ΤΟ MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm-thus wert not thou ;— My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks-I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine. To sit and curb the soul's mute rage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The [ ]thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near-Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake. Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead ;-thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain. We are not happy, sweet! our state Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate ;— Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thou and me. Gentle and good and mild thou art, Vultures, who build your bowers Withered hopes on hopes are spread; Many a day. SONG. RARELY, rarely, comest thou, Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a weary night and day How shall ever one like me All but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty Thou wilt come for pleasure ; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, Autumn evening, and the morn I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is Nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. I love Love-though he has wings, But, above all other things, Spirit, I love thee Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home. A FRAGMENT. As a violet's gentle eye Until its hue grows like what it beholds; As a strain of sweetest sound Wraps itself the wind around, Until the voiceless wind be music too; As aught dark, vain and dull, Basking in what is beautiful, Is full of light and love. |