I'll follow still, with love unseen,

Thy smile, thy voice's tone;
My heart shall own no other queen,
But worship thee alone.

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
The universal soul of human kind.

Not mine the skill in memorable phrase,

The hidden truths of passion to reveal, To bring to light the intermingling ways,

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
Of time, the spirit of forgotten things,
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,

And hollow yearning chills the soul of mirth.

I have no charm to renovate the youth

Of old authentic dictates of the heart,-
To wash the wrinkles from the face of Truth,
And out of Nature form creative Art.

Divinest Poesy!-'tis thine to make

Age young-youth old-to baffle tyrant Time,
From antique strains the hoary dust to shake,
And with familiar grace to crown new rhyme.

Long have I loved thee-long have loved in vain,
Yet large the debt my spirit owes to thee,
Thou wreath'dst my first hours in a rosy chain,
Rocking the cradle of my infancy.

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 beenHopes which no power of Fate can give again,— Not the sad sentence, that my life must wean

From dear domestic joys,-nor all the train

Of pregnant ills, and penitential harms
That dog the rear of youth unwisely wasted,
Can dim the lustre of thy stainless charms,
Or sour the sweetness that in thee I tasted.

FROM PETRARCH.

Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde.

THE birds piped mournfully; the dark green leaves
Moved, sweetly trembling, to the summer breeze,-
And deep and low, the lucid rill, that weaves
Its murmuring mazes in the flowery leas,
Warbled along its old monotonies :-

Such blended sounds my reckless ear received,
And hearing, heard not,-while my spirit grieved,
Loving its grief, and feeding its disease.

A mournful strain I conn'd-when she for whom

I vext my soul, because she was conceal'd,

Shone forth on high, to wondering sense reveal'd :— "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."

REGENERATION.

I NEED a cleansing change within—
My life must once again begin;

New hope I need, and youth renew'd,
And more than human fortitude,—
New faith, new love, and strength to cast
Away the fetters of the past.

Ah! why did fabling Poets tell
That Lethe only flows in Hell?
As if, in truth, there was no river,
Whereby the leper may be clean,
But that which flows, and flows for ever,
And crawls along, unheard, unseen,

Whence brutish spirits, in contagious shoals,
Quaff the dull drench of apathetic souls.

Ah, no! but Lethe flows aloft
With lulling murmur, kind and soft
As voice which sinners send to heaven
When first they feel their sins forgiven:

Its every drop as bright and clear

As if indeed it were a tear,

Shed by the lovely Magdalen

For Him that was despised of men.

It is the only fount of bliss

In all the human wilderness

It is the true Bethesda-solely

Endued with healing might, and holy:Not once a year, but evermore

Not one, but all men to restore.

O Fons Bandusiæ, splendidior vitro,
Dulci digne mero, non sine floribus,
Cras donaberis hædo.

BANDUSIAN Spring, more gaily bright,

In thy never-ceasing birth,

Than gem compact of solar light,

That, fetter'd long in darksome earth, Leaps forth to greet a kindred rayThou art worth a Poet's lay.

Flowers-them we will not give,—
Thou hast plenty of thy own;