SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS;

WITH OTHER POEMS.

They tell but dreams-a lonely spirit's dreams;
Yet ever through their fleeting imagery
Wanders a vein of melancholy love,

An aimless thought of home; as in the song
Of the caged skylark ye may deem there dwells
A passionate memory of blue skies and flowers,
And living streams-far off!

A SPIRIT'S RETURN.

"This is to be a mortal,

And seek the things beyond mortality!"

MANFRED.

THY voice prevails-dear friend, my gentle friend!
This long-shut heart for thee shall be unseal'd,
And though thy soft eye mournfully will bend
Over the troubled stream, yet once reveal'd
Shall its freed waters flow; then rocks must close
For evermore, above their dark repose.

Come while the gorgeous mysteries of the sky
Fused in the crimson sea of sunset lie;

Come to the woods, where all strange wandering

sound

Is mingled into harmony profound;

Where the leaves thrill with spirit, while the wind
Fills with a viewless being, unconfined,

The trembling reeds and fountains-our own dell,
With its green dimness and Æolian breath,
Shall suit th' unveiling of dark records well-
Hear me in tenderness and silent faith!

Thou knew'st me not in life's fresh vernal morn—
I would thou had'st!-for then my heart on thine
Had pour'd a worthier love; now, all o'erworn
By its deep thirst for something too divine,
It hath but fitful music to bestow,
Echoes of harp-strings broken long ago.

Yet even in youth companionless I stood,
As a lone forest-bird 'midst ocean's foam;
For me the silver cords of brotherhood
Were early loosed; the voices from my home
Pass'd one by one, and melody and mirth
Left me a dreamer by a silent hearth.

But, with the fulness of a heart that burn'd
For the deep sympathies of mind, I turn'd
From that unanswering spot, and fondly sought
In all wild scenes with thrilling murmurs fraught,
In every still small voice and sound of power,
And flute-note of the wind through cave and bower,
A perilous delight!—for then first woke

My life's lone passion, the mysterious quest

A SPIRIT'S RETURN.

Of secret knowledge; and each tone that broke
From the wood-arches or the fountain's breast,
Making my quick soul vibrate as a lyre,
But minister'd to that strange inborn fire.

'Midst the bright silence of the mountain dells, In noontide-hours or golden summer-eves,

My thoughts have burst forth as a gale that swells Into a rushing blast, and from the leaves

Shakes out response.

O thou rich world unseen!

Thou curtain'd realm of spirits!—thus my cry
Hath troubled air and silence-dost thou lie
Spread all around, yet by some filmy screen
Shut from us ever? The resounding woods,
Do their depths teem with marvels?—and the floods,
And the
pure fountains, leading secret veins

Of quenchless melody through rock and hill,
Have they bright dwellers ?— -are their lone domains
Peopled with beauty, which may never still
Our weary thirst of soul ?-Cold, weak and cold,
Is earth's vain language, piercing not one fold
Of our deep being! Oh, for gifts more high!
For a seer's glance to rend mortality!

For a charm'd rod, to call from each dark shrine
The oracles divine!

I woke from those high fantasies, to know
My kindred with the earth-I woke to love:
O gentle friend! to love in doubt and woe,
Shutting the heart the worshipp'd name above,
Is to love deeply-and my spirit's dower
Was a sad gift, a melancholy power