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Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands ?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night's ghost and dreams have now departed;
Thine cwn soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase ;-the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of
Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness
And profoundest midnight shroud the screne lights of heaven.
Pause not the time is past! every voice cries, Away!
Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's ungentle mood:
Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:
Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
! to thy sad and silent home;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth;
Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and
And complicate strange webs of melancholy
The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head,
The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet
But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead,
Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own repose,
For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep;
Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean kitows;
Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep.
Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms flee
Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,
Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings, are not free
From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile.
THE cold earth slept below,
Above the cold sky shone,
And all around
With a chilling sound,
From caves of ice and fields of snow,
The wintry hedge was black,
On the bare thorn's breast,
Whose roots, beside the pathway track,
Thine eyes glowed in the glare
On a sluggish stream
Gleams dimly-so the moon shone there,
The moon made thy lips pale, beloved;
The wind made thy bosom chill;
The night did shed
On thy dear head
Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie
Where the bitter breath of the naked sky