ODE TO MEMORY. I. THOU who stealest fire, Strengthen me, enlighten me! II. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in softened light Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight The black earth with brilliance rare. III. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest VO'. I. 2 The light of thy great presence; and the cope Of the half-attained futurity, Though deep, not fathomless, Was cloven with the million stars that tremble O strengthen me, enlighten me! Thou dewy dawn of memory. IV. Come forth, I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! Thou comest not with shows of naunting vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest memory! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried : Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-de The seven elins, the poplars four, That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, The filtered tribute of the rough woolland. Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat When the first matin-song hath wakened loud Over the dark dewy earth forlorn, Forth gushes from bereath a low-hung cloud V. Large dowries doth the raptured eye And like a bride of old In triumph led, With music and sweet showers Unto the dwelling she must sway. Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls And newness of thine art so pleased thee, On the prime labor of thine early days: Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, Or even a sand-built ridge Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh, Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretched wide and wild the waste enormou marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenchéd waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bowered close Of crowned lilies, standing near Whether in after life retired From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, And those whom passion had not blinded, SONG. I. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours, For at eventide, listening earnestly, Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. II. The air is damp, and hushed, and close, My very heart faints and my whole sorl grieves Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower ADELINE MYSTERY of mysteries, Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast Whence that aery bloom of thine, |