So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom, With thy belovéd name, thou Child of love and light. The toil which stole from thee so many an hour Is ended-and the fruit is at thy feet! No longer where the woods to frame a bower Or where the sound like many voices sweet, Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep: A fresh May-dawn it was, And then I clasped my hands and looked around, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies The selfish and the mean still tyrannize Without reproach or check." I then controlled My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold. And from that hour did I with earnest thought I cared to learn, but from that secret store It might walk forth to war among mankind; Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined. Alas, that love should be a blight and snare Yet never found I one not false to me, Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone, Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be Aught but a lifeless clog, until revived by thee. Thou Friend, whose presence on my wintry heart Of Custom thou didst burst and rend in twain, And walked as free as light the clouds among, To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long. No more alone through the world's wilderness, When Poverty can blight the just and good, And cherished friends turn with the multitude Now has descended a serener hour, And with inconstant fortune, friends return; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power Which says: Let scorn be not repaid with scorn. And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life's beaming morn: And these delights, and thou, have been to me The parents of the Song I consecrate to thee. Is it, that now my inexperienced fingers Reply in hope, but I am worn away, And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey. And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: Time may interpret to his silent years. Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek, And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, Is whispered, to subdue my fondest fears: A lamp of vestal fire burning internally. They say that thou wert, lovely from thy birth, Of glorious parents thou aspiring Child: I wonder not, for One then left this earth Whose life was like a setting planet mild, Of its departing glory; still her fame Shines on thee, through the tempests dark and wild Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit, Fell on the pale oppressors of our race, Left the torn human heart, their food and dwelling-place. Truth's deathless voice pauses among mankind! If men must rise and stamp with fury blind LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; Nothing in the world is single; 1820 1821. See, the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; And the moonbeams kiss the sea; ΤΟ Music, when soft voices die, Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I arise from dreams of thee Has led me-who knows how? The wandering airs they faint |