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Waits to clasp thee to its tender throbbings-
Never more to part.

Sadly will the old dame miss her daughter dear,
With her busy needle and her plain work,

Seated near;

When the aged mother drinks the soft air
In her gothic chair.

In the shadow of the tall acacia's
Drooping flowers;

When the sultry heat becomes oppressive,
And the fainting hours

Weary grow beneath the trellis frame work
Honeysuckle bound,

Where the sweet-pea's white and pale pink blossoms
Twine around;

Where the pointed purple-dropping fuscias

Overhead are hung,

Where the creepers into mimic archways
Thy white hands have strung.

She will miss thy helping arm, around her
Fondly placed,

Guiding step by step her tottering footfalls
So slow paced ;

Resting oft, upheld by that dear arm bent
Round her waist.

With the summer petals thou wilt leave us,
When the wheaten grain

In its ripeness bends to meet the sickle,
Shedding golden rain:

From earth's arid bosom torn, to fertilize
On some distant plain;

So thou goest from us with God's blessing
For thy bridal train.


Wrestling with a spirit yet unbroken,
Struggling in the net of earthly ties;
Thoughts but to the passing wind outspoken
As in lonely wanderings they arise,
Here may find a place

As their moods I trace,

Stretched beneath the gloom of cloudy skies.

Mock not though the rhymer fondly museth
Wandering to the invisible around,
While incorporal agency diffuseth

Through our being, feeling, thought, and sound:
Mind and matter blent

In entanglement

Mystic as the life by which they're bound.

In his toil the weary student bending,
Cometh one who hath his earnest vow;

All unseen her influence is blending

With the stillness clustered round his brow;
Till the voiceless air

Tells him she is there,

And in blissful charm his senses bow.

Ere the distant portal bell hath sounded;
As the master's presence draweth near,
From the ember'd hearth the dog hath bounded,
Startling those around with sudden fear:
Fondly, faithful hound!

Doth thy love profound

Mark his coming!-soon he will be here.

Far beyond the tangible love goeth

When the matron's holy fountful breast

Of the slumbering infant's breathings knoweth,
Distant in its rosy curtained nest;

A 3

To her bosom's sense

Saith a throb intense

List! the babe awakeneth from its rest.

When the storm of battle's tide was rolling
And a hero fell upon the plain,

For his soul no passing bell was tolling,
Silently he sank amid the slain.
Did he wish to say

To those far away,

He could ne'er return to them again?

Who can tell the agony of sorrow

In the bleeding bullet-riven breast;
When 'tis felt that ere the dawning morrow
Life shall be no longer there a guest!
May not ardent prayer

Hope for favor where

Love for ever dwelleth with the blest?

In their moonlit home his friends were seated, Free from thought of sadness or of care;

In a distant room his harp repeated

Notes of prelude to a well-known air. ""Tis our Orpen's touch!

He is thinking much

To surprise us-but how came he there ?"

To that distant chamber swiftly gliding

Like pale ghosts they gather round the door.

Surely it is he and he is hiding,

Orpen, speak! O speak now, we implore!
All is still as death,

Save their hurried breath

As they pant with terror more and more.

When the door was opened, not a token
Of a living creature there was found
Fearful seemed the silence and unbroken,

Human hand had not produced the sound.
Reasoning is vain,

None could e'er explain

How such legends every where abound.

It was at the moment of his falling,

Messengers in after days brought word: From red battle's scene of dread appalling Winged his yearning spirit like a bird; In blind wanderings

Fluttering o'er the strings,

And the harp with voice of warning stirred.

Is their nothing, though no voice resoundeth?
Though no vision cometh to the sight?
Shrinketh not the heart when gloom surroundeth
Veiling all in dense Plutonian night?
Curdling tremors creep

Through the darkness deep,

What is it that so thrilleth with affright?
The Breath of the Envisible!

Weird fancy peoples echoes never ended:

Like shadow thoughts, when in our hearts we pray, With their mystic harmony seems blended Faint glimmerings of remote celestial ray : As some starry beam

O'er a sedgy stream

Sprinkling light within its watery way.


"Tra l'opre tutte, in cui grandeggia Iddio,

La prima e questa: e di ammirarla ha ingiunto
All' uom Natura, il di cui spron l'ha punto

Per quanto all bello ei sia cieco e restio.

Fai d'ogni nostro senso alta rapina !"

Il Conte Vittorio Alfieri.

"Poter Della Bellezza."

Throbbing heart, tumultuous beating,

Silence keep,

Inward tears of joy unuttered

Let me weep!

Bathed the lips in blissful cups o'erflowing
Deeper and more eager thirst is growing:
Faints the yearning spirit with its sighing,
In intensity of fondness dying.

Vain throbbing heart tumultuous beating
Be at peace!

Till again she comes to bless me
Cease, ah cease!

O passionate heart, be still! perturbed, rest!
Till my sweet dove comes nestling to her nest,
Blissful in blessing with true fervour blest.

Haste slow-paced time till honeyed hours return,—
Till, moist with kisses, lips no longer burn:

Till fevered loving lips no longer burn.

Ebb not so low life's tide! in wishing, longing,
Rapturous thoughts with crowded beauty thronging;
Roseate clouded visions bringing round me;
Spells of breathing incense that have bound me

In entranced dreamings of the past:

Veiled with angel's wings around me cast.

Radiant she comes! so liquid deep,

Those eyes that all wild passions steep

In bland affection's balm!

Flooding all my soul with joy.

Anon, unkindly coy,

She paineth with harsh wincings from my touch.
O passionate heart, thy depth of love who knows?

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