With jagged leaves,-and from the forest tops Singing the winds to sleep-or weeping oft Fast showers of aërial water drops Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft, They spread themselves into the loveliness Hang like moist clouds: or, where high branches kiss, Make a green space among the silent bowers, Surrounded by the columns and the towers All overwrought with branch-like traceries Odours and gleams and murmurs, which the lute Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute, Wakening the leaves and waves ere it has past To such brief unison as on the brain One tone, which never can recur, has cast, One accent never to return again. MISERY.-A FRAGMENT. COME, be happy!—sit near me, Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Come, be happy !—sit near me : Misery! we have known each other, Like a sister and a brother Living in the same lone home, Many years-we must live some Hours or ages yet to come. 'Tis an evil lot, and yet Let us make the best of it; If love can live when pleasure dies, We too will love, till in our eyes This heart's Hell seem Paradise. Come, be happy!-lie thee down Where the grasshopper doth sing There our tent shall be the willow, Because they once were sweet, shall lull Ha! thy frozen pulses flutter With a love thou dar'st not utter. Thou art murmuring-thou art weeping Is thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart lies sleeping? Kiss me ;-oh! thy lips are cold; Hasten to the bridal bed- We may rest, and none forbid. Clasp me, till our hearts be grown Like two shadows into one; Till this dreadful transport may We may dream in that long sleep, Thou mayest dream of her with me. Let us laugh, and make our mirth, All the wide world, beside us Puppets passing from a scene; What but mockery can they mean, TO MARY O MARY dear, that you were here Singing love to its lone mate Mary dear, come to me soon, I am not well whilst thou art far; O Mary dear, that you were here! PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES. LISTEN, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Or like the sea on a northern shore, Heard in its raging ebb and flow By the captives pent in the cave below. Is a mighty mountain dim and gray, And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm. |