'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night, The balmiest of the month of June! A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain. O ever-ever be thou blest! For dearly, Asra, love I thee! This brooding warmth across my breast, The shadows dance upon the wall, By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all! And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee! I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play 'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow! But let me check this tender lay Which none may hear but she and thou! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women! 1814-16. ERE on my bed my limbs I lay No wish conceived, no thought exprest, But yester-night I prayed aloud Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet burning still! * See Note. Deeds to be hid which were not hid, So two nights passed: the night's dismay Saddened and stunned the coming day. Sleep the wide blessing, seemed to me Distemper's worst calamity. The third night, when my own loud scream The unfathomable hell within The horror of their deeds to view, To know and loathe, yet wish and do! And whom I love, I love indeed. * A HYMN. My Maker! of thy power the trace In every creature's form and face The wond'ring soul surveys: Thy wisdom, infinite above Seraphic thought, a Father's love As infinite displays! From all that meets or eye or ear, There falls a genial holy fear Which, like the heavy dew of morn, Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn! Great God! thy works how wondrous fair! The whole Earth's voice and mind! Where but thy Shadow falls, Grief cannot be !— *See Note. 1814. HUMAN LIFE, ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY. Ir dead, we cease to be; if total gloom Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finished vase, She formed with restless hands unconsciously! If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears, The counter-weights!-Thy laughter and thy tears Mean but themselves, each fittest to create, And to repay the other! Why rejoices Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood, Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices, Image of image, ghost of ghostly elf, That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold? |