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Her mother (must I call her such ?) foresaw,
Should Constance leave the land, she would withdraw
Our House's charm against the world's neglect-
The only gem that drew it some respect.
Hence, when you went, she came and vainly spoke
To change her purpose-grew incensed, and broke
With execrations from her kneeling child.
Start not ! your angel from her knee rose mild,
Feared that she should not long the scene outlive,
Yet bade even you the unnatural one forgive.
Till then her ailment had been slight, or none :
But fast she drooped, and fatal pains came on :
Foreseeing their event, she dictated
And signed these words for you. The letter said —

“Theodric, this is destiny above
Our power to baffle ; bear it then, my love!
Rave not to learn the usage I have borne,
For one true sister left me not forlorn ;
And though you're absent in another land,
Sent from me by my own well-meant command,
Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine
As these clasped hands in blessing you now join :
Shape not imagined horrors in my fate-
Even now my sufferings are not very great;
And when your grief's first transports shall subside,
I call upon your strength of soul and pride
To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt,
Love's glorying tribute—not forlorn regret :
I charge my name with power to conjure up
Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup.
My pardoning angel, at the gates of Heaven,
Shall look not more regard than you have given
To me; and our life's union has been clad
In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had.
Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast,
Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past ?
No! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast,
There let me smile, amidst high thoughts at rest;

And let contentment on your spirit shine,
As if its peace were still a part of mine :
For if you war not proudly with your pain,
For you I shall have worse than lived in vain.
But I conjure your manliness to bear
My loss with noble spirit—not despair ;
I ask you by our love to promise this,
And kiss these words, where I have left a kiss,-
The latest from my living lips for yours.'-

“ Words that will solace him while life endures :
For though his spirit from affliction's surge
Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge,
Yet still that mind whose harmony elate
Rang sweetness, even beneath the crush of fate,-
That mind in whose regard all things were placed
In views that softened them, or lights that graced,
That soul's example could not but dispense
A portion of its own bless’d influence ;
Invoking him to peace and that self-sway
Which Fortune cannot give, nor take away :
And though he mourned her long, 'twas with such woe
As if her spirit watched him still below.”


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At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mused in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,

Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruined and wild is their roofless abode,

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode

To his hills that encircle the sea.

Yet, wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,

By the dial-stone aged and green,
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,

To mark where a garden had been :
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,

All wild in the silence of Nature it drew
From each wandering sunbeam a lonely embrace:
Nor the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place,

Where the flower of my forefathers grew.

Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all

That remains in this desolate heart ! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;

But patience shall never depart !

Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,

In the days of delusion by fancy combined, With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desert behind.

Be hushed, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns

When the faint and the feeble deplore :
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore !
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,

May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate ! Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again ;

To bear is to conquer our fate.


WHEN first the fiery mantled sun
His heavenly race began to run,
Round the earth and ocean blue
His children four the seasons flew :
First, in green apparel dancing,

The young Spring smiled with angel grace;
Rosy Summer, next advancing,

Rushed into her sire's embrace :-
Her bright-haired sire, who bade her keep

For ever nearest to his smiles,
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep,

Or India's citron-covered isles. More remote, and buxom brown,

The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne ; A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown,

A ripe sheaf bound her zone.

But howling Winter fled afar
To hills that prop the polar star;
And loves on deer-borne car to ride,
With barren darkness at his side,
Round the shore where loud Lofoden

Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Round the hall where Runic Odin

Howls his war-song to the galeSave when adown the ravaged globe

He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe,

And trampling on her faded form ; Till light's returning lord assume

The shaft that drives him to his northern field, Of power to pierce his raven plume,

And crystal-covered shield.

O sire of storms! whose savage ear
The Lapland drum delights to heal,-
When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye
Implores thy dreadful deity,
Archangel power of desolation !

(Fast descending as thou art) Say, hath mortal invocation

Spells to touch thy stony heart? Then, sullen Winter! hear my prayer,

And gently rule the ruined year; Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare,

Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear: To shivering want's unmantled bed

Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend, And mildly on the orphan head

Of innocence descend.

But chiefly spare, 0 king of clouds !
The sailor on his airy shrouds,
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,
And spectres walk along the deep;

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