I've heard the myriad-voiced rills, SONNET. ALL Nature ministers to Hope. The snow The swoln flood's sullen roar, the storms that go BY A FRIEND. I HAVE heard thy sweet voice in the song, I've seen thee in the glittering throng, The fairest 'midst the bright: I've mark'd thee smile on gallants gay, And envied them the lot, While from the crowd I turn'd away, Alone regarded not. Oh, Lady! it were vain, I own, That form of light-that heavenly face, Were form'd some kingly throne to grace, And not for me to sue. Yet, though forbidden by despair VOL. I. K I'll follow still, with love unseen, Thy smile, thy voice's tone; POIETES APOIETES. No hope have I to live a deathless name, power immortal in the world of mind, A A sun to light with intellectual flame Not mine the skill in memorable phrase, By which unconscious motives darkling steal; To show how forms the sentient heart affect, How thoughts and feelings mutually combine, How oft the pure, impassive intellect Shares the mischances of his mortal shrine. Nor can I summon from the dark abyss Bestow unfading life on transient bliss, Bid memory live with "healing on its wings," Or give a substance to the haunting shades, Whose visitation shames the vulgar earth, Before whose light the ray of morning fades, I have no charm to renovate the youth Of old authentic dictates of the heart,— Divinest Poesy!-'tis thine to make Age young-youth old-to baffle tyrant Time, Long have I loved thee-long have loved in vain, The lovely images of earth and sky From thee I learn'd within my soul to treasure ; And the strong magic of thy minstrelsy Charms the world's tempest to a sweet, sad measure. Nor Fortune's spite, nor hopes that once have been- Not the sad sentence, that my life must wean Of pregnant ills, and penitential harms FROM PETRARCH. Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde. THE birds piped mournfully; the dark green leaves Warbled along its old monotonies :— Such blended sounds my reckless ear received, A mournful strain I conn'd-when she for whom : Shone forth on high, to wondering sense reveal'd : 66 Why ever thus," said she, "thy days consume? Dying, I live,—and when I closed my eyes They open'd to the light of Paradise." |