Thou shrink'st as momently thy rays

Are mastered by the breathing haze;

While neither mist, nor thickest cloud

That shapes in heaven its murky shroud,
Hath power to injure mine.

"But not for this do I aspire

To match the spark of local fire,

That at my will burns on the dewy lawn,
With thy acknowledged glories;—No!
Yet, thus upbraided, I may show
What favors do attend me here,

Till, like thyself, I disappear

Before the purple dawn."

When this in modest guise was said,
Across the welkin seemed to spread

A boding sound-for aught but sleep unfit!
Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran;
That Star, so proud of late, looked wan;

And reeled with visionary stir

In the blue depth, like Lucifer

Cast headlong to the pit!

Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor

Of ancient ether was no more,

New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought

forth:

And all the happy Souls that rode

Transfigured through that fresh abode

Had heretofore, in humble trust,

Shone meekly 'mid their native dust,
The Glowworms of the earth!

This knowledge, from an Angel's voice
Proceeding, made the heart rejoice
Of him who slept upon the open lea:
Waking at morn he murmured not;
And, till life's journey closed, the spot
Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared,

Where by that dream he had been cheered
Beneath the shady tree.

LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING.

You call it, "Love-lies-bleeding," so you may,
Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away:

A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops,
(Sentient by Grecian sculpture's marvellous power)
Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bent
Earthward in uncomplaining languishment,
The dying Gladiator. So, sad Flower!
('Tis Fancy guides me, willing to be led,
Though by a slender thread,)

So drooped Adonis bathed in sanguine dew

Of his death-wound, when he from innocent air

The gentlest breath of resignation drew;
While Venus in a passion of despair

Rent, weeping over him, her golden hair,
Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do;

But pangs more lasting far, that Lover knew

Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone bower this semblance of unpitied smart

Did

press

Into the service of his constant heart,

His own dejection, downcast Flower! could share With thine, and gave the mournful name which thou wilt ever bear.

FORM AND SPIRIT.

SHE was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn,
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
Ard steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records. promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light

YET are they here, the same unbroken knot
Of human beings, in the self-same spot !-
Men, women, children, yea, the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the coloring of night,

That on their Gypsy faces falls,

Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.

Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours' are gone, while I
Have been a traveller under open sky,

Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left, I find them here!

The weary Sun betook himself to rest;—
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,
Outshining like a visible God

The glorious path in which he trod.
And now, ascending, after one dark hour
And one night's diminution of her power,
Behold the mighty Moon! this way

She looks as if at them,-but they
Regard not her.-O better wrong and strife
(By nature transient) than this torpid life,~ ‹
Life which the very stars reprove,

As on their silent tasks they move!

Yet, witness all that stirs in heaven or earth!
In scorn I speak not;-they are what their birth

And breeding suffer them to be;
Wild outcasts of society!