SONG. RARELY, rarely, comest thou, How shall ever one like me As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, And the starry night; I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is Nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, But, above all other things, Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home. A FRAGMENT. As a violet's gentle eye Over the western mountain it enfolds, As a strain of sweetest sound ΤΟ MUSIC, when soft voices die, Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON. WHAT! alive and so bold, O Earth ? Art thou not over-bold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, How is not thy quick heart cold? What spark is alive on thy hearth? Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled- "Who has known me of old,” replied Earth, "Or who has my story told? It is thou who art over bold." And the lightning of scorn laughed forth And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead. 66 Still alive and still bold," shouted Earth, Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth; Till by the spirit of the mighty dead 66 I feed on whom I fed. Ay, alive and still bold," muttered Earth, "Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled, In terror, and blood, and gold, A torrent of ruin to death from his birth. And weave into his shame, which like the dead TO-MORROW. WHERE art thou, beloved To-morrow? In thy place-ah! well-a-day! |