A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains : Before its blue and moveless depth were flying Grey mists poured forth from the unresting fountains Of darkness in the North :-the day was dying :Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see, And on the shattered vapours, which defying The power of light in vain, tossed restlessly In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea. It was a stream of living beams, whose bank Of liquid light, which then did end and fade— I stood beside her, but she saw me not- That led her there, united and shot forth From her far eyes, a light of deep revealing, All but her dearest self from my regard concealing. DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. ORPHAN hours, the year is dead, For the year is but asleep. As an earthquake rocks a corse For your mother in her shroud. As the wild air stirs and sways Rocks the year :-be calm and mild, Trembling hours, she will arise With new love within her eyes. January grey is here, Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps-but, O, ye hours, Follow with May's fairest flowers. MUTABILITY. THE flower that smiles to-day All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Which ours we call. Whilst skies are blue and bright, Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night Make glad the day; Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou-and from thy sleep Then wake to weep. TO-MORROW. WHERE art thou, beloved To-morrow? Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,— In thy place-ah! well-a-day! 1821. LINES. IF I walk in Autumn's even THE PAST. WILT thou forget the happy hours Forget the dead, the past? O yet There are ghosts that may take revenge for it, Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom, 1818. TIME LONG PAST. LIKE the ghost of a dear friend dead A tone which is now forever fled, Was time long past. There were sweet dreams in the night And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast Which made us wish it yet might last That time long past. |