My soul is on that way;

My thoughts are travellers o'er the waters dim,
Through the long weary day,

I walk, o'ershadow'd by vain dreams of him.

Aid him, and me, too, aid!

Oh! 't is not well, this earthly love's excess !
On thy weak child is laid

The burden of too deep a tenderness.

Too much o'er him is pour'd

My being's hope-scarce leaving Heaven a part; Too fearfully adored,

Oh! make not him the chastener of my heart!

I tremble with a sense

Of grief to be; I hear a warning low

Sweet mother! call me hence!

This wild idolatry must end in woe.

The troubled joy of life,

Love's lightning happiness, my soul hath known; And, worn with feverish strife,

Would fold its wings;-take back, take back thine own!

Hark! how the wind swept by!

The tempest's voice comes rolling o'er the wave— Hope of the sailor's eye,

And maiden's heart, blest mother, guide and save!

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.

35

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.

FROM the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world unreach'd by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,

Answer me, answer me!

Have we not communed here with life and death? Have we not said that love, such love as ours, Was not to perish as a rose's breath,

To melt away, like song from festal bowers?

Answer, oh! answer me!

Thine eye's last light was mine-The soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering hazeDidst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown, Naught of what lived in that long earnest gaze? Hear, hear, and answer me!

Thy voice-its low, soft, fervent, farewell toņe Thrill'd through the tempest of the parting strife, Like a faint breeze-oh! from that music flown, Send back one sound, if love's be quenchless life, But once, oh! answer me!

In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,

In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep, When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush, Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep

Spirit! then answer me!

By the remembrance of our blended prayer;
By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet;
By our last hope, the victor o'er despair;
Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet;
Answer me, answer me!

is silent-and the far-off sky,

The grave is silent:

And the deep midnight-silent all, and lone!

Oh! if thy buried love make no reply,

What voice has Earth?-Hear, pity, speak, mine own!

Answer me, answer me!

THE CHAMOIS HUNTER'S LOVE.

For all his wildness and proud fantasies,

I love him!

CROLY.

THY heart is in the upper world, where fleet the Chamois bounds,

Thy heart is where the mountain-fir shakes to the torrent-sounds;

And where the snow-peaks gleam like stars, through the stillness of the air,

And where the Lauwine's' peal is heard-Hunter! thy heart is there!

1Lauwine, the avalanche.

THE CHAMOIS HUNTER'S LOVE.

37

I know thou lov'st me well, dear Friend! but better, better far,

Thou lov'st that high and haughty life, with rocks and storms at war;

In the green sunny vales with me, thy spirit would but pine

And yet I will be thine, my Love! and yet I will be thine.

And I will not seek to woo thee down from those thy native heights,

With the sweet song, our land's own song, of pastoral delights;

For thou must live as eagles live, thy path is not as mine

And yet I will be thine, my Love! and yet I will be thine.

And I will leave my blessed home, my Father's joyous hearth,

With all the voices meeting there in tenderness and mirth,

With all the kind and laughing eyes, that in its fire-light shine,

To sit forsaken in thy hut,-yet know that thou art mine!

It is my youth, it is my bloom, it is my glad free heart,

That I cast away for thee-for thee-all reckless as thou art!

With tremblings and with vigils lone, I bind myself to dwell;

Yet, yet I would not change that lót,-oh no! I love too well!

A mournful thing is love which grows to one so wild as thou,

With that bright restlessness of eye, that tameless fire of brow!

Mournful!--but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride,

And the trouble of its happiness, than aught on earth beside.

To listen for thy step in vain, to start at every breath,

To watch through long, long nights of storm, to sleep and dream of death,

To wake in doubt and loneliness-this doom 1 know is mine,

And yet I will be thine, my Love! and yet I will be thine!

That I may greet thee from thine Alps, when thence thou com'st at last,

That I may hear thy thrilling voice tell o'er each danger past,

That I may kneel and pray for thee, and win thee aid divine,

For this I will be thine, my Love! for this I will be thine!