speckled cloud.
Can never well be seen,
Of that fair forest green.
With an Elysian glow,
A softer day below.