TO----

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds,

Are lips--and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words--

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined Then desolately fall, O G.o.d! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall--

Thy heart--_thy_ heart!--I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy-- Of the baubles that it may.

1829.

TO THE RIVER

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty--the unhidden heart-- The playful maziness of art In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks-- Which glistens then, and trembles-- Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles; For in his heart, as in thy stream, Her image deeply lies-- His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes.

1829.

SONG.

I saw thee on thy bridal day-- When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee:

And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see.

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-- As such it well may pa.s.s-- Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas!

Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush _would_ come o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee.

1827.

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.

Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness--for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee--and their will Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night--tho' clear--shall frown-- And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given-- But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee forever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish-- Now are visions ne'er to vanish-- From thy spirit shall they pa.s.s No more--like dew-drops from the gra.s.s.

The breeze--the breath of G.o.d--is still-- And the mist upon the hill Shadowy--shadowy--yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token-- How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!

1837.

A DREAM.

In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.