LOVE. I. WE met in secret, in the depth of night When there was none to watch us; not an eye Save the lone dweller of the lonely sky To gaze upon our love and pure delight; And in that hour's unbroken solitude, When the white moon had robed her in its beam, I've thought some vision of a blessed dream, Or spirit of the air before me stood, 11. SHE stood before me; the pure lamps of heaven As, tremblingly with hers, my vows were given. These living arms around her form were thrown, While from her ruby warm lips, just apart Like bursting roses, sighs of fragrance stole, And words of music whispering in mine ear Things pure and holy none but mine should hear; For they were accents uttered from the soul, For which no tongue her innocence reproved, And breathed for one who loved her and was loved. ISMAEL FITZADAM. LS IN WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill. And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill That overlows the lonely vale. O'er the bare u; land, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden those deep solitudes Where, twisted round the barren oak, Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day. But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds in hoarse accord Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs, and wintry winds! my ear I hear it in the opening year- LONGERLLOW. |