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The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own,
I play'd a soft and doleful air,
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
I told her of'the Knight that wore
I told her how he pined; and ah!
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
But when I told the cruel scorn
That sometimes from the savage den,
There came and look'd him in the face
And that.unknowing what he did,
And how she wept, and claspt his knees;
The scorn that crazed his brain.
And that she nursed him in a cave;
His dying words—but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the ditty.
My faultering voice and pausing harp
Disturb'd her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope.
She wept with pity and delight,
Her bosom heav'd—she stept aside.
She half enclosed me with her arms.
'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear.
I calin'd her fears, and she was calm.
My bright and beauteous Bride.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOH THE AuraoR HAD Known In Tbb »»v» Of una Innocence.
Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped,
Finest in the gladsome ray, Soil'd beneath the common tread.
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Sad I saw thee,' heedless leaf!
Lightly didst tlion. foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs, While the flatterer, on his wing,
Wooed and whisper'd thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted highSoon on this unsheltcr'd walk
Flung to fade, to rot and die.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
AT THE THEATRE.
Maiden, that with sullen hrow
Like a scorch'd and mildew'd hough,
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Fearful saw his pleading look,
Soft the glances of the yonth,
Bnt no sound like simple truth,
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
With a musing melancholy
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion
Mate the sky-lark and forlorn,
While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn,
Or the bean-field's odorous blooms:
Soon with renovated wing
I pward to the day-star spring
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERTROOM.
No*, cold, nor atern, my soul! yet I detest These scented rooms, where, to a gaudy
throng, "eaves the proud Harlot her distended breast, In intricacies of laborious song.
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign
To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breath'd singer's uptrill'd strain
Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.
Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate! Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing
sneer My lady eyes some maid of humbler state, While the pert Captain, or the primmer
Priest, Prattles accordant scandal in her ear.
O give me, from this heartless scene releas'd, To hear our old musician, blind and gray, (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I
kist) His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play. By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, The while I dance amid the tedded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in
light Or lies the purple evening on the bay Of the calm glossy lake, oh let me hide Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees Around whose roots the fisher's boat is tied. On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at
ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But oh, dear Anne! when midnight-wind
careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm
crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The Things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass, mid the "heath-plant
waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
WRITTEN IN GERMANY.
'Tis sweet to him, who all the week Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day.
And sweet it is, in summer-Lower,
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.
But what is all, to his delight,
Who having long heen doom'd to roam, Throws off the bundle from his bark,
Before the door of his own home?
Home-sick neBS is a wasting pang;
This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings,
Thou Breeze that play st on Albion's shore!
TO A LADY.
WITH FALCONER'S SHIPWRECK.
Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams.
Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed
Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he
Cling to the shrowds!—In vain! The breakers
Death shrieks! With two alone of all his
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore.
No classic roamer, but a ship-wreck'd man!
Say then, what muse inspir'd these genial
Of Gratitude! Remembrances of Friend,
Which Love makes Substance! Hence to
I send with deep regards of heart and 'brad. Sweet maid, for friendship form'd! this work to thee: And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed A tear for Falconer, wilt remember He!
SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.
WRITTEN IN GERMANY.
If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things.
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep;
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.
Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
THE HAPPY HUSBAND.
Oft, oft methinks, the while with Thee
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of Wife!
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
A more precipitated vein
Of notes, that eddy in the flow
Of smoothest song, they come, they gsv.
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self—a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!
BEFORE SIN-BISE, IN THE VALB OF CHAMOINV.
Beiidee the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources on the foot of Mount-Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers the Gentiana .Major grows in immense numbers, with its flowers of loveliest bine.
Hist thou a charm to stay the MorningStar In his steep coarse? So long he seems to
pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! Kisest from forth thy silent Sea of Pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, is with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!
0 dread and silent Mount! I gaz'd upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. Didst vanish from my thought: entrane'd
1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with
my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Till the dilating soul, enrapt, trnnsfus'd, Into the mighty vision passing—there As in her natural form, swcll'd vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret extacy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my Heart,
awake! Green Vales and icy Cliffs, all join in v Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the Vale! 0 struggling with the Darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn, Thyself Earth's Rosv Star, and of the dawn Co-herald! wake, O w*nke, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth? Whofill'd thy Countenance with rosy light? Who made t bee Parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! V* ho rall'd you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns rall'd you forth,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?
Ye lie-falls! ye that from the Mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain—
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice,
And stnpp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless Torrents! silent Cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the Sun
Cloath you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?—
God ! let the Torrents, like a shout of Nations
Answer! and let the Ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing yc meadow - streams with gladsome voice f
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soullike sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye living flowers that skirt th' eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountainstorm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!
Thou too, hoar mount! with thy skypo'nting peaks, Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering thro' the pure
serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast— Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffus'd with
tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before mc—Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of Incense, from the Earth! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to
HK1TTKN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGBRODB, IN
TUB 111 111'/- FOR 1.-1 .
I Stood on Brocken's Bovran height, and
Filled with the thought of thee this heart
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM
ON TUB 1st OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
Swebt Flower! that peeping from thy
tunes Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad
leav'd Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Lovef) And watch the clouds, that late were rich