Once I only wept the dead, But now the living cause my pain: My Mother rests beneath the sod,- I wish'd that she could see our loves,- Last night unbound my raven locks, The useless luck I gave thee once, Was ta'en with smiles,—but this was torn In sorrow that I send to thee! SONG. THE stars are with the voyager The moon is constant to her time; But follow, follow round the world, Wherever he may be, the stars Must daily lose their light; The moon will veil her in the shade; The sun may set, but constant love Will shine when he's away; So that dull night is never night, And day is brighter day, SONG. O LADY, leave thy silken thread And blossoms on the tree; Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find 'Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, There's crimson buds, and white and blue The very rainbow showers Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers. There's fairy tulips in the east, The very streams reflect the hues, And blossoms as they run: While Morn opes like a crimson rose, Still wet with pearly showers; Then, lady, leave the silken thread Thou twinest into flowers! BIRTHDAY VERSES. GOOD morrow to the golden morning Good morrow to the world's delight— I've come to bless thy life's beginning, Since it makes my own so bright! I have brought no roses, sweetest, But I've brought thee jewels, dearest, They have learned that look of mine! * I LOVE THEE. I LOVE thee-I love thee! The blessing when I pray: I love thee-I love thee! Is ever on my tongue; That chorus still is sung; My mother's birthday was the 6th November. It is the verdict of my eyes, A thousand maids among. I love thee-I love thee ! Thy bright and hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips, Whose tender tones entrance; But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs That still these words enhance, I love thee- I love thee ! Whatever be thy chance. LINES. LET us make a leap, my dear, And love for all that long ago; FALSE POETS AND TRUE. TO WORDSWORTH. Look how the lark soars upward and is gone, * His voice is heard, but body there is none Like raining music from the morning cloud. Of undistinguish'd birds, a twittering race; FRAGMENT. "FAREWELL-Farewell "-it is an awful word 'Tis awful to behold the midnight stars * These lines are repeated in the fourth verse of "Hero and Leander." |