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The little cloud—it floats away, Away it goes; away so soon! . Alas! it has no power to stay: Its hues are dim, its hues are grey— Away it passes from the moon! How mournfully it seems to fly, Ever fading more and more, To joyless regions of the sky— And now "t is whiter than before" As white as my poor cheek will be, When, Lewti' on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee. Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind– | And yet thou didst not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky, Thin, and white, and very high; I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud : Perhaps the breezes that can fly Now below and now above, Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud Of Lady fair—that died for love. For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd. Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind— For Lewti never will be kind.
Hush' my heedless feet from under
I know the place where Lewti lies,
When silent night has closed her eyes:
The nightingale sings o'er her head:
That leafy labyrinth to thread,
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,
I then might view her bosom white
Heaving lovely to my sight,
As these two swans together heave
On the gently swelling wave.
Oh! that she saw me in a dream,
And dreamt that I had died for care; All pale and wasted I would seem,
Yet fair withal, as spirits are: I 'd die indeed, if I might see Her bosom heave, and heave for me! Soothe, gentle image 'soothe my mind! To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
The Picturf, on THE LovER's RESOLUTION.
Thaough weeds and thorns, and matted underwood I force my way; now climb, and now descend
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse;
But hence, fond wretch! breathe not contagion here No myrtle-walks are these: these are no groves Where Love dare loiter. If in sullen mood He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs, Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades! And you, ye Earth-winds' you that make at morn The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! You, O ye wingless Airs' that creep between The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze, Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon, The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed— Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb. Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes' With prickles sharper than his darts bemock His little Godship, making him perforce Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back.
This is my hour of triumph! I can now With my own fancies play the merry fool, And laugh away worse folly, being free. Here will I seat myself, beside this old, Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine Clothes as with net-work: here will I couch my limbs, Close by this river, in this silent shade, As safe and sacred from the step of man As an invisible world—unheard, unseen, And list'ning only to the pebbly brook That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound; Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring trunk Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me, Was never Love's accomplice, never raised The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek; Ne'er play'd the wanton—never half disclosed The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence Eye-poisons for some love-distemper'd youth, Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove
Sliver in sunshine, but his feeble heart Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.
Sweet breeze' thou only, if I guess aright, Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast, That swells its little breast, so full of song, Singing above me, on the mountain-ash. And thou too, desert Stream' no pool of thine, Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve, Did cer reflect the stately virgin's robe, The face, the form divine, the downcast look Contemplative! Behold! her open palm Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests on the bare branch of half-uprooted tree, That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile Had from her countenance turn'd, or look'd by stealth (For fear is true love's cruel nurse), he now With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye, Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain, Een as that phantom-world on which he gazed, But not unheeded gated: for see, ah! see, The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks The heads of tall towers that behind her grow, Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells: And suddenly, as one that toys with time, Scatters them on the pool! Then all the charm is broken—all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shapes the other. Stay awhile, Poor youth, who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes! The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return' And lo! he stays: And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Cone trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror; and behold Each wild-flower on the marge inverted there, And there the half-uprooted tree–but where, 0 where the virgin's snowy arm, that lean'd On its bare brancho Ile turns, and she is gone! Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated youth' Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook, Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou Beholdst her shadow still abiding there, The Naiad of the Mirror'
Not to thee, 0 wild and desert Stream! belongs this tale: Gloomy and dark art thou—the crowded firs Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed, Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream!
This be my chosen haunt—emancipate From passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone, i rise and trace its devious course. O lead, Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms. lo! stealing through the canopy of firs, How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock, l,le of the river, whose disparted waves Dart off asunder with an angry sound, How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet, Each in the other lost and found; and see
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun
The NIGHT-SCENE. A DRAMAtic Fita GMENT.
sAN dow.A. L. You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
EARL H Enny.
Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, Beneath the walls, which opens out at length Into the gloomiest covert of the garden— The night ere my departure to the army, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, And to that covert by a silent stream, Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry; So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us! No leaflet stirr'd;—yet pleasure hung upon The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. A little further on an arbour stood, Fragrant with flowering trees—I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness Their snow-white blossoms made—thither she led me, To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled— I heard her heart beat—if 't were not my own.
SAndow A L. A rude and scaring note, my friend!
Oh! no! I have small memory of aught but pleasure. The 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,
EARL henny. 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, Oh! 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 tsuilt, I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower I now will go—all objects there will teach me Unwavering love, and singleness of heart. Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her— Say nothing of me—I myself will seek her— Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment And keen inquiry of that scanning eye – - [EARL HENRY retires into the wood.
sAndoval (alone). O Henry' always strivest thou to be great By thine own act—yet art thou never great But by the inspiration of great passion. The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves: from Earth to Heaven they stand. As though they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
TO AN UNFORTUNATE woMAN,
whom THE AUTHon HAD KNowN IN THE DAYs of men in Nocence.
Myntle-lear that, ill besped,
Soil'd beneath the common tread,
When the Partridge o'er the sheaf Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf. Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing !
While the flatterer, on his wing,
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Soon on this unshelter'd walk
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE.
MAnnex, that with sullen brow
Like a scorched and mildew'd bough,
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 Blances of the youth,
But no sound like simple truth,
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion is the memory of past folly.
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
That had skimm'd the tender corn,
Soon with renovated wing
Upward to the day-star spring,
LINES COMPOSPM) IN A CONCERT-ROOM.
Noa cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
Ileaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breathed singer's uptrill'd strain Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.
Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and slate! Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing succr
My lady eyes sounc maid of humbler state, while the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest, Prattles accordant scandal in her car.
O (;ive me, from this heartless scene released,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,
The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,
In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd
one of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Patostris, a flower from six to twelve inclues high, with blue Llossom and bright yellow eye. It has the some name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergisame a nicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.