Her zone of bells ringing
Cheerily, cheerily,
Chimed to her singing
Light echoes of glee;
But in vain did she borrow
Of mirth the gay tone,
Her voice spoke of sorrow,
And sorrow alone.
Nor e'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade
The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid.
ROUND the world goes, by day and night,
While with it also round go we;
And in the flight of one day's light
An image of all life's course we see.
Round, round, while thus we go round,
The best thing a man can do,
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round
By-sending the wine round too.
Our first gay stage of life is when
Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye-
Seasons of bliss! Oh, who wouldn't ther
Wish to cry, "Stop!" to earth and sky?
But, round, round, both boy and girl
Are whisk'd through that sky of blue;
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl,
If their heads didn't whirl round too.
Next, we enjoy our glorious noon,
Thinking all life a life of light;
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon,
And, ere we can say, "How short!"-'tis night
Round, round, still all goes round,
Ey'n while I'm thus singing to you;
And the best way to make it a merry-go-round, Is to chorus my song round too.
SING to Love-for, oh, 'twas he
Who won the glorious day;
Strew the wreaths of victory
Along the conqueror's way.
Yoke the Muses to his car,
Let them sing each trophy won:
While his mother's joyous star
Shall light the triumph on.
Hail to Love, to mighty Love,
Let spirits sing around;
While the hill, the dale, and grove
With "mighty Love" resound;
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal
Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er,
"Twill but teach the god to feel
His victories the more.
See his wings, like amethyst
Of sunny Ind their hue;
Bright as when, by Psyche kiss'd,
They trembled through and through.
Flowers spring beneath his feet;
Angel forms beside him run;
While unnumber'd lips repeat
"Love's victory is won!"
Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c.
NIGHTS of music, nights of loving,
Lost too soon, remember'd long,
When we went by moonlight roving,
Hearts all love and lips all song;
When this faithful lute recorded
All my spirit felt to thee;
And that smile the song rewarded-
Worth whole years of fame to me!
Nights of song, and nights of splendour,
Fill'd with joys too sweet to last-
Joys that, like the star-light, tender,
While they shone, no shadow cast.
Though all other happy hours
From my fading mem'ry fly,
Of that star-light, of those bowers,
Not a beam, a leaf shall die!
IT came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days,
When love, only love, was the light of her ways;
And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago,
It whisper'd her name from the garden below.
"Alas," sigh'd the maiden, "how fancy can cheat! The world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet; But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep,
Where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!"
She sank on her pillow-but no, 'twas in vain
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again!
She flew to the casement-but, hush'd as the grave,
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave.
"Oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she said, "From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead!" And sleep came around her-but, starting, she woke, For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke!
"I come," she exclaim'd, "be thy home where it may,
On earth or in heaven, that call I obey;"
Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beating fast
And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past.
Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone;
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on;
But whither she wander'd, by wave or by shore,
None ever could tell, for she came back no more.
No, ne'er came she back,-but the watchman, who stood
That night in the tow'r which o'ershadows the flood,
Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray,
A youth on a steed bear the maiden away.
THEY told her that he, to whose vows she had listen'd
Through night's fleeting hours, was a Spirit unblest;-
Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd,
And evil the lips she in darkness had prest.
"When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth,
Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies;
And there, as the light o'er his dark features shineth,
Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!"
Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light; And saw-such a vision!-no image, appearing
To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright.
A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet morning,
While round him still linger'd its innocent ray;
Though gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids gave war.
Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay.
His brow had a grace more than mortal around it,
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine,
His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it
Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some garden divine
Entranc'd stood the bride, on that miracle gazing,
What late was but love is idolatry now;
But, ah-in her tremor the fatal lamp raising-
A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on his brow.
All's lost-with a start from his rosy sleep waking,
The Spirit flashed o'er her his glances of fire;
Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking
Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire:
"Farewell-what a dream thy suspicion hath broken!
Thus ever Affection's fond vision is crost;
Dissolv'd are her spells when a doubt is but spoken,
And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!"
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