Chapter XVII: Preface (6)

To think and ponder, when apart,
On all we've got to say at meeting;
And yet when near, with heart to heart,
Sit mute and listen to their beating:
To see but one bright object move,
The only moon, where stars are many--
If all this is not downright love,
I prithee say what _is_, my Fanny!

When Hope foretells the brightest, best,
Tho' Reason on the darkest reckons;
When Passion drives us to the west,
Tho' Prudence to the eastward beckons;
When all turns round, below, above,
And our own heads the most of any--
If this is not stark, staring love,
Then you and I are sages, Fanny.

HERE, TAKE MY HEART.

Here, take my heart--'twill be safe in thy keeping,
While I go wandering o'er land and o'er sea;
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping,
What need I care, so my heart is with thee?

If in the race we are destined to run, love,
They who have light hearts the happiest be,
Then happier still must be they who have none, love.
And that will be _my_ case when mine is with thee.

It matters not where I may now be a rover,
I care not how many bright eyes I may see;
Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her,
I'd tell her I couldn't--my heart is with thee.

And there let it lie, growing fonder and, fonder--
For, even should Fortune turn truant to me,
Why, let her go--I've a treasure beyond her,
As long as my heart's out at interest With thee!

OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME.

Oh, call it by some better name,
For Friendship sounds too cold,
While Love is now a worldly flame,
Whose shrine must be of gold:
And Passion, like the sun at noon,
That burns o'er all he sees,
Awhile as warm will set as soon--
Then call it none of these.

Imagine something purer far,
More free from stain of clay
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are,
Yet human, still as they:
And if thy lip, for love like this,
No mortal word can frame,
Go, ask of angels what it is,
And call it by that name!

POOR WOUNDED HEART

Poor wounded heart, farewell!
Thy hour of rest is come;
Thou soon wilt reach thy home,
Poor wounded heart, farewell!
The pain thou'lt feel in breaking
Less bitter far will be,
Than that long, deadly aching,
This life has been to thee.

There--broken heart, farewell!
The pang is o'er--
The parting pang is o'er;
Thou now wilt bleed no more.
Poor broken heart, farewell!
No rest for thee but dying--
Like waves whose strife is past,
On death's cold shore thus lying,
Thou sleepst in peace at last--
Poor broken heart, farewell!

THE EAST INDIAN.

Come, May, with all thy flowers,
Thy sweetly-scented thorn,
Thy cooling evening showers,
The fragrant breath at morn:
When, May-flies haunt the willow,
When May-buds tempt the bee,
Then o'er the shining billow
My love will come to me.

From Eastern Isles she's winging
Thro' watery wilds her way,
And on her cheek is bringing
The bright sun's orient ray:
Oh, come and court her hither,
Ye breezes mild and warm--
One winter's gale would wither
So soft, so pure a form.

The fields where she was straying
Are blest with endless light,
With zephyrs always playing
Thro' gardens always bright.
Then now, sweet May! be sweeter
Than e'er, thou'st been before;
Let sighs from roses meet her
When she comes near our shore.

POOR BROKEN FLOWER.

Poor broken flower! what art can now recover thee?
Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath--
In vain the sunbeams seek
To warm that faded cheek;
The dews of heaven, that once like balm fell over thee;
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death.

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her,--
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou;
In vain the smiles of all
Like sunbeams round her fall:
The only smile that could from death awaken her,
That smile, alas! is gone to others now.

THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE.

Being weary of love,
I flew to the grove,
And chose me a tree of the fairest;
Saying, "Pretty Rose-tree,
"Thou my mistress shall be,
"And I'll worship each bud thou bearest.
"For the hearts of this world are hollow,
"And fickle the smiles we follow;
"And 'tis sweet, when all
"Their witcheries pall
"To have a pure love to fly to:
"So, my pretty Rose-tree,
"Thou my mistress shalt be,
"And the only one now I shall sigh to."

When the beautiful hue
Of thy cheek thro' the dew
Of morning is bashfully peeping,
"Sweet tears," I shall say
(As I brush them away),
"At least there's no art in this weeping"
Altho thou shouldst die to-morrow;
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow;
And the thorns of thy stem
Are not like them
With which men wound each other;
So, my pretty Rose-tree,
Thou my mistress shalt be
And I'll never again sigh to another.

SHINE OUT, STARS!

Shine out, Stars! let Heaven assemble
Round us every festal ray,
Lights that move not, lights that tremble,
All to grace this Eve of May.
Let the flower-beds all lie waking,
And the odors shut up there,
From their downy prisons breaking,
Fly abroad thro sea and air.

And Would Love, too, bring his sweetness,
With our other joys to weave,
Oh what glory, what completeness,
Then would crown this bright May Eve!
Shine out, Stars! let night assemble
Round us every festal ray,
Lights that move not, lights that tremble,
To adorn this Eve of May.

THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA.

Oh, the joys of our evening posada,
Where, resting, at close of day,
We, young Muleteers of Grenada,
Sit and sing the sunshine away;
So merry, that even the slumbers
That round us hung seem gone;
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers
Again beguile them on.
Oh the joys, etc.

Then as each to his loved sultana
In sleep still breathes the sigh,
The name of some black-eyed Tirana,
Escapes our lips as we lie.
Till, with morning's rosy twinkle,
Again we're up and gone--
While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle
Beguiles the rough way on.
Oh the joys of our merry posada,
Where, resting at close of day,
We, young Muleteers of Grenada,
Thus sing the gay moments away.

TELL HER, OH, TELL HER.

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying Beneath the green arbor is still lying there; And breezes like lovers around it are sighing, But not a soft whisper replies to their prayer.

Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, Beside the green arbor she playfully set, As lovely as, ever is blushing and blowing, And not a, bright leaflet has fallen from it yet.

So while away from that arbor forsaken, The maiden is wandering, still let her be As true as the lute that no sighing can waken And blooming for ever, unchanged as the tree!

NIGHTS OF MUSIC.

Nights of music, nights of loving,
Lost too soon, remembered 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 splendor, Filled with joys too sweet to last-- Joys that, like the star-light, tender, While they shore no shadow cast. Tho' all other happy hours From my fading memory fly, Of, that starlight, of those bowers, Not a beam, a leaf may die!

OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.

Our first young love resembles That short but brilliant ray, Which smiles and weeps and trembles Thro' April's earliest day. And not all life before us, Howe'er its lights may play, Can shed a lustre o'er us Like that first April ray.

Our summer sun may squander
A blaze serener, grander;
Our autumn beam
May, like a dream
Of heaven, die calm away;
But no--let life before us
Bring all the light it may,
'Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us
Like that first youthful ray.

BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

The brilliant black eye
May in triumph let fly
All its darts without Caring who feels 'em;
But the soft eye of blue,
Tho' it scatter wounds too,
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em--
Dear Fanny!
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.

The black eye may say,
"Come and worship my ray--
"By adoring, perhaps you may move me!"
But the blue eye, half hid,
Says from under its lid,
"I love and am yours, if you love me!"
Yes, Fanny!
The blue eye, half hid,
Says, from under its lid,
"I love and am yours, if you love me!"

Come tell me, then, why
In that lovely blue eye
Not a charm of its tint I discover;
Oh why should you wear
The only blue pair
That ever said "No" to a lover?
Dear Fanny!
Oh, why should you wear
The only blue pair
That ever said "No" to a lover?

DEAR FANNY.

"She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool;
"She has wit, but you mustn't be caught, so;"
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool,
And 'tis not the first time I have thought so,
Dear Fanny.
'Tis not the first time I have thought so.

"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly;
"'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season;"
Thus Love has advised me and who will deny
That Love reasons much better than Reason,
Dear Fanny?
Love reasons much better than Reason.

FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

From life without freedom, say, who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Hark!--hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. Our country lies bleeding--haste, haste to her aid; One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade.

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains-- The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. And oh, even if Freedom from _this_ world be driven, Despair not--at least we shall find her in heaven.

HERE'S THE BOWER.

Here's the bower she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch--
Oh, how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;
Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie;
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower, etc.

Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time, that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she strayed,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid,
Nor Pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower, etc.

I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR.

A FINLAND LOVE SONG.

I saw the moon rise clear
O'er hills and vales of snow
Nor told my fleet reindeer
The track I wished to go.
Yet quick he bounded forth;
For well my reindeer knew
I've but one path on earth--
The path which leads to you.

The gloom that winter cast,
How soon the heart forgets,
When summer brings, at last,
Her sun that never sets!
So dawned my love for you;
So, fixt thro' joy and pain,
Than summer sun more true,
'Twill never set again.

LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL.

Young Love found a Dial once in a dark shade Where man ne'er had wandered nor sunbeam played; "Why thus in darkness lie?" whispered young Love, "Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move." "I ne'er," said the Dial, "have seen the warm sun, "So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one."

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly played. There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye, While, marked all with sunshine, her hours flew by. "Oh, how," said the Dial, "can any fair maid "That's born to be shone upon rest in the shade?"

But night now comes on and the sunbeam's o'er, And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more. Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds That Love had but numbered a few sunny hours,-- Then left the remainder to darkness and showers!

LOVE AND TIME.

'Tis said--but whether true or not
Let bards declare who've seen 'em--
That Love and Time have only got
One pair of wings between 'em.
In Courtship's first delicious hour,
The boy full oft can spare 'em;
So, loitering in his lady's bower,
He lets the gray-beard wear 'em.
Then is Time's hour of play;
Oh, how be flies, flies away!

But short the moments, short as bright,
When he the wings can borrow;
If Time to-day has had his flight,
Love takes his turn to-morrow.
Ah! Time and Love, your change is then
The saddest and most trying,
When one begins to limp again,
And t'other takes to flying.
Then is Love's hour to stray;
Oh, how he flies, flies away!

But there's a nymph, whose chains I feel,
And bless the silken fetter,
Who knows, the dear one, how to deal
With Love and Time much better.
So well she checks their wanderings,
So peacefully she pairs 'em,
That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings,
And Time for ever wears 'em.
This is Time's holiday;
Oh, how he flies, flies away!

LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD.

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us--
Youth may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us
Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast.
Oh, if to love thee more
Each hour I number o'er--
If this a passion be
Worthy of thee,
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.
Charms may wither, but feeling shall last:
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee,
Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee,
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.
Oh, if there be a charm,
In love, to banish harm--
If pleasure's truest spell
Be to love well,
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee,
Charms may wither, but feeling shall last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee.
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.

LOVE, WANDERING THRO' THE GOLDEN MAZE.

Love, wandering through the golden maze
Of my beloved's hair,
Traced every lock with fond delays,
And, doting, lingered there.
And soon he found 'twere vain to fly;
His heart was close confined,
For, every ringlet was a tie--
A chain by beauty twined.

MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH.

(THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY.)

Merrily every bosom boundeth,
Merrily, oh!
Where the song of Freedom soundeth,
Merrily oh!
There the warrior's arms
Shed more splendor;
There the maiden's charm's
Shine more tender;
Every joy the land surroundeth,
Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

Wearily every bosom pineth,
Wearily, oh!
Where the bond of slavery twineth
Wearily, oh
There the warrior's dart
Hath no fleetness;
There the maiden's heart
Hath no sweetness--
Every flower of life declineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

Cheerily then from hill and valley,
Cheerily, oh!
Like your native fountain sally,
Cheerily, oh!
If a glorious death,
Won by bravery,
Sweeter be than breath
Sighed in slavery,
Round the flag of Freedom rally,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

REMEMBER THE TIME.

(THE CASTILIAN MAID.)

Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
When our moments so blissfully flew;
When you called me the flower of Castilian maids,
And I blushed to be called so by you;
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille.
And to dance to the light castanet;
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of those moments forget.

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle,
Every hour a new passion can feel;
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile.
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile.
But they know not how brave in battle you are,
Or they never could think you would rove;
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war
That is fondest and truest in Love.

OH, SOON RETURN.

Our white sail caught the evening ray, The wave beneath us seemed to burn, When all the weeping maid could say, Was, "Oh, soon return!" Thro' many a clime our ship was driven O'er many a billow rudely thrown; Now chilled beneath a northern heaven, Now sunned in summer's zone: And still, where'er we bent our way, When evening bid the west wave burn, I fancied still I heard her say, "Oh, soon return!"

If ever yet my bosom found
Its thoughts one moment turned from thee,
'Twas when the combat raged around,
And brave men looked to me.
But tho' the war-field's wild alarm
For gentle love was all unmeet,
He lent to glory's brow the charm,
Which made even danger sweet.
And still, when victory's calm came o'er
The hearts where rage had ceased to burn,
Those parting words I heard once more,
"Oh, soon return!--Oh, soon return!"

LOVE THEE?

Love thee?--so well, so tenderly
Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Were worthless without thee.
Tho' brimmed with blessings, pure and rare,
Life's cup before me lay,
Unless thy love were mingled there,
I'd spurn the draft away.
Love thee?--so well, so tenderly,
Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Are worthless without thee.

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot
To me were dark and lone,
While, _with_ it, even the humblest cot
Were brighter than his throne.
Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs
For me would have no charms;
My only world thy gentle eyes--
My throne thy circling arms!
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly
Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Whole realms of light and liberty
Were worthless without thee.

ONE DEAR SMILE.

Couldst thou look as dear as when First I sighed for thee; Couldst thou make me feel again Every wish I breathed thee then, Oh, how blissful life would be! Hopes that now beguiling leave me, Joys that lie in slumber cold-- All would wake, couldst thou but give me One dear smile like those of old.

No--there's nothing left us now, But to mourn the past; Vain was every ardent vow-- Never yet did Heaven allow Love so warm, so wild, to last. Not even hope could now deceive me-- Life itself looks dark and cold; Oh, thou never more canst give me One dear smile like those of old

YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM.

Yes, yes, when, the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er, He'll turn into friendship that feels no decay; And, tho' Time may take from him the wings he once wore, The charms that remain will be bright as before, And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, That Friendship our last happy moments will crown: Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away, While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down.

THE DAY OF LOVE.

The beam of morning trembling
Stole o'er the mountain brook,
With timid ray resembling
Affection's early look.
Thus love begins--sweet morn of love!

The noon-tide ray ascended,
And o'er the valley's stream
Diffused a glow as splendid
As passion's riper dream.
Thus love expands--warm noon of love!

But evening came, o'ershading
The glories of the sky,
Like faith and fondness fading
From passion's altered eye.
Thus love declines--cold eve of love!

LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG.

The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains,
Till not one hateful link remains
Of slavery's lingering chains;
Till not one tyrant tread our plains,
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains.
No! never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,
Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding thro' her sunny mountains.

The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains,
Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say,
"Your cloud of foes hath past away,
"And Freedom comes with new-born ray
"To gild your vines and light your fountains."
Oh, never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,
Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding thro' her sunny mountains.

THE YOUNG ROSE.

The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, Was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung.

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee; For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

When midst the gay I meet
That gentle smile of thine,
Tho' still on me it turns most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine:
But when to me alone
Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep
Can smile in many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep.
How bright soe'er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray
Whose touch is fire appears,
Oh, then the smile is warmed away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.

When twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
Dost often gaze at even,
And think, tho' lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy that's gone with thee, Love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept thro' here
May turn to smiles in heaven.

YOUNG JESSICA.

Young Jessica sat all the day,
With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining;
Her needle bright beside her lay,
So active once!--now idly shining.
Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts
That love and mischief are most nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid is Minerva's thimble.

The child who with a magnet plays
Well knowing all its arts, so wily,
The tempter near a needle lays.
And laughing says, "We'll steal it slily."
The needle, having naught to do,
Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle;
Till closer, closer come the two,
And--off, at length, elopes the needle.

Now, had this needle turned its eye
To some gay reticule's construction,
It ne'er had strayed from duty's tie,
Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction.
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts,
Your snowy fingers must be nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid is Minerva's thimble.

HOW HAPPY, ONCE.

_How_ happy, once, tho' winged with sighs, My moments flew along, While looking on those smiling eyes, And listening to thy magic song! But vanished now, like summer dreams, Those moments smile no more; For me that eye no longer beams, That song for me is o'er. Mine the cold brow, That speaks thy altered vow, While others feel thy sunshine now.

Oh, could I change my love like thee, One hope might yet be mine-- Some other eyes as bright to see, And hear a voice as sweet as thine: But never, never can this heart Be waked to life again; With thee it lost its vital part, And withered then! Cold its pulse lies, And mute are even its sighs, All other grief it now defies.

I LOVE BUT THEE.

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
And think this heart to other loves will stray,
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me;
By every dream I have when thou'rt away,
By every throb I feel when thou art near me,
I love but thee--I love but thee!

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne,
And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying,
Or grave or gay, a music of its own,
A music far beyond all minstrel's playing,
I love but thee--I love but thee!

By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes,
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow,
And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses
A hue too bright to bless this world below,
And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses,
I love but thee--I love but thee!

LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW.

Let thy joys alone be remembered now,
Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile,
For thus to meet, and thus to find,
That Time, whose touch can chill
Each flower of form, each grace of mind,
Hath left thee blooming still,
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile.

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade,
If but _one_ bright leaf remain,
Of the many that once its glory made,
It is not for us to complain.
But thus to meet and thus to wake
In all Love's early bliss;
Oh, Time all other gifts may take,
So he but leaves us this!
Then let joy alone be remembered now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile!

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?

Love thee, dearest? love thee? Yes, by yonder star I swear, Which thro' tears above thee Shines so sadly fair; Tho' often dim, With tears, like him, Like him my truth will shine, And--love thee, dearest? love thee? Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee? No, that star is not more true; When my vows deceive thee, _He_ will wander too. A cloud of night May veil his light, And death shall darken mine-- But--leave thee, dearest? leave thee? No, till death I'm thine.

MY HEART AND LUTE.

I give thee all--I can no more--
Tho' poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.

Tho' love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 'twill make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.
And even if Care at moments flings
A discord o'er life's happy strain,
Let Love but gently touch the strings,
'Twill all be sweet again!

PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE!

When I am dead.
Then lay my head
In some lone, distant dell,
Where voices ne'er
Shall stir the air,
Or break its silent spell.

If any sound
Be heard around,
Let the sweet bird alone,
That weeps in song,
Sing all night long,
"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

Yet, oh, were mine
One sigh of thine,
One pitying word from thee,
Like gleams of heaven,
To sinners given,
Would be that word to me.

Howe'er unblest,
My shade would rest
While listening to that tone;--
Enough 'twould be
To hear from thee,
"Peace, peace, to him that gone."

ROSE OF THE DESERT

Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray, Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away; No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,-- In vestal silence left to live and die.-- Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be, Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.

Rose of the Garden, how, unlike thy doom! Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom; Culled ere thy beauty lives thro' half its day; A moment cherished, and then cast away; Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot,-- Worshipt while blooming--when she fades, forgot.

'TIS ALL FOR THEE.

If life for me hath joy or light, 'Tis all from thee, My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, Are but of thee, of only thee. Whate'er of hope or peace I know, My zest in joy, my balm in woe, To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 'Tis all from thee.

My heart, even ere I saw those eyes, Seemed doomed to thee; Kept pure till then from other ties, 'Twas all for thee, for only thee. Like plants that sleep till sunny May Calls forth their life my spirit lay, Till, touched by Love's awakening ray, It lived for thee, it lived for thee.

When Fame would call me to her heights, She speaks by thee; And dim would shine her proudest lights, Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine, And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 'Tis all for thee, for only thee.

THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.

There's a song of the olden time,
Falling sad o'er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we loved to hear.
And even amidst the grand and gay,
When Music tries her gentlest art
I never hear so sweet a lay,
Or one that hangs so round my heart,
As that song of the olden time,
Falling sad o'er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we loved to hear,

And when all of this life is gone,--
Even the hope, lingering now,
Like the last of the leaves left on
Autumn's sere and faded bough,--
'Twill seem as still those friends were near,
Who loved me in youth's early day,
If in that parting hour I hear
The same sweet notes and die away,--
To that song of the olden time,
Breathed, like Hope's farewell strain,
To say, in some brighter clime,
Life and youth will shine again!

WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.

Wake thee, my dear--thy dreaming
Till darker hours will keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

Moments there are we number,
Moments of pain and care,
Which to oblivious slumber
Gladly the wretch would spare.

But now,--who'd think of dreaming
When Love his watch should keep?
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

If e'er the fates should sever
My life and hopes from thee, love,
The sleep that lasts for ever
Would then be sweet to me, love;
But now,--away with dreaming!
Till darker hours 'twill keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

THE BOY OF THE ALPS.

Lightly, Alpine rover, Tread the mountains over; Rude is the path thou'st yet to go; Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, Fields of ice before thee, While the hid torrent moans below. Hark, the deep thunder, Thro' the vales yonder! 'Tis the huge avalanche downward cast; From rock to rock Rebounds the shock. But courage, boy! the danger's past. Onward, youthful rover, Tread the glacier over, Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. On, ere light forsake thee, Soon will dusk o'ertake thee: O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way! Now, for the risk prepare thee; Safe it yet may bear thee, Tho' 'twill melt in morning's ray.

Hark, that dread howling! 'Tis the wolf prowling,-- Scent of thy track the foe hath got; And cliff and shore Resound his roar. But courage, boy,--the danger's past!

Watching eyes have found thee,
Loving arms are round thee,
Safe hast thou reached thy father's cot.

FOR THEE ALONE.

For thee alone I brave the boundless deep, Those eyes my light through every distant sea; My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep, The noon-tide revery, all are given to thee, To thee alone, to thee alone.

Tho' future scenes present to Fancy's eye
Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air,
When nearer viewed, the fairy phantoms fly,
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there,
Thou, thou alone.

To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore,
While Hope's sweet voice is heard in every blast,
Still whispering on that when some years are o'er,
One bright reward shall crown my toil at last,
Thy smile alone, thy smile alone,

Oh place beside the transport of that hour
All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright,
Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power,--
Then ask where first thy lover's choice would light?
On thee alone, on thee alone.

HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING.

Her last words, at parting, how _can_ I forget?
Deep treasured thro' life, in my heart they shall stay;
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet,
When its sounds from the ear have long melted away.
Let Fortune assail me, her threatenings are vain;
Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be,--
"Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,
"There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee."

From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must hie,
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste,
He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply,
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips thro' the waste.
So, dark as my fate is still doomed to remain,
These words shall my well in the wilderness be,--
"Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,
"There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee."

LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE SCENE.

Let's take this world as some wide scene.
Thro' which in frail but buoyant boat,
With skies now dark and now serene,
Together thou and I must float;
Beholding oft on either shore
Bright spots where we should love to stay;
But Time plies swift his flying oar,
And away we speed, away, away.

Should chilling winds and rains come on, We'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower; Sit closer till the storm is gone, And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. And if that sunnier hour should shine, We'll know its brightness cannot stay, But happy while 'tis thine and mine,

Complain not when it fades away.
So shall we reach at last that Fall
Down which life's currents all must go,--
The dark, the brilliant, destined all
To sink into the void below.
Nor even that hour shall want its charms,
If, side by side, still fond we keep,
And calmly, in each other's arms
Together linked, go down the steep.

LOVE'S VICTORY.

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 echoed 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 kist,
They trembled thro' and thro'.
Flowers spring beneath his feet;
Angel forms beside him run;
While unnumbered lips repeat
"Love's victory is won!"
Hail to Love, to mighty Love,
etc,

SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.[1]

"I've been, oh, sweet daughter,
"To fountain and sea,
"To seek in their water
"Some bright gem for thee.
"Where diamonds were sleeping,
"Their sparkle I sought,
"Where crystal was weeping,
"Its tears I have caught.

"The sea-nymph I've courted
"In rich coral halls;
"With Naiads have sported
"By bright waterfalls.
"But sportive or tender,
"Still sought I around
"That gem, with whose splendor
"Thou yet shalt be crowned.

"And see, while I'm speaking,
"Yon soft light afar;--
"The pearl I've been seeking
"There floats like a star!
"In the deep Indian Ocean
"I see the gem shine,
"And quick as light's motion
"Its wealth shall be thine."

Then eastward, like lightning,
The hero-god flew,
His sunny looks brightening
The air he went thro'.
And sweet was the duty,
And hallowed the hour,
Which saw thus young Beauty
Embellished by Power.

[1] Founded on the fable reported by Arrian (in Indicis) of Hercules having searched the Indian Ocean, to find the pearl with which he adorned his daughter Pandaea.

THE DREAM OF HOME.

Who has not felt how sadly sweet
The dream of home, the dream of home,
Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet,
When far o'er sea or land we roam?
Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall,
To greener shores our bark may come;
But far more bright, more dear than all,
That dream of home, that dream of home.

Ask the sailor youth when far
His light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam,
What charms him most, when evening's star
Smiles o'er the wave? to dream of home.
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves
At that sweet hour around him come;
His heart's best joy where'er he roves,
That dream of home, that dream of home.

THEY TELL ME THOU'RT THE FAVORED GUEST.

They tell me thou'rt the favored guest Of every fair and brilliant throng; No wit like thine to wake the jest, No voice like thine to breathe the song; And none could guess, so gay thou art, That thou and I are far apart.

Alas! alas! how different flows With thee and me the time away! Not that I wish thee sad--heaven knows-- Still if thou canst, be light and gay; I only know, that without thee The sun himself is dark to me.

Do I thus haste to hall and bower, Among the proud and gay to shine? Or deck my hair with gem and flower, To flatter other eyes than thine? Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last.

THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID.

There came a nymph dancing
Gracefully, gracefully,
Her eye a light glancing
Like the blue sea;
And while all this gladness
Around her steps hung,
Such sweet notes of sadness
Her gentle lips sung,
That ne'er while I live from my memory shall fade
The song or the look of that young Indian maid.

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 memory shall fade
The song or the look of that young Indian maid.

THE HOMEWARD MARCH.

Be still my heart: I hear them come:
Those sounds announce my lover near:
The march that brings our warriors home
Proclaims he'll soon be here.

Hark, the distant tread,
O'er the mountain's head,
While hills and dales repeat the sound;
And the forest deer
Stand still to hear,
As those echoing steps ring round.

Be still my heart. I hear them come,
Those sounds that speak my soldier near;
Those joyous steps seem winged fox home.--
Rest, rest, he'll soon be here.

But hark, more faint the footsteps grow,
And now they wind to distant glades;
Not here their home,--alas, they go
To gladden happier maids!

Like sounds in a dream,
The footsteps seem,
As down the hills they die away;
And the march, whose song
So pealed along,
Now fades like a funeral lay.

'Tis past, 'tis o'er,--hush, heart, thy pain!
And tho' not here, alas, they come,
Rejoice for those, to whom that strain
Brings sons and lovers home.

WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY.

Wake up, sweet melody!
Now is the hour
When young and loving hearts
Feel most thy power,
One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray--
Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day.
Then wake up, sweet melody!
Now is the hour
When young and loving hearts
Feel most thy power.

Ask the fond nightingale,
When his sweet flower
Loves most to hear his song,
In her green bower?
Oh, he will tell thee, thro' summer-nights long,
Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song.
Then wake up, sweet melody!
Now is the hour
When young and loving hearts
Feel most thy power.

CALM BE THY SLEEP.

Calm be thy sleep as infant's slumbers!
Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams!
May every joy this bright world numbers
Shed o'er thee their mingled beams!
Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided,
There ever must some pang remain,
Still be thy lot with me divided,--
Thine all the bliss and mine the pain!

Day and night my thoughts shall hover
Round thy steps where'er they stray;
As, even when clouds his idol cover,
Fondly the Persian tracks its ray.
If this be wrong, if Heaven offended
By worship to its creature be,
Then let my vows to both be blended,
Half breathed to Heaven and half to thee.

THE EXILE.

Night waneth fast, the morning star
Saddens with light the glimmering sea,
Whose waves shall soon to realms afar
Waft me from hope, from love, and thee.
Coldly the beam from yonder sky
Looks o'er the waves that onward stray;
But colder still the stranger's eye
To him whose home is far away

Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak,
Let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast;
But of the lost one think and speak,
When summer suns sink calm to rest.
So, as I wander, Fancy's dream
Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas,
Thy look in every melting beam,
Thy whisper in each dying breeze.

THE FANCY FAIR.

Come, maids and youths, for here we sell
All wondrous things of earth and air;
Whatever wild romancers tell,
Or poets sing, or lovers swear,
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair.

Here eyes are made like stars to shine,
And kept for years in such repair,
That even when turned of thirty-nine,
They'll hardly look the worse for wear,
If bought at this our Fancy Fair.

We've lots of tears for bards to shower,
And hearts that such ill usage bear,
That, tho' they're broken every hour,
They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear,
If purchased at our Fancy Fair.

As fashions change in every thing,
We've goods to suit each season's air,
Eternal friendships for the spring,
And endless loves for summer wear,--
All sold at this our Fancy Fair.

We've reputations white as snow,
That long will last if used with care,
Nay, safe thro' all life's journey go,
If packed and marked as "brittle ware,"--
Just purchased at the Fancy Fair.

IF THOU WOULDST HAVE ME SING AND PLAY.

If thou wouldst have me sing and play, As once I played and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung. Call back the time when pleasure's sigh First breathed among the strings; And Time himself, in flitting by. Made music with his wings.

But how is this? tho' new the lute,
And shining fresh the chords,
Beneath this hand they slumber mute,
Or speak but dreamy words.
In vain I seek the soul that dwelt
Within that once sweet shell,
Which told so warmly what it felt,
And felt what naught could tell.

Oh, ask not then for passion's lay,
From lyre so coldly strung;
With this I ne'er can sing or play,
As once I played and sung.
No, bring that long-loved lute again,--
Tho' chilled by years it be,
If _thou_ wilt call the slumbering strain,
'Twill wake again for thee.

Tho' time have frozen the tuneful stream
Of thoughts that gushed along,
One look from thee, like summer's beam,
Will thaw them into song.
Then give, oh give, that wakening ray,
And once more blithe and young,
Thy bard again will sing and play,
As once he played and sung.

STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT.

Still when daylight o'er the wave Bright and soft its farewell gave, I used to hear, while light was falling, O'er the wave a sweet voice calling, Mournfully at distance calling.

Ah! once how blest that maid would come, To meet her sea-boy hastening home; And thro' the night those sounds repeating, Hail his bark with joyous greeting, Joyously his light bark greeting.

But, one sad night, when winds were high, Nor earth, nor heaven could hear her cry. She saw his boat come tossing over Midnight's wave,--but not her lover! No, never more her lover.

And still that sad dream loath to leave, She comes with wandering mind at eve, And oft we hear, when night is falling, Faint her voice thro' twilight calling, Mournfully at twilight calling.

THE SUMMER WEBS.

The summer webs that float and shine,
The summer dews that fall,
Tho' light they be, this heart of mine
Is lighter still than all.
It tells me every cloud is past
Which lately seemed to lour;
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last,
And now's their nuptial hour!

With light thus round, within, above, With naught to wake one sigh, Except the wish that all we love Were at this moment nigh,-- It seems as if life's brilliant sun Had stopt in full career, To make this hour its brightest one, And rest in radiance here.

MIND NOT THO' DAYLIGHT.

Mind not tho' daylight around us is breaking,-- Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just waking? Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot.

See young Aurora up heaven's hill advancing, Tho' fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing: While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea. Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we?

Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted? Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted; While hearts are high beating and harps full in tune, The fault is all morning's for coming so soon.

THEY MET BUT ONCE.

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour,
And never since that day
Hath absence, time, or grief had power
To chase that dream away.
They've seen the suns of other skies,
On other shores have sought delight;
But never more to bless their eyes
Can come a dream so bright!
They met but once,--a day was all
Of Love's young hopes they knew;
And still their hearts that day recall
As fresh as then it flew.

Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow
They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.
For, Youth, the spell was only thine,
From thee alone the enchantment flows,
That makes the world around thee shine
With light thyself bestows.
They met but once,--oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow
They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.

WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING.

With moonlight beaming Thus o'er the deep, Who'd linger dreaming In idle sleep? Leave joyless souls to live by day,-- Our life begins with yonder ray; And while thus brightly The moments flee, Our barks skim lightly The shining sea.

To halls of splendor Let great ones hie; Thro' light more tender Our pathways lie. While round, from banks of brook or lake, Our company blithe echoes make; And as we lend 'em Sweet word or strain, Still back they send 'em More sweet again.

CHILD'S SONG.

FROM A MASQUE.

I have a garden of my own,
Shining with flowers of every hue;
I loved it dearly while alone,
But I shall love it more with you:
And there the golden bees shall come,
In summer-time at break of morn,
And wake us with their busy hum
Around the Siha's fragrant thorn.

I have a fawn from Aden's land, On leafy buds and berries nurst; And you shall feed him from your hand, Though he may start with fear at first. And I will lead you where he lies For shelter in the noontide heat; And you may touch his sleeping eyes, And feel his little silvery feet.

THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN.

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean,
The sea-lark skims the brine;
This bright world's all in motion,
No heart seems sad but mine.

To walk thro' sun-bright places,
With heart all cold the while;
To look in smiling faces,
When we no more can smile;

To feel, while earth and heaven
Around thee shine with bliss,
To thee no light is given,--
Oh, what a doom is this!

THE WORLD WAS HUSHT.

The world was husht, the moon above
Sailed thro' ether slowly,
When near the casement of my love,
Thus I whispered lowly,--
"Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep?
"The field I seek to-morrow
"Is one where man hath fame to reap,
"And woman gleans but sorrow."

"Let battle's field be what it may.
Thus spoke a voice replying,
"Think not thy love, while thou'rt away,
"Will sit here idly sighing.
"No--woman's soul, if not for fame,
"For love can brave all danger!
Then forth from out the casement came
A plumed and armed stranger.

A stranger? No; 'twas she, the maid,
Herself before me beaming,
With casque arrayed and falchion blade
Beneath her girdle gleaming!
Close side by side, in freedom's fight,
That blessed morning found us;
In Victory's light we stood ere night,
And Love the morrow crowned us!

THE TWO LOVES.

There are two Loves, the poet sings,
Both born of Beauty at a birth:
The one, akin to heaven, hath wings,
The other, earthly, walks on earth.
With _this_ thro' bowers below we play,
With _that_ thro' clouds above we soar;
With both, perchance, may lose our way:--
Then, tell me which,
Tell me which shall we adore?

The one, when tempted down from air,
At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip,
Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare
His wing within the wave to dip.
While plunging deep and long beneath,
The other bathes him o'er and o'er
In that sweet current, even to death:--
Then, tell me which,
Tell me which shall we adore?

The boy of heaven, even while he lies
In Beauty's lap, recalls his home;
And when most happy, inly sighs
For something happier still to come.
While he of earth, too fully blest
With this bright world to dream of more,
Sees all his heaven on Beauty's breast:--
Then, tell me which,
Tell me which shall we adore?

The maid who heard the poet sing
These twin-desires of earth and sky,
And saw while one inspired his string,
The other glistened in his eye,--
To name the earthlier boy ashamed,
To chose the other fondly loath,
At length all blushing she exclaimed,--
"Ask not which,
"Oh, ask not which--we'll worship both.

"The extremes of each thus taught to shun, "With hearts and souls between them given, "When weary of this earth with one, "We'll with the other wing to heaven." Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss; And while _one_ Love wrote down the oath, The other sealed it with a kiss; And Heaven looked on, Heaven looked on and hallowed both.

THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY.

Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, Are played by me, the merry little Sprite, Who wing thro' air from the camp to the court, From king to clown, and of all make sport; Singing, I am the Sprite Of the merry midnight, Who laugh at weak mortals and love the moonlight.

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept; Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money I rang, And he waked to catch--but away I sprang, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

I saw thro' the leaves, in a damsel's bower, She was waiting her love at that starlight hour: "Hist--hist!" quoth I, with an amorous sigh, And she flew to the door, but away flew I, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, And he swooned--for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor man! Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

BEAUTY AND SONG.

Down in yon summer vale, Where the rill flows. Thus said a Nightingale To his loved Rose:-- "Tho' rich the pleasures "Of song's sweet measures, "Vain were its melody, "Rose, without thee."

Then from the green recess Of her night-bower, Beaming with bashfulness, Spoke the bright flower:-- "Tho' morn should lend her "Its sunniest splendor, "What would the Rose be, "Unsung by thee?"

Thus still let Song attend Woman's bright way; Thus still let woman lend Light to the lay. Like stars thro' heaven's sea Floating in harmony Beauty should glide along Circled by Song.

WHEN THOU ART NIGH.

When thou art nigh, it seems
A new creation round;
The sun hath fairer beams,
The lute a softer sound.
Tho' thee alone I see,
And hear alone thy sigh,
'Tis light, 'tis song to me,
Tis all--when thou art nigh.

When thou art nigh, no thought
Of grief comes o'er my heart;
I only think--could aught
But joy be where thou art?
Life seems a waste of breath,
When far from thee I sigh;
And death--ay, even death
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.

SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN.