REMIND me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanished hours; When all my soul was given to thee— Hours that may never be forgot, Till time unnerves our vital powers, And thou and I shall cease to be.
Can I forget, canst thou forget, When playing with thy golden hair, How quick thy fluttering heart did move? Oh, by my soul! I see thee yet, With eyes so languid-breast so fair, And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast, Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, As half-reproached, yet raised desire; And still we near and nearer pressed- And still our quivering lips would meet, As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close, And bid their lids each other seek; Veiling the azure orbs below- While their long lashes' darkening gloss Seemed stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek, Like raven's plumage smoothed in snow.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
THE water rolled-the water swelled, A fisher sat beside; Calmly his patient watch he held Beside the freshening tide:
And while his patient watch he keeps, The parted waters rose, And from the oozy ocean deeps
A water maiden rose.
She spake to him, she sang to him— "Why lurest thou so my brood, With cunning art and cruel heart, From out their native flood? Ah! couldst thou know, how here below Our peaceful lives glide o'er, Thou'dst leave thine earth, and plunge beneath, To seek our happier shore.
"Bathes not the golden sun his face
The moon too in the sea;
And rise they not from their resting-place More beautiful to see?
And lures thee not the clear deep heaven Within the waters blue-
And thy form so fair, so mirrored there In that eternal dew!"
The water rolled-the water swelled, It reached his naked feet; He felt, as at his love's approach, His bounding bosom beat; She spake to him, she sang to him, His short suspense is o'er; Half drew she him, half dropped he in,
And sank to rise no more.
I SAW her as she once did seem- A form that haunts the poet's dream- A ray from high, a moment felt, With power to gladden and to melt,- A white cloud wandering in the sky So filled with heavenly light, the eye Forgets that from our own dark earth That thing of glory had its birth.
Sweet sister! even so didst thou Appear, and so I see thee now- Thy calm eyes, and thy soft light hair, Thy cheek so pure, and pale, and fair,- That when my soul thus dwells on thee, I almost doubt if thou couldst be (So heavenly bright, so meekly mild) A fading flower, an earthly child.
Again I saw her—and though years Had passed that filled my eyes with tears, I knew that form where womanhood Her summer bloom had gently strewed; And on her fair arm one did lean With love confiding and serene,
On whose gray hairs she fixed her eyes In playful and yet pensive guise:
And as he folded to his breast
His darling child, and praised and blessed, For very joy the old man wept- Oh! what an icy chillness crept Throughout my veins, when that fair scene I knew was but what might have been- The blasted hope, the withered bloom, That sleeps within her early tomb.
TEARS on thy bridal morning! Tears, my love! It ought not thus to be. Why, my full heart Is like the gladsome, long-imprisoned bird, Cleaving its way through the blue liquid arch With liberty and song. Those dropping pearls Waste but thy bosom's wealth. 'Twere well to keep Such treasures for those long arrears which grief Demands from the brief summer of our time. I'll turn magician, dearest, and compute What moves thy spirit thus. Remembered joys Clustering so thickly round thy parents' hearth, Put on bright robes at parting, and, perchance, A mother's sympathy, or the fond clasp Of thy young sister's snowy arms, do bind Thine innocent soul in durance. Oh! my love! Cast thy heart's gold into the furnace-flame, And, if it come not thence refined and pure, I'll be a bankrupt to thy hope, and heaven Shall shut its gate on me. Come, sweetest, come! The holy vow shall tremble on thy lip,
And at God's blessed altar shalt thou kneel, So meek and beautiful, that men will deem Some angel there doth pray. Thou shalt then be The turtle of my green and fragrant bower, Trilling soft lays; and I will touch thy heart With such strong warmth of deathless tenderness, That all thy pictures of remembered joy Shall be as faded things. So be at rest, My soul's beloved! and let thy rose-bud lip Smile, as 'twas wont, in eloquent delight.
FATHER, whither art thou gone? To the mountain's topmost stone? In the darkness of the mine Does thy prison spirit pine? Dost thou still thy quiver fling By the forest's shadowy spring? Does the rushing buffalo Hear the clanging of thy bow? Dost thou haunt the gory ground Where the shaft thy bosom found- Where thy sons beheld thee die, With a Charib warrior's eye- Where thy sons had blood for blood, Raven's food for raven's food, Scalp for scalp, and bone for bone, Till our high revenge was done?
Spirit! whither art thou gone? To the regions of the noon; To the valleys of the rose; To the fountains of repose; Where the silence sweet is stirred, But by murmurs of the bird,— But by echoes of the deep, Heaving in its golden sleep,- But by twilight melodies, Falling from the dewy skies?
Spirit! whither art thou gone? To the mystic northern zone; Where the Night's lone majesty Sits enthroned on earth and sky; Where, upon th' eternal snow Twice ten thousand splendours glow,
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