Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub
[graphic]

Wears And I. Nor hond

Bloom, O For me ye With Tips un And would yo Work without And Hope wi

[ocr errors]

VERSE, a b

Where Both were mine

With Nat

he na

* Printed in the Bijou, + On a day in February

Printed in The Bijou, 18 of the same date.

[graphic]

Scarce had I make lacchus, but in a Lo! Phoebus te

throne) They advance hester

as young ?—Ah, woful when ! ne change 'twixt Now and Then ! thing house* not built with hands, y that does me grievous wrong,

cliffs and glittering sands, htly then it flash'd along vse trim skiffs, unknown of yore, ling lakes and rivers wide, jk no aid of sail or oar, car no spite of wind or tide ! t cared this body for wind or weather Youth and I lived in't together. Ş

ers are lovely ; Love is flower-like;
adship is a sheltering tree;
the joys, that came down shower-like,
Friendship, Love, and Liberty, ||

Ere I was old !
e I was old ? Ah woful Ere,**
hich tells me, Youth's no longer here !

Youth ! for years so many and sweet, ft
'is known, that Thou and I were one,
'll think it but a fond conceit-$1

« This house of clayBijou.
+ O'er hill and dale and sounding sands—ili.
I Boats—ib.
§ See Ode to the Rain, suprà, p. 263.
11 Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty—1828.
** Ah mournful Ere—Literary Souvenir.
tt So merry and sweet-Bijou.
# False conceitib.

It cannot be that Thou art gone !
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll's :-
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that Thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait,* this alter'd size:
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought : so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still. †

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When we are old : $
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,

* This dragging gait-Bijou.

+ Here the poem ends in The Bijou, and the Literary Sou. venir. The remaining portion was published under the title of “ The Old Man's Sigh, a Sonnet,” dated “The Grove, Highgate, 18th May, 1832," in Blackwood's Magazine, June 1832. I That only serves to make us grieve

In our old age,
Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars of the still

narrowing cage.--1832.

That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,

And tells the jest without the smile. [O! might Life cease ! and Selfless Mind, Whose total Being is Act, alone remain behind ! ]

A DAY-DREAM.*

:

MY eyes make pictures, when they are shut :

I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruin'd hut,

And thee, and me and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow ! Bend o’er us, like a bower, my beautiful green

willow !

A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

And that and summer well † agree : And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree ! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'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 !

* Printed in The Bijou, 1828.
t In The Bijou “will agree,”-probably a misprint.

A glow-worm fall'n, and * on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet

fountain.

() ever-ever be thou blest!

For dearly, Asra, love I thee ! +
This brooding warmth across my breast,

This depth of tranquil bliss—ah, me!
Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.

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 !

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE.
O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind!

As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping; In the margeBijou. f O Asra! dearly love I thee !ib. # They make to me-ib.

« ForrigeFortsæt »