What they said, or what they ponder'd Little reck'd fair Annabel, As with joyous hearts they wander'd By green vale and shady dell; And she cried "O! life was never Made to be ambition's fool, Bound in fashion's chains, and ever Banish'd from the Beautiful!"

TO JENNY LIND.

ON HER RE-APPEARANCE IN ENGLAND

MAY 4th. 1848.

Summer hath come, led on by sunny May The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray That trembles from the opening gates of dawn Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn, As they glide gently onward, ever breathes A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes Within the being until every thought With a strange mystery of joy is fraught.

And where the hazel forms a leafy screen Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen, Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air, Whose silent motions far the accents bear.

And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more O'er our entranced spirits to outpour Thy liquid warblings! 'Mid the flow'rets' scent And summer's gladness rises interblent Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies Of Italy, as erst to Juliet's ear From the pomegranate tree 'twas wafted near, Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat Of pa.s.sion, waking echoes in the breast Of love, and purity, and quiet rest, Murmuring through the windings of the soul, Till interpenetrated is the whole With holy harmonies, and blissful sense Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven, By the dear magic of that voice from heaven.

Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest In a rich flood of song--now faint, yet clear As Helicon's own murmurs to the ear, Now swelling till around our being floats In thrilling cadences thy bell-like notes,-- The poetry of poetry, the deep Mysterious essences whose wavings steep Life in the bliss of angels, and the real In the ethereal hues of the ideal; A welcome to thee! heartfelt as the lay Hymn'd by the panting lark to the young day, Joyous and loving as the sunny beam That greets the early primrose, when the dream Of flowery revels through the noontide hours First steals upon it. Such a joy is ours Now, as with falt'ring tones our spirits hail Thy glad return, O sweetest Nightingale!

THE GOLD SEEKERS.

Ever onward sweep the Nations, marching with a mighty train, Prince and peasant, youth and maiden, toiling, struggling o'er Life's plain;

Turning from the land that bore them, from the loving ties of old, Still to wander, weary pilgrims, o'er the wide world after gold.

Little reck they of the dangers, little reck they of the woes, Urged along by strong endeavour, heedless both of friends and foes;

Gazing on the shadow moving at their sides till sun hath set, Ever whisp'ring to their spirit, "Courage! we will grasp it yet!"

Over plain and over mountain, rocks their zeal cannot resist, Up the rugged heights they clamber till they perish in the mist;

Down the precipital hollows blindly falling as they speed, Calling still with dying accents on their fellows to take heed;

Over stream, and trackless ocean, with the storm-cloud hatching nigh, Ever waiting there to thunder at the bidding of the sky;

Tossing on the angry billow, heart and soul beset with fear, Yet with longing all unshaken, onward through the blast they steer;

Over marsh, and sandy desert, sinking 'neath the scorching sun, Hopeless, weary, madly thirsting, slowly dying one by one;

Leaving many a bone to whiten by the wayside, and to tell By mortality's drear tide-marks, how its surges rose and fell;

Through the spring, and through the summer, when the flowers are on the lea; Through the Autumn when the blossoms fade and wither drearily;

Through the chill and ghostly Winter when the year is in its shroud, And corruption preys on Nature, stooping fiercely from its cloud;

Through the light and through the darkness, through the rain and through the snow, Striving onward without resting seeking it above, below,

In the earth, and in the water, in the rock, and in the clay, Gathering up the sandy beaches, searching, sifting them away;

Never resting, but with spirits eager, breathless to attain, Evermore they hurry forward to their purpose o'er life's plain,

With their garments waxen olden, and their sandals wearing out, And the sinews growing weaker that once bore them up so stout,

With the vision ever dimmer to discern the cherish'd prize, Till at length upon the highway, at each step some pilgrim dies,

His glazed eyes still feebly turning e'en in death unto the goal That yet glimmers far beyond him, the life haven of his soul.

But a stalwart phalanx presseth onward still with hearts serene, Strong in faith and stedfast courage, meeting toil with dauntless mien;

Working out their primal mission through the calm and through the blast, Gath'ring fitness for the Future from the Present, and the Past.

Thus enduring, thus pursuing upheld by a mighty hand Through all dangers of the travel, come they to the Golden Land,

Find the treasures they are seeking richly pour'd into their breast; Toil and danger ever finish'd, now they sweetly take their rest,

With the light of glory shining from the G.o.dhead on their souls, Whilst above them the broad banner of Eternity unrolls.

TO WOMAN.

Beautiful Spirit! Angel of the Earth!

That glidest through the storm-tost world, And bearest Blessings of peace and rest unto the weak, Giddy and faint within its vortex whirled; O! fairest, Sweetest Pilot of the wavering soul Through the wide-yawning gulfs and shoals of crime, Whence issue siren-spells that seek To sink the wayward in their noxious slime; Emblem of Purity!

That like the star of Bethlehem dost lume The wise of heart through this life's deepest gloom To hope, and joy, and blessedness, Hail to thee!

Thou art the Priestess of all Holiness!

Standing midway betwixt the earth and heaven, Part shared of either, Mortality inwrought with purer leaven, Good sympathies, sweet thoughts, and stainless love, That like distilled perfume float above To charm the breather!

O vision of soft eyes and flowing hair, Mild gentle eyes that chasten as they glance, And on their dewy brightness ever bear The heart's warm language writ in radiance!

O blessed smiles! heaven's golden sunrays shed On life's cold stream, Renewed summer when the old is fled Like a dream!

O voice tinct with the spirit's sweetness, Last tone of heaven's clear harmonies Ere in the silence of wide s.p.a.ce it dies, Music's completeness!

O gentle laughters! rising from the crystal spring Of joyance and free-hearted sympathy, Pure rills to trickle sunnily From eyes and rosy lips in liquid warbling, Sweetly ye win us To shrine the blest spirit of Beauty Within us!

O tender heart! Love's everlasting dwelling, Beautiful fountain of all generous thoughts, From whose unsealed fulness, ever welling, Come to mankind their purest pleasure draughts; O gentle heart! Grief's only sanctuary, Safe refuge from the rude a.s.saults of woe, Throbbing with mild compa.s.sion constantly, That never change nor withering can know; From the pure spring of virgin slumbers Peace falls upon the soul when thou art by, Lulling it sweeter than Philomel's numbers, Lapping it deep within felicity.

O brightest! dearest! still there floats to thee The incense of pure minds eternally, Thoughts sown of loveliness, that bud and bloom, And through the summer-time of after years Shed sweet perfume, Love-imaginings that rise through tears Like rainbows, and soft dreams That are the heaven-gleams, Caught from the deep Of Elysian sleep!

THE POET.

You might think, to look upon them with their arms around each other, And the tale that he is breathing softly crimsoned on her cheek, That a sweeter spell enwound them than the love she bears a brother, And that sweeter words are spoken than the words that brothers speak.

For, fair one, she loves him dearly, dearly as a woman's spirit Full of gentleness and beauty loves all pure and holy things, Just as though some blessed angel, screened from sight, were floating near it, Fanning every tender feeling into motion with its wings.

So she hears with echoed rapture hopes that in his breast are swelling, Of the glory and the honour that have sunned his poet's dream, Charmed him by their bright illusion madly from his quiet dwelling To immerse him in life's ocean, there to lose him like a stream.