Losing her carol I stood pensively, As one that from a casement leans his head, When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, And the old year is dead. 'Alas! alas !' a low voice, full of care, Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust: To whom the Egyptian: O, you tamely died! You should have clung to Fulvia's waist, and thrust The dagger thro' her side.' With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping beams, Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams Ruled in the eastern sky. Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark, Or her who knew that Love can vanquish Death, Who kneeling, with one arm about her king, Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, Sweet as new buds in Spring. No memory labours longer from the deep Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike Into that wondrous track of dreams again! But no two dreams are like. As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art, Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, Wither beneath the palate, and the heart Faints, faded by its heat. THE BLACKBIRD O BLACKBIRD! sing me something well : While all the neighbours shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell. The espaliers and the standards all Are thine; the range of lawn and park: The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, All thine, against the garden wall. Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, A golden bill! the silver tongue, That made thee famous once, when young: And in the sultry garden-squares, Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse, I hear thee not at all, or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares. Take warning! he that will not sing THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing : Old year, you must not die ; He lieth still he doth not move : He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, He froth'd his bumpers to the brim Old year, you shall not die; ; We did so laugh and cry with you, you, He was full of joke and jest, Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : The cricket chirps: the light burns low : 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. T. V Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : 193 |