Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose,
Withers once more the old blue flower of day:
There where the ether like a diamond glows
Its petals fade away.

A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air;
Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows;
The great deep thrills for through it everywhere
The breath of beauty blows.

I saw how all the trembling ages past,
Moulded to her by deep and deeper breath,
Neared to the hour when Beauty breathes her last
And knows herself in death.

    The gloomy hours of silence wake
        Remembrance and her train,
    And phantoms through the fancies chase
        The mem'ries that remain;
    And hidden in the dark embrace
        Of days that now are gone,
    I see a form, a fairy form,
        And fancy hurries on!

    I see the old familiar smile,
        I hear the tender tone,
    I greet the softness of the glance
        That cheered me when alone;
    The ruby chains of rich romance
        That bound our bosoms o'er,
    I still can know, I still can feel,
        As they were felt before.

    I name the vows, the fresh young vows,
        That we together said;
    What matters it? She can not know;
        She slumbers with the dead!
    Again the fields ...

        Only until this cigarette is ended,
        A little moment at the end of all,
        While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
        And in the firelight to a lance extended,
        Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
        The broken shadow dances on the wall,
        I will permit my memory to recall
        The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.
        And then adieu,--farewell!--the dream is done.
        Yours is a face of which I can forget
        The color and the features, every one,
        The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
        But in your day this moment is the sun
        Upon a hill, after the sun has set.

The night was bright and beautiful,
    The dew was on the flower,
The stars were keeping watch, it was
    The lover's parting hour.

The night wind rippled o'er the wave,
    The moon shone on the two,
The boat was waiting, part they must,
    "Eliza, love, adieu!"

"You know how fondly I have loved,
    How long, how true, how dear,
And though fate sends me far away
    My heart will linger here.

"Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can
    Alone my heart console,
Or soothe the pain of parting with
    The empress of my soul.

"When other suitors vainly talk
    Of fondly loving you,
Remember him who truly loved
    As no one else can do.

"I'll think upon the place contains
    My dark-eyed source of bliss,<...

Amor che 'ncende 'l cor d' ardente zelo.

LOVE AND JEALOUSY.


    'Tis Love's caprice to freeze the bosom now
With bolts of ice, with shafts of flame now burn;
And which his lighter pang, I scarce discern--
Or hope or fear, or whelming fire or snow.
In heat I shiver, and in cold I glow,
Now thrill'd with love, with jealousy now torn:
As if her thin robe by a rival worn,
Or veil, had screen'd him from my vengeful blow
But more 'tis mine to burn by night, by day;
And how I love the death by which I die,
Nor thought can grasp, nor tongue of bard can sing:
Not so my freezing fire--impartially
She shines to all; and who would speed his way
To that high beam, in vain expands his fluttering wing.

WRANGHAM.


    Love with h...

Bring the sad cypress wreath to grace the tomb,
Where rests the liberal friend of human kind,
Around its base let deathless flow'rets bloom,
Wet with the off'rings of the grateful mind.

Firm was thy friendship, ardent, and sincere;
Gen'rous thy soul, to ev'ry suff'rer prov'd:
Rest, sainted shade! blest with the heart-felt tear,
On earth lamented, and in heaven belov'd.

Now will the widow weep that thou art gone,
Who oft her unprotected babes hast fed:
While tottering age shall heave the sigh forlorn,
As slow they move to beg their bitter bread.

Long shall the memory of thy worth survive,
Grav'd on the heart, when sinks the trophied stone;
Oh! may the plenty-bless'd as freely give,
And from thy life of virtue form their own.

Go! heart of mine! the way is long --
The night is dark -- the place is far;
Go! kneel and pray, or chant a song,
Beside two graves where Mary's star
Shines o'er two children's hearts at rest,
With Mary's medals on their breast.

Go! heart! those children loved you so,
Their little lips prayed oft for you!
But ah! those necks are lying low
Round which you twined the badge of blue.
Go to their graves, this Virgin's feast,
With poet's song and prayer of priest.

Go! like a pilgrim to a shrine,
For that is holy ground where sleep
Children of Mary and of thine;
Go! kneel, and pray and sing and weep;
Last summer how their faces smiled
When each was blessed as Mary's child.

    *    *    *    *    *

My heart is gone! I cannot sin...

    Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,
        That death has murder'd Johnny!
    An' here his body lies fu' low
        For saul he ne'er had ony.

Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.

The last light fails - that shallow pool of day!
The coursers of the dark stamp down to drink,
Arch their wild necks, lift their wild heads and neigh;
Their drivers, gathering at the water-brink,
With eyes ashine from out their clustering hair,
Utter their hollow speech, or gaze afar,
Rapt in irradiant reverie, to where
Languishes, lost in light, the evening star.

Come the wood-nymphs to dance within the glooms,
Calling these charioteers with timbrels' din;
Ashen with twilight the dark forest looms
O'er the nocturnal beasts that prowl within
"O glory of beauty which the world makes fair!"
Pant they their serenading on the air.

Sound the loud hooves, and all abroad the sky
The lusty charioteers their stations take;
Planet to planet do the sweet Love...

Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce
Of that serene companion, a good name,
Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame,
With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse:
And oft-times he who, yielding to the force
Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end,
From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend
In vain shall rue the broken intercourse.
Not so with such as loosely wear the chain
That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:
Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty stride;
I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain,
Sure, when the separation has been tried,
That we, who part in love, shall meet again.

The dying words of Goethe.

"Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
    And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
    Light! more light! before I go.

"Softly let the balmy sunshine
    Play around my dying bed,
E'er the dimly lighted valley
    I with lonely feet must tread.

"Light! more light! for Death is weaving
    Shadows 'round my waning sight,
And I fain would gaze upon him
    Through a stream of earthly light."

Not for greater gifts of genius;
    Not for thoughts more grandly bright,
All the dying poet whispers
    Is a prayer for light, more light.

Heeds he not the gathered laurels,
    Fading slowly from his sight;
All the poet's aspirations
    Centre in that prayer for light.
<...

The vision of a haloed host
That weep around an empty throne;
And, aureoles dark and angels dead,
Man with his own life stands alone.

'I am,' he says his bankrupt creed:
'I am,' and is again a clod:
The sparrow starts, the grasses stir,
For he has said the name of God.

(Athenaeum, October 21, 1848)


I did not chide him, though I knew
    That he was false to me.
Chide the exhaling of the dew,
    The ebbing of the sea,
The fading of a rosy hue, -
    But not inconstancy.

Why strive for love when love is o'er?
    Why bind a restive heart? -
He never knew the pain I bore
    In saying: 'We must part;
Let us be friends and nothing more.'
    - Oh, woman's shallow art!

But it is over, it is done, -
    I hardly heed it now;
So many weary years have run
    Since then, I think not how
Things might have been, - but greet each one
    With an unruffled brow.

What time I am where others be,
    My heart seems very calm -
Stone calm; but if all go from me,
    There c...

Beyond the north wind lay the land of old
Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed
With joy’s bright raiment and with love’s sweet bread,
The whitest flock of earth’s maternal fold.
None there might wear about his brows enrolled
A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,
Whose lovesome love of children and the dead
All men give thanks for: I far off behold
A dear dead hand that links us, and a light
The blithest and benignest of the night,
The night of death’s sweet sleep, wherein may be
A star to show your spirit in present sight
Some happier island in the Elysian sea
Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.

One must have courage as strong
As Sisyphus', lifting this weight!
Though the heart for the work may be great,
Time is fleeting, and Art is so long!

Far from the tombs of the brave
Toward a churchyard obscure and apart,
Like a muffled drum, my heart
Beats a funeral march to the grave.

But sleeping lies many a gem
In dark, unfathomed caves,
Far from the probes of men;

And many a flower waves
And wastes its sweet perfumes
In desert solitudes.

O slight respect of man's nobility!
I never shall account it marvelous,
That our infirm affection here below
Thou mov'st to boasting, when I could not choose,
E'en in that region of unwarp'd desire,
In heav'n itself, but make my vaunt in thee!
Yet cloak thou art soon shorten'd, for that time,
Unless thou be eked out from day to day,
Goes round thee with his shears. Resuming then
With greeting such, as Rome, was first to bear,
But since hath disaccustom'd I began;
And Beatrice, that a little space
Was sever'd, smil'd reminding me of her,
Whose cough embolden'd (as the story holds)
To first offence the doubting Guenever.

"You are my sire," said I, "you give me heart
Freely to speak my thought: above myself
You raise me. Through so many streams with jo...

You may rejoice to think yourselves secure;
You may be grateful for the gift divine
That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure,
And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine.

But, is it sweet to look around, and view
Thousands excluded from that happiness,
Which they deserved, at least, as much as you,
Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less?

And, wherefore should you love your God the more,
Because to you alone his smiles are given;
Because he chose to pass the many o'er,
And only bring the favoured few to Heaven?

And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove,
Because for ALL the Saviour did not die?
Is yours the God of justice and of love
And are your bosoms warm with charity?

Say, does your heart expa...