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The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!
She leant against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve.
I play'd a soft and doleful air,
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand; And that for ten long years he woo'd The Lady of the Land.
I told her how he pined; and ah!
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
Too fondly on her face!
But when I told the cruel scorn
That sometimes from the savage den,
In green and sunny glade,
There came and look'd him in the face
And that,unknowing what he did,
And how she wept, and claspt his knees;
The scorn that crazed his brain.
And that she nursed him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay.
His dying words-but when I reach'd That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faultering voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
She wept with pity and delight,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heav'd-she stept aside, As conscious of my look she steptThen suddenly, with timorous eye, She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms, She press'd me with a meek ́embrace; And bending back her head, look'd up, And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, And told her love with virgin-pride. And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE.
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped, Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soil'd beneath the common tread, Far from thy protecting spray!
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!
Wert thou danced and wafted high-
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
AT THE THEATRE.
MAIDEN, that with sullen brow
Sitst behind those virgins gay, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough, Leafless 'mid the blooms of May!
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Soft the glances of the youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth, But no true love in his eye.
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Inly arm'd, go, Maiden! go.
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
Or the bean-field's odorous blooms:
Soon with renovated wing
And embathe in heavenly light.
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERTROOM.
NOR cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
O give me, from this heartless scene releas'd, To hear our old musician, blind and gray, (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kist)
His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth,
BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY. For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources on the foot of Mount-Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its
flowers of loveliest blue.
HAST thou a charm to stay the Morning
In his steep course? So long he seems to
On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC!
O dread and silent Mount! Igaz'd upon thee,
I worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy:
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret extacy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my Heart, awake!
Green Vales and icy Cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the
O struggling with the Darkness all the night,
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death,
Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the Mountain's
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest
Motionless Torrents! silent Cataracts!
Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the
Cloath you with rainbows? Who, with
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your
GOD! let the Torrents, like a shout of Nations
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD!
Ye living flowers that skirt th' eternal
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast-
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent Sky, And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising Sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM
ON THE 1st OF FEBRUARY, 1796. SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teethchattering Month Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower!
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell
O dear, dear England! how my longing eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs! My native Land!
Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud,
Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all
From sovran Brocken,woods and woody hills,
Mankind to be one mighty Family,
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way. Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth Nipp'd by Consumption'mid untimely charms? Or to Bristowa's Bard, the wonderous boy! An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own,
Blooming 'mid poverty's drear wintry waste, Till Disappointment came and pelting Wrong Beat it to Earth? or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one
From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master! And the warm wooings of this sunny day Tremble along my frame and harmonize Th' attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh
Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broadleav'd Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be) Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd!
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,