Yet why should thoughts like these intrude to scare A transient visitor? Mortals! be gladsome while ye have the power, And laugh and seize the glittering lapse of joy; In time the bell will toll That warns ye to your graves. I to the woodland solitude will bend [shout My lonesome way-where Mirth's obstreporous Shall not intrude to break The meditative hour. There will I ponder on the state of man, To sad reflection's shrine: And I will cast my fond eye far beyond CANZONET. I. MAIDEN! wrap thy mantle round thee, All under the tree Thy bed may be, And thou may'st slumber peacefully. II. Maiden! once gay Pleasure knew thee; Yet, poor maiden, do not weep: All under the tree, Where thou wilt sleep most peacefully. COMMENCEMENT OF A POEM ON DESPAIR. SOME to Aonian lyres of silver sound Pensively musing on the scenes of youth, * * Alluding to the two pleasing poems, the Pleasures of Hope and of Memory. Such subjects merit poets used to raise The attic verse harmonious; but for me A dreadlier theme demands my backward hand, And bids me strike the strings of dissonance With frantic energy. 'Tis wan Despair I sing; if sing I can Of him before whose blast the voice of Song, Howls forth his sufferings to the moaning wind; 'Tis him I sing-Despair-terrific name, Of timorous terror-discord in the sound: And firing him with deeds of high emprise, And woo the silken zephyr in the bowers By Heliconia's sleep-inviting stream: For aid like yours I seek not; 'tis for powers Of darker hue to inspire a verse like mine! 'Tis work for wizards, sorcerers, and fiends! Hither, ye furious imps of Acheron, Nurslings of hell, and beings shunning light, And all the myriads of the burning concave; Souls of the damned;-Hither, oh! come and join The infernal chorus. 'Tis Despair I sing! He, whose sole tooth inflicts a deadlier pang Than all your tortures join'd. Sing, sing Despair! Repeat the sound, and celebrate his power: Unite shouts, screams, and agonizing shrieks, Till the loud pæan ring through hell's high vault, And the remotest spirits of the deep Leap from the lake, and join the dreadful song. TO THE WIND, AT MIDNIGHT. NOT unfamiliar to mine ear, With fitful force ye beat. Mine ear has dwelt in silent awe, Pour'd deep the hollow dirge. Once more I listen; sadly communing Within me, once more mark, storm-clothed, The moon as the dark cloud Glides rapidly away. I, deeming that the voice of spirits dwells The dead man's Jubilee. Hark! how the spirit knocks,-how loud- It is a boisterous night. I would not, at this moment, be The ear doth shudder at such sounds When man is gone to sleep. There have been heard unchristian shrieks, As though the autumnal woods There's mystery in these sounds, and I |