Once fed with many-voiced waves-a dream ever, Still, dark, and dry, and unremember'd now. Oh for Medea's wondrous alchymy, For life and power, even when his feeble hand The child of grace and genius. Heartless things Lifts still its solemn voice but thou art fled: In the frail pauses of this simple strain, Is reft at once; when some surpassing Spirit, Nature's vast frame, the web of human things, STANZAS. AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of Heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries Away! Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's ungentle mood: Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thy head; The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet. The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest: yet till the phantoms flee Which that house, and heath, and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile. MUTABILITY. We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost for ever; Or, like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings We rest: a dream has power to poison sleep; Embrace fond wo, or cast our cares away: It is the same! For, be it joy or sorrow, LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thee Has led me-who knows how?- The wandering airs they faint Oh lift me from the grass! Let thy love in kisses rain STANZAS. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, Like many a voice of one delight, I see the deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content, surpassing wealth, The sage in meditation found, And walk'd with inward glory crown'd Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround Smiling they live, and call life pleasure : To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. |