HOSE is the love that, gleaming through the world, Wards off the poisonous arrow of its Whose is the warm and partial praise, Beneath whose looks did my reviving soul Riper in truth and virtuous daring grow ? Whose eyes have I gazed fondly on, And loved mankind the more? mind; Thou wert the inspiration of my song; Thine are these early wilding flowers, Though garlanded by me. Then press into thy breast this pledge of love, And know, though time may change and years may roll, Each flow'ret gathered in my heart OPENING STANZAS OF "QUEEN MAB." JOW wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon, With lips of lurid blue ; The other, rosy as the morn When, throned on ocean's wave, Hath then the gloomy Power Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres Seized on her sinless soul? Must then that peerless form Which love and admiration cannot view Without a beating heart, those azure veins Which steal like streams along a field of snow, That lovely outline, which is fair As breathing marble, perish? Leave nothing of this heavenly sight Spare nothing but a gloomy theme, Which the breath of roseate morning Will Ianthe wake again, And give that faithful bosom joy Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch Light, life, and rapture, from her smile? Yes! she will wake again, Although her glowing limbs are motionless, And silent those sweet lips, Once breathing eloquence That might have soothed a tiger's rage, Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror. Her dewy eyes are closed, And on their lids, whose texture fine Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath, The baby Sleep is pillowed. Her golden tresses shade The bosom's stainless pride, Curling like tendrils of the parasite Around a marble column. Hark! whence that rushing sound? Are like the moonbeams when they fall Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen! Celestial coursers paw the unyielding air Their filmy pennons at her word they furl, And stop obedient to the reins of light: ON A FADED VIOLET. HE color from the flower is gone, Which like thy sweet eyes smiled on me ; The odor from the flower is flown, A withered, lifeless, vacant form, I weep - my tears revive it not ; I sigh-it breathes no more on me ; |