In vain : the

song

that Sappho gave,

In dying, to the mournful sea, Not muter slept beneath the wave, Than this within my memory.

At length, one morning, as I lay
In that half-waking mood, when dreams
Unwillingly at last give way

To the full truth of daylight's beams,

A face the very face, methought,

From which had breath'd, as from a shrine Of song and soul, the notes I soughtCame with its music close to mine;

And sung the long-lost measure o’er, -
Each note and word, with every tone

And look, that lent it life before, -
All perfect, all again my own!

Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest
They meet again, each widow'd sound
Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest
Of its sweet mate, till all were found.

Nor ev'n in waking did the clue,

Thus strangely caught, escape again;

For never lark its matins knew

So well as now I knew this strain.

And oft, when memory's wondrous spell
Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower,
I sing this lady's song, and tell
The vision of that morning hour.

SONG.

WHERE is the heart that would not give
Years of drowsy days and nights,
One little hour, like this, to live-
Full, to the brim, of life's delights?

Look, look around,

This fairy ground,

With love-lights glittering o'er;

While cups that shine

With freight divine

Go coasting round its shore.

Hope is the dupe of future hours,
Memory lives in those gone by;
Neither can see the moment's flowers
Springing up fresh beneath the eye.
Wouldst thou, or thou,

Forego what's now,
For all that Hope may say?

No-Joy's reply,

From every eye,

Is, "Live we while we may.”

SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY.

Haud curat Hippoclides.

ERASM. Adag.

To those we love we've drunk to-night;

But now attend, and stare not, While I the ampler list recite

Of those for whom WE Care not.

For royal men, howe'er they frown,
If on their fronts they bear not
That noblest gem that decks a crown,

The People's Love WE CARE NOT.

For slavish men, who bend beneath
A despot yoke, yet dare not
Pronounce the will, whose very breath

Would rend its links

WE CARE NOT.

For priestly men, who covet sway
And wealth, though they declare not;
Who point, like finger-posts, the way
They never go - WE CARE NOT.

For martial men, who on their sword,
Howe'er it conquers, wear not

The pledges of a soldier's word,

Redeem'd and pure

WE CARE Not.

For legal men, who plead for wrong,
And, though to lies they swear not,
Are hardly better than the throng
Of those who do - WE CARE NOT.

For courtly men, who feed upon

The land, like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf, where they can sun Their crawling limbs WE CARE NOT.

For wealthy men, who keep their mines
In darkness hid, and share not
The paltry ore with him who pines
In honest want WE CARE NOT.

For prudent men, who hold the power
Of Love aloof, and bare not
Their hearts in any guardless hour

To Beauty's shaft WE CARE NOT.

For all, in short, on land or sea,
In camp or court, who are not,

Who never were, or e'er will be

Good men and true WE CARE NOT.

"S'elle estoit belle et de taille élégante,

Estoit des yeulx encor plus attirante,

Lesquelz sçavoit bien conduyre à propos

En les tenant quelquefoys en repos;
Aucunefoys envoyant en message
Porter du cueur le secret tesmoignage."

MUCH as her form seduc'd the sight,

Her eyes could ev'n more surely woo;
And when, and how to shoot their light
Into men's hearts full well she knew.
For sometimes, in repose, she hid
Their rays beneath a downcast lid;
And then again, with wakening air,
Would send their sunny glances out,
Like heralds of delight, to bear

Her heart's sweet messages about.

THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS

FROM DANTE.

Nell ora, credo, che dell' oriente

Prima raggiò nel monte Citerea,

Che di fuoco d'amor par sempre ardente,

Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea

Donna vedere andar per una landa

Cogliendo fiori; e cantando dicea: