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—
So beautiful in mystery 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 kind, 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.
BEST and brightest, come away, Fairer far than this fair day, Which like thee to those in sorrow, 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 downsTo 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 blue 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 to thy wonted work! come, trace The epitaph of glory dead,
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 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 !-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.
Like one beloved the scene had lent To the dark water's breast, Its every leaf and lineament
With more than truth exprest, Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought,
Which from the mind's too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind, The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in S's mind, Than calm in waters seen.
A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love Upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above,
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel's sound.
As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute :No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.
When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possest.
O, Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier!
Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.
WHEN the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead— When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
THERE was a little lawny islet By anemone and violet,
Like mosaic, paven :
And its roof was flowers and leaves Which the summer's breath enweaves, Where nor sun nor showers nor breeze Pierce the pines and tallest trees,
Each a gem engraven.
Girt by many an azure wave
With which the clouds and mountains pave A lake's blue chasm.
THIRD SPEAKER (a youth).
Yet, father, 'tis a happy sight to see, Beautiful, innocent, and unforbidden
By God or man ;-'tis like the bright procession Of skiey visions in a solemn dream
From which men wake as from a paradise, And draw new strength to tread the thorns of life. If God be good, wherefore should this be evil? And if this be not evil, dost thou not draw Unseasonable poison from the flowers Which bloom so rarely in this barren world?
Oh, kill these bitter thoughts which make the
And open-eyed conspiracy, lie sleeping As on Hell's threshold; and all gentle thoughts Waken to worship him who giveth joys With his own gift.
How young art thou in this old age of time! How green in this grey world! Canst thou not think Of change in that low scene, in which thou art Not a spectator but an actor?
The day that dawns in fire will die in storms, Even though the noon be calm. My travel's done; Before the whirlwind wakes I shall have found My inn of lasting rest, but thou must still Be journeying on in this inclement air.
Rather say the Pope.
London will be soon his Rome : he walks
As if he trod upon the heads of men.
He looks elate, drunken with blood and gold ;- Beside him moves the Babylonian woman
Invisibly, and with her as with his shadow, Mitred adulterer! he is joined in sin,
Which turns Heaven's milk of mercy to revenge.
Nobles, and sons of nobles, patentees, Monopolists, and stewards of this poor farm, On whose lean sheep sit the prophetic crows. Here is the pomp that strips the houseless orphan, Here is the pride that breaks the desolate heart. These are the lilies glorious as Solomon, Who toil not, neither do they spin,-unless It be the webs they catch poor rogues withal. Here is the surfeit which to them who earn The niggard wages of the earth, scarce leaves The tithe that will support them till they crawl Back to its cold hard bosom. Here is health Followed by grim disease, glory by shame, Waste by lame famine, wealth by squalid want, And England's sin by England's punishment. And, as the effect pursues the cause foregone, Lo, giving substance to my words, behold
And, gentlemen, Your quaint
Call your poor Queen your debtor.
pageant Rose on me like the figures of past years, Treading their still path back to infancy, More beautiful and mild as they draw nearer The quiet cradle. I could have almost wept To think I was in Paris, where these shows Are well devised-such as I was ere yet My young heart shared with [
] the task, The careful weight of this great monarchy. There, gentlemen, between the sovereign's pleasure And that which it regards, no clamour lifts Its proud interposition.
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