And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours,
Though I was chid for wandering; and the Wise
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said
Of such materials wretched men were made,
And such a truant boy would end in woe,
And that the only lesson was a blow.
And then they smote me, and I did not weep,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt
Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again
The visions which arise without a sleep,
And with my years my soul began to pant
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain;
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought-and that was thee;
And then I lost my being, all to be
Absorb'd in thine-the world was pass'd away-
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

VII.

I loved all Solitude, but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant: had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave.
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave?

Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore:
The world is all before him-mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my
bier.

What though he perish, he may lift his eye,
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky;
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,
But with a sense of its decay;-I see
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange demon, who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free;
But much to One, who long hath suffer'd so.
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place.
And all that may be borne or can debase,
I thought mine enemies had been but Man,
But spirits may be leagued with them; all Earth
Abandons, Heaven forgets me in the dearth
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,

It may be, tempt me further, and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved
Like steel in tempering fire ?-because I loved?
Because I loved what not to love, and see,
Was more or less than mortal, and than me

IX.

I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er :
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
My brain against these bars, as the sun flash'd
In mockery through them: If I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words-'tis that I would not die,
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of
shame

Stamp Madness deep into my memory,
And woo Compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No-it shall be immortal! and I make
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara, when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy heartless
halls,

A poet's wreath shall be thy only crown--
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled

walls!

That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear
And thou, Leonora ! thou-who wert ashamed
To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness-and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me-
From long infection of a den like this,
Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss--
Adores thee still; and add-that when the towers
And battlements which guard his joyous hours
Of banquet, dance, and revel are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull repose,
This, this, shall be a consecrated spot!
But Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty
throws

Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate

To be entwined for ever-but too late!

Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,

Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours?
Ours too the glance none saw beside,

The smile none else might understand;
The whisper'd thoughts of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,

That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,

When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song, celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from ncne but thine; The pledge we wore I wear it still,

But where is thine?-Ah! where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now!
Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,

I would not wish thee here again.
But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,

To wean me from mine anguish here.
Teach me too early taught by thee!
To bear, forgiving and forgiven:
On earth thy love was such to me;

It fain would form my hope in heaven!

AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! AWAY, away, ye notes of woe!

Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence-for, oh!

I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days

But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze,

On what I am-on what I was.

The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony

Is worse than discord to my heart.

'Tis silent all!--but on my ear

The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear,

A voice that now might well be still: Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake, Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake

To listen, though the dream be flown. Sweet Thyrza ! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dream; A star that trembled o'er the deep,

Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.

But he who through life's dreary way

Must pass when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM
FREE.

ONE struggle more, and I am free

From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.

It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before:
Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief can touch me more?
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring:
Man was not form'd to live alone:
I'll be that light, unmeaning thing
That smiles with all, and weeps with none
It was not thus in days more dear,

It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here,

Thou'rt nothing-all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! The smile that sorrow fain would wear But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, Like roses o'er a sepulchre. Though gay companions o'er the bowl Dispel awhile the sense of ill; Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, The heart,-the heart is lonely still! On many a lone and lovely night

It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye: And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"

Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee

Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as e'en the dead can be, It feels, it sickens with the chill. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token Though painful, welcome to my breast! Still, still preserve that love unbroken,

Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed. Time tempers love, but not removes, More hallow'd when its hope is fled: Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?

EUTHANASIA. WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,

Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevell'd hair,

To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
But silent let me sink to earth,

With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour

Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power

In her who lives, and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche, to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggle past,

L'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still

Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death.

AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG
AND FAIR.

"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!'

AND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
"Tis nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,

Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine:

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep

I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine

That all those charins have pass'd away:
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last :
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.

IF sometimes in the haunts of men

Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;

I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.

ON REVISITING HARROW.

HERE once engaged the stranger's view,

Young Friendship's record simply traced Few were her words, but yet, though few, Resentment's hand the line defaced. Deeply she cut-but not erased,

The characters were still so plain. That friendship once return'd, and gazedTill Memory hail'd the words again. Repentance placed them as before;

Forgiveness join'd her gentle name; So fair the inscription seem'd once more, That friendship thought it still the same. Thus might the record now have been ; But, ah! in spite of Hope's endeavour, Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between, And blotted out the line for ever.

A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well: He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more-so was carried at last : For the liquor he drank, being too much for one, He could not carry off,- -so he's now carri-on.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER. ¦ FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For others' weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain-

I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!

BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL.

BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !

No lovelier spirit than thine

E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be:
And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with
thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see: For why should we mourn for the blest?

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

WHEN We two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well :-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve,
That my heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.