How passing sad! Listen, it sings again!
Art thou a spirit, that amongst the boughs,
The livelong day dost chaunt that wond’rous strain
Making wan Dian stoop her silver brows
Out of the clouds to hear thee? Who shall say,
Thou lone one! that thy melody is gay,
Let him come listen now to that one note,
That thou art pouring o’er and o’er again
Through the sweet echoes of thy mellow throat,
With such a sobbing sound of deep, deep pain,
I prithee cease thy song! for from my heart
Thou hast made memory’s bitter waters start,
And filled my weary eyes with the soul’s rain.
SONNET.
Lady, whom my beloved loves so well!
When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth,
When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell,
And the bright flood of burning light, that shineth
In his dark eyes, is poured into thine;
When thou shalt lie enfolded to his heart,
In all the trusting helplessness of love;
If in such joy sorrow can find a part,
Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine!
Which I would have thee pity, but not prove.
One cold, calm, careless, wintry look, that fell
Haply by chance on me, is all that he
E’er gave my love; round that, my wild thoughts dwell
In one eternal pang of memory.
TO ---
When the dawn
O’er hill and dale
Throws her bright veil,
Oh, think of me!
When the rain
With starry showers
Fills all the flowers,
Oh, think of me!
When the wind
Sweeps along,
Loud and strong,
Oh, think of me!
When the laugh
With silver sound
Goes echoing round,
Oh, think of me!
When the night
With solemn eyes
Looks from the skies,
Oh, think of me!
When the air
Still as death
Holds its breath,
Oh, think of me!
When the earth
Sleeping sound
Swings round and round,
Oh, think of me!
When thy soul
O’er life’s dark sea
Looks gloomily,
Oh, think of me!
WOMAN’S LOVE.
A maiden meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes,
Full of eternal constancy and faith,
And smiling lips, through whose soft portal sighs
Truth’s holy voice, with ev’ry balmy breath;
So journeys she along life’s crowded way,
Keeping her soul’s sweet counsel from all sight;
Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray,
Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or bright:
For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay
Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her heart
Knows well in suffering how to bear its part.
Patiently lives she through each dreary day,
Looking with little hope unto the morrow;
And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow.
TO MRS. ---
I never shall forget thee—’tis a word
Thou oft must hear, for surely there be none
On whom thy wond’rous eyes have ever shone
But for a moment, or who e’er have heard
Thy voice’s deep impassioned melody,
Can lose the memory of that look or tone.
But, not as these, do I say unto thee,
I never shall forget thee:—in thine eyes,
Whose light, like sunshine, makes the world rejoice,
A stream of sad and solemn splendour lies;
And there is sorrow in thy gentle voice.
Thou art not like the scenes in which I found thee,
Thou art not like the beings that surround thee;
To me, thou art a dream of hope and fear;
Yet why of fear?—oh sure! the Power that lent
Such gifts, to make thee fair, and excellent;
Still watches one whom it has deigned to bless
With such a dower of grace and loveliness;
Over the dangerous waves ’twill surely steer