I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, And the starry night; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. I love snow, and all the forms Of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds, and storms, Every thing almost Which is Nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. I love Love-though he has wings, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet, A breathless awe, like the swift change Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, The cope By the inchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career, Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, "Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul—it lingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick— My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. THE FUGITIVES. I. THE waters are flashing, The lightnings are glancing, The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster bells ringing Come away! The Earth is like Ocean, Wreck-strewn and in motion: Bird, beast, man and worm Have crept out of the storm- II. "Our boat has one sail, And the helmsman is pale; A bold pilot I trow, Who should follow us now," Shouted He L And she cried: " Ply the oar! And from isle, tower and rock, From the lee. III. And, fear'st thou, and fear'st thou ? And, see'st thou, and hear'st thou ? And, drive we not free O'er the terrible sea, I and thou?" One boat-cloak did cover The loved and the lover Their blood beats one measure, They murmur proud pleasure Soft and low ; While around the lashed Ocean, Like mountains in motion, |