Графични страници
PDF файл

When they have been too often crush'd to (Her blood runs cold, her heart beats high,


It is their fiercest enemy; For further blindness to their little worth, He of the charm'd and deadly steel, When fond illusions have dropt one by one, Whose stroke was never known to heal,Like pearls from a rich carkanet, till none He of the sword sworn not to spare,Are left upon life's soil'd and naked string, She flung her down in her despair! And this is all what time will ever bring. - And that fair girl, what can the heart


The dying chief sprang to his knee, Of her young love, and of its destiny?

And the staunch'd wounds well's fearfully; There is a white cloud o'er the moon, its But his gash'd arm, what is it now?


Livid his lip, and black his brow, Is very light, and yet there sleeps the storm;

While over him the slayer stood, It is an omen, it may tell the fate

As if he almost scorn'd the blood Of love known all too soon, repented all too

That cost so little to be won,

He strikes,—the work of death is done! late.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

TABY fled,-for there was for the brave

She lay upon a bank, the favourite haunt Left only a dishonour'd grave.

of the spring-wind in its first sunshine-hour, The day was lost; and his red hand

For the luxuriant strawberry-blossoms spread Was now upon a broken brand,

Like a snow-shower there, and violets The foes were in his native town,

Bow'd down their purple vases of perfume

About her pillow,- link d in a gay band The gates were forced, the walls were down,

Floated fantastic shapes, these were her guards, The burning city lit the sky,

Her lithe and rainbow elves.
What had he then to do but fly;
Fly to the mountain-rock, where yet We have been o'er land and sca,
Revenge might strike, or peace forget! Seeking lovely dreams for thee,-

Where is there we have not been
They fled,- for she was by his side, Gathering gifts for our sweet queen ?
Life's last and loveliest link, his bride, We are come with sound and sight
Friends, fame, hope, freedom, all were gone, Fit for fairy's sleep to-night ;-
Or linger'd only with that one.

First around thy couch shall sweep
They hasten'd by the lonely way

Odours, such as roses weep
That through the winding forest lay, When the earliest spring-rain
Hearth, home, tower, temple, blazed behind, Calls them into life again;
And shout and shriek came on the wind; Next upon thine ear shall float
And twice the warrior turn'd again

Many a low and silver note,
And cursed the arm that now in vain,

Stolen from a dark-eyed maid Wounded and faint, essay'd to grasp When her lover's serenade, The sword that trembled in its clasp. Rising as the stars grew dim,

Waken'd her from thoughts of him;

There shall steal o'er lip and cheek
At last they reach'd a secret sbade

Gales, but all too light to break
Which seem'd as for their safety made;
And there they paused, for the warm lide AU day orange-flowers inside,

| Thy soft rest,—such gales as hide Burst in red gushes from his side,

Or that, while hot noontide, dwell And hung the drops on brow and cheek,

| In the purple hyacinth-bell; And his gasp'd breath came thick and weak.

And before thy sleeping eyes
She took her long dark hair, and bound

Shall come glorious pageantries,
The cool moss on each gaping wound,
And in her closed-up hands she brought

| Palaces of gems and gold,

Such as dazzle to behold, The water which his hot lip sought,

Gardens, in which every tree And anxious gazed upon his eye,

Seems a world of bloom to be, As asking, shall we live or die ?

Fountains, whose clear waters show Almost as if she thought his breath

The white pearls that lie below.Had power o'er his own life and death.

During slumber's magic reign

Other times shall live again;
But, hark !_'tio not the wind deceives, First thou shalt be young and frco
There is a step among the leaves : | In thy days of liberty,-

Then again be wood and won

She look'd upon the blossoms, and a smile, By thy stately OBERON.

A twilight one, lit up her lip the while. or thou shalt descend to earth,

Surely her love is blest, no leaves are there And see all of mortal birth.

That aught of lover's misery declare. No, that world's too full of care

True, 'mid them is that pale and pining flower, For e'en dreams to linger there.

Whose dim blue colour speaks an absent hour; But, behold, the sun is set,

Yet it is nothing but that tender sorrow And the diamond coronet

Of those who part to-day to meet to-morros: Of the young moon is on high

For there are hope and constancy beside, Waiting for our revelry;

And are not these to happiness allied ? And the dew is on the flower,

And yet upon that maiden's cheek is caught And the stars proclaim our hour;

A summer - evening's shade of pensive Long enough thy rest has been,

thought, Wake, Titania, wake our queen!

As if these large soft eyes knew all their fate,
How the heart would its destiny create,
At once too tender, and too passionate;
Too made for happiness to be happy here,

An angel fetter'd to an earthly sphere.-
THE ORIENTAL NOSEGAY. And those dark eyes, so large, so soft, sa


So clear as if their very tears were lightBY PICKERSGILL.

They tell that destiny ;-art thon not one

To whom love will be like the summer-sun TAROUGH the light curtains came the per- That feeds the diamond in the secret mine,

fumed air,

Then calls it from its solitude to shine, And flung them back and show'd a garden, And piece by piece be broken? Watch the where

bloom, The eye could just catch glimpses of those And mark its fading to an early tomb,


And read in the decay upon it stealing Which send sweet messages upon the breeze Of thy own wasted hope and witherd To lull a maiden's sleep, and fan her cheek,

feeling ;When inward thoughts in outward blushes Ay, fitting messengers for love! as fair,


As quickly past as his own visions are;Beneath 's a silken couch, just fit to be Fling, fling the flowers away! A snowy shrine for some fair deity; And there a beauty rests, lovely as those Enchanted visions haunting the repose Of the young poet, when his eyelids sbut To dream that love they have but dream'd THE ENCHANTED ISLAND.

as yet ; But dream'd! Alas, that love should ever be

BY DANBY. A happiness but made for phantasie! And flowers are by her side, and her dark eye AND there the island lay, the waves around Seems as it read in them her destiny.

Had never known a storm; for the northShe knew whose hand had gather'd them,

wind she knew

Was charın'd from coming, and the only airs Whose sigh and touch were on their scent That blew brought sunshine on their azure and hue.

wings, Or tones of music from the sparry caves,

Where the sea-maids make lutes of the pink Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,

conch. But only to the spring and summer known. These were sea-breezes,—those that swept Ah! little marvel in such clime and age

the land As that of our too earth-bound pilgrimage, Brought other gifts,-sighs from blueviolets, That we should daily hear that love is fled, Or from June's sweet Sultana, the bright And hope grown pale, and lighted feelings

rose, dead.

Stole odourg. On the silver mirror's face Not for the cold, the careless to impart, | Was but a single ripple that was made By such sweet signs, the silence of the heart: By a flamingo's beak, whose scarlet wings But surely in the countries where the sun Shone like a meteor on the stream: around, Lights loveliness in all he shines upon, Upon the golden sands, were coral plants, Where love is as a mystery and a dream, And shells of many colours, and sea-weeds, One single flower upon life's troubled stream; Whose foliage caught and chaind the There, there, perchance, may the young

Nautilus, bosom thrill, Where lay they as at anchor. On each side Feeling and fancy linger with love still. Were grottoes, like fair porticoes with steps

of the green marble; and a lovely light,

Like the far radiance of a thousand lamps,
Half-shine, half-shadow, or the glorious My dwelling is in the serpentine


of the rainbow's colour'd line,of a departing star but faintly seen | See how its rose and amber clings In the dim distance, through those caverns To the many hues of my radiant winge;


Mine is the step that bids the earth And play'd o'er the tall trees which seem'Give to the iris-flower its birth,

to hide

And mine the golden cup to hide, Gardens, where hyacinths rang their soft Where the last faint hue of the rainbow bells

died. To call the bees from the anemone,

Search the depths of an Indian mine, Jealous of their bright rivals' golden wealth. Where are the colours to match with mine? -Amid those arches floated starry shapes, Just indistinct enough to make the eye Dream of surpassing beauty; but in front, Borne on a car of pearl, and drawn by swans, There lay a lovely figure,-she was queen Dance we round, for the gale is bringing of the Enchanted Island, which was raised Songs the summer-rose is singing. From ocean's bosom but to pleasure her: And spirits, from the stars, and from the sea, The beautiful mortal had them for her slaves.



I float on the breath of a minstrel's lute, She was the daughter of a king, and loved

Or the wandering sounds of a distant flute, By a young Ocean-Spirit from her birth,

1, Linger I over the tones that swell He hover'd o'er her in her infancy,

From the pink-vein'd chords of an oceanAnd bade the rose grow near her, that her

shell; cheek

I love the sky-lark's morning-hymn, Might catch its colour, - lighted up her | Or the nightingale heard at the twilight dim,


The echo, the fountain's melody, With fairy-wonders, and made harmony

| These, oh! these are the spells for me!
The element in which she moved ; at last,
When that she turn'd away from earthly love,
Enamour'd of her visions, he became

Visible with his radiant wings, and bore
His bride to the fair island.

Hail to the summer-night of June;
See! yonder has risen our ladye moon.



My palace is in the coral-cave

Set with spars by the ocean-wave;

Would ye have gems,then seek them there,

There found I the pearls that bind my hair. My home and haunt are in every leaf,

I and the wind together can roam Whose life is a summer-day, bright and

| Over the green waves and their white foam,brief,

See, I have got this silver shell, I live in the depths of the tulip's bower,

Mark how my breath will its smallness swell, I wear a wreath of the cistus-flower,

For the Nautilus is my boat I drink the dew of the blue harebell,

In which I over the waters float,I know the breath of the violet well,

The moon is shining over the sea,
The white and the azure violet,

Who is there will come sail with me?
But I know not which is the sweetest yet,-
I have kiss'd the cheek of the rose,
I have watch'd the lily unclose,

My silver mine is the almond-tree,
Who will come dwell with flower and me?

mez. Our noontide-sleep is on leaf and flower,

Our revels are held in a moonlit hour,

What is there sweet, what is there fair, CHORUS OF PAIRIES.

And we are not the dwellers there?

Dance we round, for the morning-light, Dance we our round, 'tis a summer-night, Will put us and our glow-worm-lamps to And our steps are led by the glow-worms'

night! light. .

A CHILD SCREENING A DOVE FROM Isles of cinnamon and spice,

Shadow each of Paradise,

Where the flowers shine with dyes,

Tinted bright from the sun-rise,

Where the birds which drink their dew, Ay, screen thy favourite dove, fair child, Wave wings of yet brighter hue, Ay, screen it if you may,

And each river's course is rollid
Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand Over bed of pearl and gold!
Will scare the hawk away.

Oh! for those lime-scented groves
That dove will die, that child will weep,- Where the Spanish lover roves,
Is this their destinie?

Tuning to the western star,
Ever amid the sweets of life

His soft song and light guitar, Some evil thing must be.

Where the dark-hair'd girls are dancing,

Fairies in the moonlight glancing, Ay, moralize, is it not thus

With pencill'd brows, and radiant eyes, We 've mourn'd our hope and love? Like their planet-lighted skies! Alas! there '8 tears for every cye,

Or those clear Italian lakes
A hawk for every dove!

Where the silver cygnet makes
Its soft nest of leaf and flower,
A white lily for its bower!
Each of these a home would be,

Fit for beauty and for me:

I must seek their happier sphere

While the Winter lords it here.


Away, away, o'er land and sea,
This is now no home for me;

My light wings may never bear
Northern cloud or winter-air.

Murky shades are gathering fast,
Sleet and snow are on the blast;

Ay, surely it is here that Love should come,
Trees from which the leaves are fled,
Flowers whose very roots are dead,

And find (if he may find on earth) a home;

Here cast off all the sorrow and the shame Grass of its green blade bereft, These are all that now are left.

That cling like shadows to his very name -Linger here another day, I shall be as sad as they ; My companions fly with spring,

Young Love, thou art belied: they speak I too must be on the wing.

of thee, And couple with thy mention misery;

Talk of the broken heart, the wasted bloom, Where are the sweet gales whose song The spirit blighted, and the early tomb; Wont to waft my darts along ?

As if these waited on thy golden lot, Scented airs ! oh, not like these,

They blame thee for the faults which thou Rough as they which sweep the seas;

hast not. But those sighs of rose which bring

Art thou to blame for that they bring on thee Incense from their wandering.

The soil and weight of their mortality? Where are the bright flowers that kept How can they hope that ever links will hold Guard around me while I slept ?

Form'd, as they form them now, of the harsh Where the sunny eyes whose beams

gold? Waken'd me from my soft dreams –

Or worse than even this, how can they think These are with the swallows gone,

That vanity will bind the failing link ? Beauty's heart is chill'd to stone.

How can they dream that thy sweet life

will bear

Crowde', palaces', and cities' heartless air! Oh! for some sweet southern clime, Where the lip smiles while the heart's Where 'tis ever summer-time,

desolate, Where, if blossoms fall, their tomb And courtesy lends its deep mask to hate; Is amid new birth of bloom,

Where looke and thoughts alike must feel Where green leaves are ever springing,

the chain, Where the lark je always singing, And nought of life is real but its pain; One of those bright isles which lie Where the young spirit's bigh imagining Fair beneath an azure sky,

1 Are scorn'd and cast away as idle things;

Where, think or feel, you are foredoom'd | 'Tis strange to think if we conld fling aside

to be

The masque and mantle that love wears A marvel and a sign for mockery;

from pride, Where none must wander from the beaten How much would be, we now so little gucsa,


Deep in each heart's undream'd, unsought All alike champ the bit, and feel the gond.

recess. It is not made for thee, young Love! away The careless smile, like a gay banner borne, To where the green earth laughs to the The laugh of merriment, the lip of scorn,

clear day,

And for a cloak what is there that can be To the deep valley, where a thousand trees So difficult to pierce as gaiety? Keep a grecn court for fairy-revelries, Too dazzling to be scann'd, the haughty brow To some small island on a lonely lake, Seems to hide something it would not avow, Where only swans the diamond-waters break, But rainbow-words, light laugh, and thoughtWhere the pines hang in silence o'er the tide

less jest, And the stream gushes from the mountain- | These are the bars, the curtain to the breast,


That shuns a scrutiny: and she, whose form These, Love, are haunts for thee; where Now bends in grief beneath the bosom's canst thou brood

storm, With thy sweet wings furl'd but in Solitude ? Has hidden well her wound,- now none are

nigh To mock with curious or with careless eye, (For love seeks sympathy, a chilling yes,

Strikes at the root of its best happiness, A GIRL AT HER DEVOTIONS. And mockery is worm-wood) she may dwell

On feelings which that picture may not tell. BY NEWTON.

[ocr errors]

SAs was just risen from her bended knee,
But yet peace seem'd not with her piety;
For there was paleness upon her young

NYMPH AND ZEPHYR. cheek, And thoughts upon the lips which never A STATUARY GROUP, BY WESTMACOTT.

speak, But wring the heart that at the last they And the summer-bun shone in the sky,


And the rose's whole life was in its sigh, Alas! how much of misery may be read | When her eyelids were kies’d by a morningIn that wan forehead, and that bow'd-down


And the Nymph rose up from her moonlit Her eye is on a picture, woe that ever

dream; Love should thus struggle with a vain For she had watch'd the midnight-hour


Till her head had bow'd like a sleeping Against itself: it is a common tale,

And ever will be while earth-soils prevail But now she had waken'd, and light and dew
Over earth's happiness ; it tells she strove Gave her morning-freshness and morning-
With silent, secret, unrequited love.

Up she sprang, and away she fled

O'er the lithe grass-stem and the blossom's It matters not its history; love has wings

head, Like lightning, swift and fatal, and it springs From the lilies' bells she dash'd not the spray, Like a wild flower where it is least expected, For her feet were as light and ag white as Existing whether cherish'd or rejected; Living with only but to be content,

Sudden upon her arm there shone Hopeless, for love is its own element, A gem with the hues of an Indian stone, Requiring nothing so that it may be And she knew the insect-bird whose wing The martyr of its fond fidelity.

Is sacred to Psyche and to Spring; A mystery art thon, thou mighty one! But scarce had her touch its captive prest, We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shun Ere another prisoner was on her breast, To own thee, Love, a guest; the poet's And the Zephyr sought his prize again,


No, said the Nymph, thy search is vain : Are sweetest when their voice to thee belongs, And her golden hair from its braided yoke And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight, Burst like the banner of hope as she spoke: Are terms which are thy own peculiar right; And instead, fair boy, thou shalt moralize Yet all deny their master, who will own | Over the pleasure that from thee flies; His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy Then it is pleasure,- for we possess

But in the search, not in the success.



« ПредишнаНапред »