EARL HENRY

I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.ANDOVAL.

Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously,

I now will go all objects there will teach me But Oropeza

Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.

Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her Blessings gather round her! Say nothing of me-I myself will seek her Within this wood there winds a secret passage,

Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment Beneath the walls, which opens out at length

And keen inquiry of that scanning eye. Into the gloomiest covert of the garden

[EARL HENRY retires into the wood. The night ere my departure to the army,

SANDOVAL, (alone.)
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to that covert by a silent stream,

O Henry! always strivest thou to be great
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,

By thine own act-yet art thou never great Was the sole object visible around me.

But by the inspiration of great passion. No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry ;

The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up So deep, so dark, so close the umbrage o'er us !

And shape themselves: from earth to heaven they No leaflet stirr'd;-yet pleasure hung upon

stand, The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.

As though they were the pillars of a temple, A little further on an arbour stood,

Built by Omnipotence in its own honour ! Fragrant with flowering trees—I well remember

But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness

Is fled: the mighty columns were but sand, Their snow-white blossoms made--thither she led And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins !

me,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled-
I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own.

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
SANDOVAL.

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS A rude and scaring note, my friend!

OF HER INNOCENCE.

EARL HENRY.

0! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
Th'inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love:
So love grew mightier from the fear, and nature,
Fleeing from pain, shelter'd herself in joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us :
We were all life, each atom of our frames
A living soul-I vow'd to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
That solemn vow, a whisper searcely heard,
A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.
0! there is joy above the name of pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense repose.

SANDOVAL, (with a sarcastic smile.)
No other than as eastern sages paint,
The god, who floats upon a lotos leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,
Relapses into bliss.

MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill-besped,

Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread,

Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf

Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, headless leaf!

Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!

Heave and Autter to his sighs,
While the datterer, on his wing,

Wood and whispered thee to rise.

Gayly from thy mother-stalk

Wert thou danced and wafted high
Soon on this unshelter'd walk

Flung to fade, to rot, and die.

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT

THE THEATRE.

EARL HENRY.

MAIDEN, that with sullen brow

Sittest behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,

Leafless 'mid the blooms of May !

Ah! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, impatient of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on

them.
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice,
0! what if all betray me? what if thou?
I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd
The purpose and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,

Him who lured thee and forsook,

Oft I watch'd with angry gaze,
Fearful saw his pleading look,

Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the youth,

Soft his speech, and soft his sigh ;
But no sound like simple truth,

But no true love in his eye.

Loathing thy polluted lot,

The things of nature utter; birds or trees,
Hie thee, maiden, hie thee hence !

Or moan of ocean gale in weedy caves,
Seek thy weeping mother's cot,

Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, With a wiser innocence.

Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze, Thou hast known deceit and folly,

Thou hast felt that vice is wo:
With a musing melancholy

THE KEEPSAKE.
Inly arm’d, go, maiden! go.

The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,
Mother sage of self-dominion,

The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, Firm thy steps, O melancholy!

Show summer gone, ere come. The fox-glove tal The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, Is the memory of past folly.

Or when it bends beneath th' up-springing lark,

Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
While she moults the firstling plumes,

(In vain the darling of successful love)

Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years, That had skimm'd the tender corn,

The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone. Or the bean-field's odorous blooms;

Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk
Soon with renovated wing

By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,
Shall she dare a loftier flight,

That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Upward to the day-star spring,

Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not !*
And embathe in heavenly light.

So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk
Has work'd (the flowers which most she knew I

loved,) LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM. And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. Nor cold nor stern my soul! yet I detest

In the cool morning twilight, early waked
These scented rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, By her full bosom's joyous restlessness,
Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,
In intricacies of laborious song.

Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,

Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,
These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign Over their dim, fast-moving shadows hung,
To melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint;

Making a quiet image of disquiet
But when the long-breathed singer's uptrill’d strain in the smooth, scarcely-moving river-pool.
Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.

There, in that bower where first she own'd her love,

And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy Hark the deep buzz of vanity and hate !

From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stret:h'd Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer

The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name My lady eyes some maid of humbler state,

Between the moss-rose and forget-me-notWhile the pert captain, or the primmer priest,

Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair! Prattles accordant scandal in her ear.

That forced to wander till sweet spring return, O give me, from this heartless scene released,

I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, To hear our old musician, blind and gray,

Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood (Whom stretching from my nursc's arms I kiss'd,)

Has inade me wish to steal away and weep,) His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play

Nor yet th' entrancement of that maiden kiss By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,

With which she promised, that when spring reThe while I dance amid the tedded hay

turn'd, With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light.

She would resign one-half of that dear name,

And own thenceforth no other name but mine! Or lies the purple evening on the bay Of the calm glossy lake, 0 let me hide

Unheard, unseen, behind the alder trees,
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,

TO A LADY.
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease,
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,

WITH FALCONER'S “SHIPWRECK.”
Breathes in his flute sad airs, 80 wild and slow,

Au! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.

In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,

Nor wbile half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams, And the gust pelting on the outhouse shed

To harp and song from lady's hand and voice; Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of wo,

. One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) Ballad of shipwreck'd sailor floating dead,

of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six

to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow Whom his own true-love buried in the sands!

eye. It has the same name over the whole empire of Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures

Germany, (Vergissmein nicht,) and, we believe, in DenWhatever tones and melancholy pleasures

mark and Sweden.

Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood

In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong, On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;

What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strew'd,

song. Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell ; But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny, warm

weather, Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, And singing, and loving—all come back together. And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, hark !

The green fields below him, the blue sky above, Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he

Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark! “I love my love, and my love loves me !"

Of gratitude ! remembrances of friend,

Or absent or no more! Shades of the past, Which love makes substance! Hence to thee I

send, O dear as long as life and memory last !

I send with deep regards of heart and head,
Sweet maid, for friendship form’d! this work to

thee:
And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed

A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.

The sunny showers, the dappled sky,
The little birds that warble high,

Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I

With their sweet influencing.
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray:

You made us grow devouter !
Each eye look'd up, and seem'd to say

How can we do without her?
Besides, what vex'd us worst, we knew,
They have no need of such as you

In the place where you were going;
This world has angels all too few,

And heaven is overflowing !

HOME-SICK.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

'Tis sweet to him, who all the week
Through city crowds must push his way,

THE VISIONARY HOPE.
To stroll along through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day;

Sad lot, to have no hope! Though lowly kneeling

He fain would frame a prayer within his breast, And sweet it is, in summer bower,

Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healSincere, affectionate, and gay,

ing, One's own dear children feasting round,

That his sick body might have ease and rest; To celebrate one's marriage-day.

He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest

Against his will the stifling load revealing, But what is all, to his delight,

Though nature forced; though like some captive Who having long been doom'd to roam,

guest, Throws off the bundle from his back

Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast, Before the door of his own home?

An alien's restless mood but half-concealing, Home-sickness is a wasting pang;

The sternness on his gentle brow confess'd,

Sickness within and miserable feeling: This feel I hourly more and more:

Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams, There's healing only in thy wings,

And dreaded sleep, each night repelld in vain, Thou breeze that playest on Albion's shore !

Each night was scatter'd by its own loud screams,
Yet never could his heart command, though fain,

One deep full wish to be no more in pain.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.

That hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,

Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the Though changed in nature, wander where he dove,

wouldThe binnet and thrush, say, “I love and I love !" For love's despair is but hope's pining ghost!

Dreams, (the soul herself forsaking,)

On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc !
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;

The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Silent adorations, making

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! A blessed shadow of this earth!

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,

How silently! Around thee and above O ye hopes, that stir within me,

Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
Health comes with you from above ! An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
God is with me, God is in me!

As with a wedge! But when I look again,
I cannot die, if life be love.

It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,

Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS. Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
CUPID, if storying legends* tell aright,

I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, Once framed a rich elixir of delight.

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, A chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd: With these the magic dews, which evening brings, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy:

thought, Brush'd from th’Idalian star by faery wings : Each tender pledge of sacred faith he join'd,

Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,

Into the mighty vision passing--there Each gentler pleasure of th’unspotted mind

As in her natural form, swellid vast to heaven! Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
glow,

Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
And hope, the blameless parasite of wo.
The eyeless chemist heard the process rise,

Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake,

Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs; Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' 'enamoura Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. dove

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the rale! Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love.

O struggling with the darkness all the night, The finish'd work might envy vainly blame,

And visited all night by troops of stars, And “ Kisses” was the precious compound's name.

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink: With half the god his Cyprian mother blest,

Companion of the morning star at dawn,
And breathed on SARA's lovelier lips the rest.

Tliyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise !
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?

Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
III. MEDITATIVE POEMS.

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns callid you forth,

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,

For ever shatter'd and the same for ever?
Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man.

Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead:

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Naught sinks into the bosom's silent depth.

Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ? Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure

And who commanded, (and the silence came,) Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul

Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Warmeth the inner frame.

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Schiller.

Adown enormous ravines slope amainHYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, OF CHAMOUNY.

And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their who made you glorious as the gates of heaven sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun torrents rush down its sides, and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the gentiana major grows in immense Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue."

flowers

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star

God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, in his steep course ? So long he seems to pause

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!

IN BLANK VERSE.

* Effinixt quondam blandum meditata laborem

Basia lasciva Cypria Diva mana. Ambrosiæ succos occulta temperat arte,

Fragransque infuso neclare tingit opus. Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim

Non impune favis surripuisset Amor.

Decussos violæ foliis ad miscet odores

Et spolia æstivis plurima rapta rosis.
Addit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores,

Et quot Acidalius gaudia Cestus habet.
Ex his composuit Dea basia; et omnia libans
Invenias nitidæ sparsa per ora Cloës.

Carm. Quod. Vol. II.