Sweeping past thy lowly bed,
With a mute, yet stately tread.
Shedding their pale armour's light
Forth upon the breathless night,
Bending every warlike plume
In the prayer o'er saintly tomb.

Is the noble Douglas nigh,
Arm'd to follow thee, or die?
Now, true heart, as thou wert wont
Pass thou to the peril's front!
Where the banner-spear is gleaming,
And the battle's red wine streaming,
Till the Paynim quail before thee,
Till the cross wave proudly o'er thee—
Dreams! the falling of a leaf

Wins me from their splendours brief;
Dreams, yet bright ones! scorn them not,
Thou that seek'st the holy spot;

Nor, amidst its lone domain,

Call the faith in relics vain!

NATURE'S FAREWELL.

"The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not."

COLERIDGE's Wallenstein.

A YOUTH rode forth from his childhood's home,
Through the crowded paths of the world to roam;
And the green leaves whisper'd, as he pass'd,
"Wherefore, thou dreamer, away so fast?

NATURE'S FAREWELL.

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"Knew'st thou with what thou art parting here, Long would'st thou linger in doubt and fear; Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, Thou hast left in our shades with the spring's wild flowers.

"Under the arch by our mingling made,
Thou and thy brother have gaily play'd;
Ye may meet again where ye roved of yore,
But as ye have met there-oh! never more!"

On rode the youth—and the boughs among,
Thus the free birds o'er his pathway sung:
"Wherefore so fast unto life away?
Thou art leaving for ever thy joy in our lay!

"Thou may'st come to the summer woods again,
And thy heart have no echo to greet their strain;
Afar from the foliage its love will dwell—
A change must pass o'er thee-farewell, farewell!"

On rode the youth-and the founts and streams
Thus mingled a voice with his joyous dreams:
"We have been thy playmates through many a day,
Wherefore thus leave us ?-oh! yet delay!

"Listen but once to the sound of our mirth! For thee 'tis a melody passing from earth. Never again wilt thou find in its flow,

The peace it could once on thy heart bestow.

"Thou wilt visit the scenes of thy childhood's glee, With the breath of the world on thy spirit free;

Passion and sorrow its depth will have stirr'd,
And the singing of waters be vainly heard.

"Thou wilt bear in our gladsome laugh no partWhat should it do for a burning heart?

Thou wilt bring to the banks of our freshest rill, Thirst which no fountain on earth may still.

"Farewell!-when thou comest again to thine own, Thou wilt miss from our music its loveliest tone; Mournfully true is the tale we tell—

Yet on, fiery dreamer! farewell, farewell!"

And a something of gloom on his spirit weigh'd As he caught the last sounds of his native shade; But he knew not, till many a bright spell broke, How deep were the oracles Nature spoke!

THE BEINGS OF THE MIND.

"The beings of the mind are not of clay;

Essentially immortal, they create

And multiply in us a brighter ray,

And more beloved existence; that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state
Of mortal bondage."

BYRON.

COME to me with your triumphs and your woes,
Ye forms, to life by glorious poets brought!
I sit alone with flowers, and vernal boughs,
In the deep shadow of a voiceless thought;

THE BEINGS OF THE MIND.

'Midst the glad music of the spring alone, And sorrowful for visions that are gone!

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Come to me! make your thrilling whispers heard,
Ye, by those masters of the soul endow'd
With life, and love, and many a burning word,

That bursts from grief, like lightning from a cloud,
And smites the heart, till all its chords reply,
As leaves make answer when the wind sweeps by.

Come to me! visit my dim haunt !—the sound
Of hidden springs is in the grass beneath;
The stock-dove's note above; and all around,
The poesy that with the violet's breath

Floats through the air, in rich and sudden streams,
Mingling, like music, with the soul's deep dreams.

Friends, friends!—for such to my lone heart ye

are

Unchanging ones! from whose immortal eyes The glory melts not as a waning star,

And the sweet kindness never, never dies; Bright children of the bard! o'er this green dell Pass once again, and light it with your spell!

Imogen fair Fidele! meekly blending

In patient grief, "a smiling with a sigh ;"* And thou, Cordelia! faithful daughter, tending That sire, an outcast to the bitter sky;

* "Nobly he yokes

A smiling with a sigh."

Cymbeline.

Thou of the soft low voice!-thou art not gone! Still breathes for me its faint and flute-like tone.

And come to me!-sing me thy willow-strain,
Sweet Desdemona! with the sad surprise
In thy beseeching glance, where still, though vain,
Undimm'd, unquenchable affection lies;

Come, bowing thy young head to wrong and scorn,
As a frail hyacinth, by showers o'erborne.

And thou, too, fair Ophelia! flowers are here, That well might win thy footstep to the spotPale cowslips, meet for maiden's early bier,

And pansies for sad thoughts,*-but needed not! Come with thy wreaths, and all the love and light In that wild eye still tremulously bright.

And Juliet, vision of the south! enshrining

All gifts that unto its rich heaven belong; The glow, the sweetness, in its rose combining, The soul its nightingales pour forth in song, Thou, making death deep joy!-but could'st thou die?

No!-thy young love hath immortality!

From earth's bright faces fades the light of morn,
From earth's glad voices drops the joyous tone;
But
ye, the children of the soul, were born
Deathless, and for undying love alone;

"Here's pansies for you-that's for thoughts."

Hamlet.