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Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, Beneath the walls, which opens out at length Into the gloomiest covert of the garden— The night eremy departure to the army, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, And to that covert by a silent stream, Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry; So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us! No leaflet stirr'd;—yet pleasure hung upon The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. A little further on an arbour stood, Fragrant with flowering trees—I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness Their snow-white blossoms made—thither she led me, To that sweet bower Then Oropeza trembled— I heard her heart beat—if 't were not my own.
SAndow AL. A rude and scaring note, my friend!
EARL henn Y.
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
sandoval (with a sarcastic smile). No other than as eastern sages paint, The God, who floats upon a lotos leaf, Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, Relapses into bliss.
Earl, henn Y. Ah! was that bliss Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man? For suddenly, impatient of its silence, Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice, Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou? I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd The purpose and the substance of my being, I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.— Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower I now will go—all objects there will teach me Unwavering love, and singleness of heart. Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her— Say nothing of me—I myself will seek her— Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment And keen inquiry of that scanning eye – [Earl Henry retires into the wood.
sANdoval (alone). O Henry always strivest thou to be great By thine own act—yet art thou never great But by the inspiration of great passion. The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves: from Earth to Heaven they stand, As though they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
TO AN UNFORTUNATE woMAN,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYs of HER INNocence.
Myntle-lear that, ill besped,
Soil'd beneath the common tread,
When the Partridge o'er the sheaf Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf. Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing !
While the flatterer, on his wing,
Gaily from thy mother-stalk -
Soon on this unshelter'd walk
—— TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE.
MA in EN, that with sullen brow
Like a scorched and mildew'd bough,
Ilim who lured thee and forsook, Oft I watch'd with angry gaze,
Fearful saw his pleading look, Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Soft the glances of the youth,
But no sound like simple truth,
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
With a musing melancholy
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-R00M.
Non cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
IIeaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breathed singer's uptrill'd strain Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.
Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate!
My lady eyes some maid of humbler state,
O give me, from this heartless scene released,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,
The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd
One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmein nich) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
THE VISIONARY HOPE.
Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he would— For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams (So the love-stricken visionary deems) Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower: Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
THE HAPPY HUSBAND. A fraGMENT.
OFT, oft methinks, the while with Thee
A promise and a mystery,
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A more precipitated vein
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self—a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!
RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.
How warm this woodland wild Recess!
Swells up, then sinks with fain caress,
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.
No voice as yet had made the air
That sense of promise every where?
As when a mother doth explore
As whom I long had loved before—
You stood before me like a thought,
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE, AFTER LONG ABSENCE,
UN Deft STRONG Medical. Recomixie NdAtion Not to Bathe.
God be with thee, gladsome Ocean' How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion, And men rejoicing on thy shore.
Dissuading spake the mild Physician,
But my soul fulfill'd her mission,
Fashion's pining sons and daughters, That seek the crowd they seem to fly,
Trembling they approach thy waters; And what cares Nature, if they die?
Me a thousand hopes and pleasures,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures,
Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking), Tearful raptures, boyish mirth; * Silent adorations, making A blessed shadow of this Earth!
O ye hopes, that stir within me,
God is with me, God is in me!
THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS.
Cupid, if storying legends' tell aright,
III. MEDITATIVE POEMS,
in BLANK verse.
Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,
HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE WALE OF CHAMOUNY.
Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its - flowers of loveliest blue."
HAst thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star
Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc:
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing—there As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven'
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest' not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstacy' Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale ! 0 struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth : Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shatter'd and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye Ice-falls' ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain— Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents' silent cataracts' Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full Moon 2 Who bade the Sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living slowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!