Dim, vanities of dreams by night- Thine image and—a name—a name! I was ambitious-have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot- My own had past, did not the beam Of beauty which did while it thro' We walk'd together on the crown I spoke to her of power and pride, That she might deem it nought beside 1, perhaps too carelesslyingled feeling with my ownush on her bright cheek, to me m'd to become a queenly throne ell that I should let it be ht in the wilderness alone. pp'd myself in grandeur then donn'd a visionary crown→ was not that Fantasy thrown her mantle over menat, among the rabble-men, n ambition is chain'd downerouches to a keeper's handso in deserts where the grand― ild-the terrible conspire th their own breath to fan his fire. 'round thee now on Samarcand !— he not queen of Earth? her pride all cities? in her hand eir destinies? in all beside ory which the world hath known nds she not nobly and alone? g-her veriest stepping-stone ll form the pedestal of a thronewho her sovereign? Timour-he om the astonished people saw ng o'er empires haughtily liadem'd outlaw! man love! thou spirit given, arth, of all we hope in Heaven! TAME Which fall'st into the Upon the Siroc-wither And, falling in thy po But leav'st the heart a Idea! which bindest li With music of so stra And beauty of so wild Farewell! for I have y When Hope, the eagle No cliff beyond him His pinions were bent And homeward tur 'Twas sunset: when t There comes a sullenn To him who still wou The glory of the sum That soul will hate th So often lovely, and w To the sound of the c To those whose spirit Who, in a dream of n But cannot from a da What tho' the moonShed all the splendor Her smile is chillyIn that time of drear (So like you gather in A portrait taken afte And boyhood is a su Whose waning is the Which fall'st into the soul like rain When Hope, the eagle that tower'd, could see His pinions were bent droopingly And homeward turn'd his soften'd eye. To the sound of the coming darkness (known What tho' the moon-the white moon we live to know is known we seek to keep hath flown→ then, as the day-flower, fall noon-day beauty-which is all. my home-my home no more1 had flown who made it so. from out its mossy door, ho' my tread was soft and low, came from the threshold stone hom I had earlier knownefy thee, Hell, to show beds of fire that burn below, mbler heart—a deeper woe. I firmly do believe --for Death who comes for me m regions of the blest afar, here is nothing to deceive, n left his iron gate ajar, ays of truth you cannot see shing thro' Eternityeve that Eblis hath in every human path— , when in the holy grove red, of the idol, Love, ly scents his snowy wings eense of burnt offerings e most unpolluted things, leasant bowers are yet so riven ith trellis'd rays from Heaven may shun-no tiniest flyt'ning of his eagle eye |