MUTABILITY. I. THE flower that smiles to-day All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. II. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and all Which ours we call. III. Whilst skies are blue and bright, Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night Make glad the day; Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou and from thy sleep SONNET. POLITICAL GREATNESS. NOR happiness, nor majesty, nor fame, Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts, THE AZIOLA. I. "Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh," Said Mary, as we sate In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought; This Aziola was some tedious woman, Asked, "Who is Aziola?" How elate I felt to know that it was nothing human, No mockery of myself to fear or hate : And laughed, and said, "Disquiet yourself not; 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl." II. Sad Aziola! many an eventide Thy music I had heard By wood and stream, meadow and mountain side, And fields and marshes wide, Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird, The soul ever stirred; Unlike and far sweeter than them all. Sad Aziola! from that moment I Loved thee and thy sad cry. REMEMBRANCE. I. SWIFTER far than summer's flight – Art thou come and gone As the wood when leaves are shed, I am left alone, alone. II. The swallow summer comes again To fly with thee, false as thou. My heart each day desires the morrow; Sleep itself is turned to sorrow; Vainly would my winter borrow Sunny leaves from any bough. Pansies let my flowers be: On the living grave I bear Let no friend, however dear, Waste one hope, one fear for me. A LAMENT. I. Он, world! oh, life! oh, time! On whose last steps I climb Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more-O, never more! II. Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more - O, never more! |