Imatges de pàgina
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There is regret, almost remorse,
For time long past.

'Tis like a child's beloved corse
A father watches, till at last

Beauty is like remembrance cast
From time long past.

1820.

LINES.

THAT time is dead for ever, child,
Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!
We look on the past

And stare aghast

At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast,
Of hopes which thou and I beguiled
To death on life's dark river.

The stream we gazed on then, rolled by; Its waves are unreturning;

But we yet stand

In a lone land,

Like tombs to mark the memory

Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee
In the light of life's dim morning.

Songs of Love.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle ;-
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another ;
No sister flower would be forgiven,
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

FROM THE ARABIC.

AN IMITATION.

My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight
Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,

Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.

THE INDIAN SERENADE.

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me who knows how?

To thy chamber window, Sweet!

1821.

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
And the Champak's odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart ;-
As I must on thine,

O! beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!
I die I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast ;-
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.

1819.

ΤΟ

I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden,
Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion,

Thou needest not fear mine;

Innocent is the heart's devotion

With which I worship thine.

A SONG.

A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound.

1822.

LOVE AND PARTING.

SHE saw me not-she heard me not-alone
Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood;
She spake not, breathed not, moved not-there
was thrown

Over her look, the shadow of a mood

Which only clothes the heart in solitude,

A thought of voiceless depth;-she stood alone, Above, the Heavens were spread ;-below, the flood Was murmuring in its caves;—the wind had blown Her hair apart, thro' which her eyes and forehead shone.

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