Oh! do not breathe on Ida's lute
"Twould make her vanished form appear,
Since Ida's breathing now is mute—
Since Ida's voice I cannot hear.
All music, and all melody,
The azure stream, and leafy tree,
The glories of the earth and sky
Are stripped of half their charms for me!
Then welcome be the flapping sail,
And welcome be the stormy main,
And never may the breezes fail,
But when they bring me back again!
And I will wander o'er the deep,
And brave the tempest's threatening harms, Since not a shore to which we sweep,
To me can proffer Ida's arms!
Oh! Ida, ever lost and dear,
Soon come the day, and come it must,
When I shall seek thy happier sphere,
And leave this perishable dust.
Then grief shall flee my troubled eyes,
And gloom forsake my drooping heart,
And through the fields of Paradise
We two shall roam, and never part.
Blackwood's Magazine.
Of green and silent beauty, just a home
Where I could wish to weep my life away
In utter loneliness, and never more
Hear human voice, or look on human face.
It is a secret place among the hills :
Narrow and dark the valley lies below,
And not a taint of earth is on the air,
Which the lip drinks pure as the stream whose source
Is hidden here,-large rocks have girthed it in;
All palaces for the eagle are their sides,
Safe or far safer than a sanctuary,-
For even that, though shielded by God's name,
Man holds not sacred. Here at least his power
Is neither felt nor feared. The chamois rests
When harassed, as the powerless ever are,
It 'scapes the cruel hunter. Small as still,
A skilful archer's bow would send the shaft
Across its utmost boundary, and half
Is covered with dark pines, which in the spring
Send forth sweet odours, even as they felt
As parents do, rejoicing o'er their children
In the green promise of their youthful shoots,
The spreading of their fresh and fragrant leaves.
The other part is thinly scattered o'er
With dwarf oaks, stinted both in leaves and growth.
And in the midst there are two stately firs,
The one dark in its hoary foilage, like
A warrior armed for battle; but the next
Has lost its leafy panoply, the bark
Stripped from the trunk, the boughs left black and bare By some fierce storm to which it would not bend :Like a high spirit, proud, though desolate.
At one end is a cavern, musical
With falling waters: roof, and floor, and walls
Are set with sparry gems, snow turned to treasure ;
Beyond is black as night, or grief, or death,
And thence there comes a silent stream, which takes
Onward its quiet course, then, through a break,
The only one amid the mountain, flows
Down to the world below.
My task in fanciful similitudes
To trace a likeness for my destiny ;-
Those pale blue violets, which in despite
Of snow, or wind, or soil, cling to the rock
In lonely beauty-they are like my love,
My woman's love: it grew up amid cares
And coldness, yet still like those flowers it lived
On in its fragrance; but far happier they,
They rest in their lone home's security,
While, rooted from its dear abode, my love
Was scattered suddenly upon the wind,
To wither and to die. And the blue stream
Will be another emblem: cold and calm
It leaves its dwelling place,-soon over rocks,
Torrents, like headlong passions, hurry it-
Its waters lose their clearness, weeds and sands
Choke it like evil deeds, and banks upraised
By human art, obstruct and turn its course,
Till, worn out by long wanderings, it seeks
Its strength gone by, some little quiet nook
Where it may waste its tired waves away.
So in this solitude, might I depart,
My death unwatched! I could not bear to die,
And yet see life and love in some dear eye.
Why should I wish to leave some faithful one
With bleeding heart to break above my grave?
Oh, no, I do but wish to pass away
Unloved and unremembered!
Literary Gazette.
ON LEAVING A SCENE IN BAVARIA.
ADIEU the woods and water's side,
- Imperial Danube's rich domain !
Adieu the grotto, wild and wide,
The rocks abrupt and grassy plain !
For pallid Autumn, once again,
Hath swelled each torrent of the hill,
Her clouds collect, her shadows sail;
And watery winds that sweep the vale,
Grow loud and louder still.
But not the storm, dethroning fast
Yon monarch oak of massy pile;
Nor river roaring to the blast
Around its dark and desert isle;
Nor curfew tolling to beguile
The cloud-born thunder passing by,
Can sound in discord to my soul !-
Roll on, ye mighty waters, roll!
And rage thou darkened sky!
Thy blossom, though no longer bright,—
Thy withered woods, no longer green,—
Yet, Eldun shore, with dark delight
I visit thy unlovely scene!
For many a sunset hour serene
My steps have trod thy mellow dew;
When his green light the fire-fly gave,
When Cynthia from the distant wave
Her twilight anchor drew,
And ploughed as with a swelling sail,
The billowy clouds and starry sea;
Then, while thy hermit nightingale
Sang on her fragrant apple-tree,-
Romantic, solitary, free,
The visitant of Eldun's shore,
On such a moonlight mountain strayed
As echoed to the music made
By druid harps of yore.
Around thy savage hills of oak,
Around thy waters bright and blue,
No hunter's horn the silence broke,
No dying shriek thine echo knew;
But safe, sweet Eldun woods, to you
The wounded wild deer ever ran,
Whose myrtle bound their grassy cave,
Whose very rocks a shelter gave
From blood-pursuing man.
Oh heart effusions, that arose
From nightly wanderings cherished here! To him who flies from many woes, Even homeless deserts can be dear!
The last and solitary cheer
Of them that own no earthly home,
Say is it not, ye banished race,
In such a loved and lonely place
Companionless to roam ?
Yes! I have loved thy wild abode,
Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore,
Where scarce a woodman finds a road,
And scarce a fisher plies an oar !
For man's neglect I love thee more,
That art nor avarice intrude
To tame thy torrent's thunder-shock,
Or prune thy vintage of the rock
Magnificently rude.
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