And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand,-and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it !-Oh! to whom? LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thee Has led me-who knows how? O lift me from the grass! On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast, Where it will break at last. STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, And walked with inward glory crowned- Smiling they live and call life pleasure ;— Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, Which I have borne and yet must bear, My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Some might lament that I were cold, They might lament-for I am one Whom men love not,-and yet regret, Unlike this day, which when the sun Shall'on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. December, 1818. AUTUMN; A DIRGE. THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, For the year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, months, come away; Put on white, black, and grey, Let your light sisters play Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. |