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Is not true Love of higher price
Than outward form, though fair to see, Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
Or echo of proud ancestry ?
O! Asra, Asra ! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart, There's such a mine of Love for thee,
As almost might supply desert !
(This separation is, alas !
Too great a punishment to bear ; O! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her!)
The perils, erst with steadfast eye
Encounter'd, now I shrink to seeOh ! I have heart enough to die
Not half enough to part from Thee!
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. ITS balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its mother's breast, How sweet it heaves the happy sigh Of innocent satiety!
And such my infant's latest sigh !
IMITATED FROM STOLBERG.
MARK this holy chapel well !
The birthplace, this, of William Tell. Here, where stands God's altar dread, Stood his parents' marriage-bed.
Here first, an infant to her breast,
“Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give
IV. God gave him reverence of laws, Yet stirring blood in Freedom's causeA spirit to his rocks akin, The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein !
To Nature and to Holy Writ
The straining oar and chamois chase
ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY.
F dead, we cease to be; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare, But are their whole of being! If the breath Be Life itself, and not its task and tent, If even a soul like Milton's can know death ;
O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant, Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes,
Surplus of Nature's dread activity, Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finish'd vase, Retreating slow, with meditative pause,
She form'd with restless hands unconsciously. Blank accident ! nothing's anomaly !
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 each 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 ? Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self? Be sad ! be glad! be neither ! seek, or shun ! Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none; Thy being's being is contradiction.
(Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of the ground) Creep back from Light—then listen for its sound ;See but to dread, and dread they know not whyThe natural alien of their negative eye.
Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler,
With divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall !
How shall I yield you
Celestial quire ?
buoyance Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joy
ance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre ! Hah! we mount ! on their pinions they waft up
my soul !
O give me the nectar !
O fill me the bowl !
Give him the nectar !
Hebe ! pour free!
The wine of the Immortals
Forbids me to die !