I give thee to thy God!-the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
And precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
And thou shalt be his child!
Therefore, farewell!-I go; my soul may fail me,
As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks!
But thou, my firstborn! droop not, nor bewail me ;
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,
The Rock of Strength-farewell!”
ON PARTING WITH MY BOOKS.
YE dear companions of my silent hours,
Whose pages oft before my eyes would strew
So many sweet and variegated flowers-
Dear Books, awhile, perhaps for aye, adieu!
The dark cloud of misfortune o'er me lours:
No more by winter's fire-in summer's bowers,
My toil-worn mind shall be refreshed by you :
We part! sad thought! and while the damp devours
Your leaves, and the worm slowly eats them through,
Dull Poverty and its attendant ills,
Wasting of health, vain toil, corroding care,
And the world's cold neglect, which surest kills,
Must be my bitter doom; yet I shall bear
Unmurmuring, for my good perchance these evils are.
Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis.
YES! bury me deep in the infinite sea,
Let my heart have a limitless grave;
For my spirit in life was as fierce and free
As the course of the tempest-wave.
As far from the stretch of all earthly control
Were the fathomless depths of my mind;
And the ebbs and flows of my single soul
Were as tides to the rest of mankind.
Then my briny pall shall engirdle the world,
As in life did the voice of my fame;
And each mutinous billow that's sky-ward curled
Shall seem to re-echo my name.
That name shall be storied in annals of crime
In the uttermost corners of earth;
Now breathed as a curse-now a spell-word sublime, In the glorified land of my birth.
Ay! plunge my dark heart in the infinite sea;
It would burst from a narrower tomb;
Shall less than an ocean his sepulchre be
Whose mandate to millions was doom?
'MID shouts that hailed her from the shore And bade her speed, the bark is gone, The dreary ocean to explore
Whose waters sweep the frigid zone ;— And bounding on before the gale,
To bright eyes shining through their tears, "Twixt sea and sky, her snowy sail
A lessening speck appears.
Behold her next 'mid icy isles,
Lone wending on her cheerless way; 'Neath skies where summer scarcely smiles, Whose light seems but the shade of day. But while the waves she wanders o'er, Around her form they sink to sleep; The pulse of nature throbs no more— She's chained within the deep!
Then Hope for ever took her flight;
Each face as monumental stone,
Grew ghastly in the fading light
In which their latest sun went down;
And ere its disc to darkness passed,
And closed their unreturning day,
The seaman sought the dizzy mast,
To catch its latest ray.
All other secrets of their fate
From darkness would the Muse redeem; Unheard-of horrors to relate,
Which fancy scarce may dare to dream.
Thus much we only know-they died;
All else oblivion veils,
And charnels of the waters wide,
That tell no babbling tales.
For them were wishes, longings, fears,
The sleepless night and ceaseless prayer,
Hope gleaming, rainbow-like, through tears,
And doubt that darkened to despair!
Suns, seasons, as they roll away,
No light upon the lost can shed,
Their tale a secret till the day
When seas give up their dead.
WHERE are now the dreaming flowers,
Which of old were wont to lie,
Looking upwards at the hours,
In the pale blue sky?
Where's the once red regal rose?
And the lily, love-enchanted?
And the pensée which arose
Like a thought, earth-planted?
Some are withered-some are dead-
Others now have no perfume;
This doth hang its sullen head,
That hath lost its bloom.
Passions, such as nourish strife
In our blood, and quick decay,
Hang upon the flower's life
Till it fades away.
ON SEEING THE ENDYMION OF ALBANO.
The very music of his name has gone into my being. KEATS.
I NEVER Would have drawn Endymion thus-
He should have knelt on earth, a shepherd boy,
With vivid eye, and dark descending hair,
Thrown into light and beauty, by the beam
Of her he worshiped-
His eye should have been fixed, but not in sleep;
Nor should the lid thrown e'en a partial shadow:
Like a young, wild, untaught idolater,
There let him kneel; with curved and parted lip
As if he spoke to her who answered not-
With that unquiet brightness which betrays
A heart with its aspirings overwrought-
Hope in despair; and joyfulness and sorrow;
And death, with the disturbances of life:
All riving, glowing every lineament.
With hands uplifted, pressed above his brow,
And clustering ringlets resting in their palms;
Whilst his light raiment, silvered by the Moon,
Floats with the unfelt wind-and let his flock
Roam idle down th' unguarded precipice,
And never more be folded.—
Oh! who would close Endymion's eyes in sleep,
Or send down Cherubs to the Shepherd boy?
Or leave a healthful bloom upon that cheek
With vigils worn? or let the Queen of night
Withdraw her ray of loveliness from him?
Thou-thou Albano! thou canst pencil well,
But false are thine imaginings-and thou
Canst shadow beauty-and be painter all:
But poet never.
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