The powers of life, and like a sign,

Seal thee from thine hour of woe;

And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

"Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not ; But when I think that he

Who made and makes my lot

As full of flowers, as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine
Might then have chased his agony
As I another's-my heart bleeds
For thine.

"Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of

The dead and the unborn

Forget thy life and love;

Forget that thou must wake for ever;

Forget the world's dull scorn;

Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;

And forget me, for I can never

Be thine.

"Like a cloud big with a May shower,

My soul weeps healing rain

On thee, thou withered flower;
It breathes mute music on thy sleep;
Its odour calms thy brain!

Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep
Possest.

"The spell is done. How feel you now?" "Better-Quite well," replied

The sleeper," What would do
You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side?".
""Twould kill me what would cure my pain;
And as I must on earth abide
Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My chain."

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.

FRAGMENTS OF AN UNFINISHED DRAMA.

THE following fragments are part of a Drama, undertaken for the amusement of the individuals who composed our intimate society, but left unfinished. I have preserved a sketch of the story as far as it had been shadowed in the poet's mind.

An Enchantress, living in one of the islands of the Indian Archipelago, saves the life of a Pirate, a man of savage but noble nature. She becomes enamoured of him; and he, inconstant to his mortal love, for a while returns her passion; but at length, recalling the memory of her whom he left, and who laments his loss, he escapes from the enchanted island and returns to his lady. His mode of life makes him again go to sea, and the Enchantress seizes the opportunity to bring him, by a spirit-brewed tempest, back to her island.

Scene before the Cavern of the Indian Enchantress.
The Enchantress comes forth.

ENCHANTRESS.

HE came like a dream in the dawn of life,
He fled like a shadow before its noon;

He is gone, and my peace is turned to strife,
And I wander and wane like the weary moon.
O sweet Echo, wake,

And for

my sake

Make answer the while my heart shall break!

But my heart has a music which Echo's lips, Though tender and true, yet can answer not, And the shadow that moves in the soul's eclipse

Can return not the kiss by his now forgot;
Sweet lips! he who hath

On my desolate path

Cast the darkness of absence, worse than death!

The Enchantress makes her spell: she is answered by a Spirit.

SPIRIT.

Within the silent centre of the earth

My mansion is; where I have lived insphered
From the beginning, and around my sleep
Have woven all the wondrous imagery
Of this dim spot, which mortals call the world;
Infinite depths of unknown elements
Massed into one impenetrable mask;
Sheets of immeasurable fire, and veins
Of gold, and stone, and adamantine iron.
And as a veil in which I walk through Heaven
I have wrought mountains, seas, waves, and clouds.
And lastly light, whose interfusion dawns

In the dark space of interstellar air.

A good Spirit, who watches over the Pirate's fate, leads, in a mysterious manner, the lady of his love to the Enchanted Isle. She is accompanied by a youth, who loves her, but whose passion she returns only with a sisterly affection. The ensuing scene takes place between them on their arrival at the Isle.

INDIAN YOUTH AND LADY.

INDIAN.

And if my grief should still be dearer to me

Than all the pleasures in the world beside,
Why would you lighten it?—

LADY.

I offer only

That which I seek, some human sympathy
In this mysterious island.

INDIAN.

Oh! my friend,

My sister, my beloved! What do I say

?

My brain is dizzy, and I scarce know whether
I speak to thee or her.

LADY.

Peace, perturbed heart!

I am to thee only as thou to mine,

The passing wind which heals the brow at noon,
And may strike cold into the breast at night,
Yet cannot linger where it soothes the most,
Or long soothe could it linger.

You also loved?

INDIAN.

But you

said

LADY.

Loved! Oh, I love. Methinks

This word of love is fit for all the world,
And that for gentle hearts another name