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Suvxer was dead and Autumn was expiring,
And infant Winter laughed upon the land

All cloudlessly and cold ;—when I, desiring
More in this world than any understand,

Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring,
Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand

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;
And on the earth lulled in her winter sleep

I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
Too happy Earth ! over thy face shall creep

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,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear

As human heart to human heart may be ;—
T loved, I know not what—but this low sphere,

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.

* Pumpkin.

And thus I went lamenting, when I saw
A plant upon the river's margin lie,

Like ono who loved beyond his Nature's law,
And in despair had cast him down to die;

Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thaw
Had blighted as a heart which hatred's eye

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,
Even if the sun and air had smiled not on it;

For one wept o'er it all the winter long
Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it

Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it

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 • * *

January, 1822.


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."


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.


And if my grief should still be dearer to me
Than all the pleasures in the world beside,
Why would you lighten it!—


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
My brain is dizzy, and I scarce know whether
I speak to thee or her.

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And thou lovest not? If so Young as thou art, thou canst afford to weep.


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.

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,
I should not doubt to say it was a dream.



The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear • • •!
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them
As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven
Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
Its own.

The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later,
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.


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,
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

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,
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 bine 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.


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.

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.

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.

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,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around

A thrilling silent life,
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife ;—
And still I felt the centre of

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,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light,

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day—
In which the lovely forests grew,

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn

And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.

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