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You stood before me like a thought,

A dream remembered in a dream.

But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wrought

O Greta, dear domestic stream!


Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,

Has not Love's whisper evermore

Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? Sole voice, when other voices sleep,

Dear under-song in clamor's hour.





He too has fitted from his secret nest,
Hope's last and dearest Child without a name!
Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,
That makes false promise of a place of rest
To the tir’d Pilgrim's still believing mind;-
Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,
Who having won all guerdons in his sport,
Glides out of view, and whither none can find !


Yes! He hath flitted from me—with what aim,
Or why, I know not! 'Twas a home of bliss,
And He was innocent, as the pretty shame
Of babe, that tempts and shuns the menaced kiss,
From its twy-cluster'd hiding place of snow !
Pure as the babe, I ween, and all aglow
As the dear hopes, that swell the mother's

Her eyes down gazing o'er her clasped charge ;-
Yet gay as that twice happy father's kiss,
That well might glance aside, yet never miss,
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet a targe-
Twice wretched he who hath been doubly blest !


Like a loose blossom on a gusty night
He flitted from me—and has left behind ,
(As if to them his faith he ne'er did plight)
Of either sex and answerable mind
Two playmates, twin-births of his foster-dame :-
The one a steady lad (Esteem he hight)
And Kindness is the gentler sister's name.
Dim likeness now, tho' fair she be and good
Of that bright Boy who hath us all forsook ;-
But in his full-eyed aspect when she stood,
And while her face reflected every look,
And in reflection kindled-she became
So like Him, that almost she seem'd the same!


Ah! He is gone, and yet will not depart !
Is with me still, yet I from Him exild!
For still there lives within my secret heart
The magic image of the magic Child,
Which there He made up-grow by his strong art
As in that crystal * orb—wise Merlin's feat,-
The wondrous “World of Glass,” wherein inisl'd
All long'd for things their beings did repeat;
And there He left it, like a Sylph beguiled,
To live and yearn and languish incomplete!


Can wit of man a heavier grief reveal ?
Can sharper pang from hate or scorn arise ?-
Yes! one more sharp there is that deeper lies,
Which fond Esteem but mocks when he would heal.
Yet neither scorn nor hate did it devise,
But sad compassion and atoning zeal!
One pang more blighting-keen than hope betray'd !
And this it is my woful hap to feel,
When at her Brother's hest, the twin-born Maid
With face averted and unsteady eyes,
Her truant playmate's faded robe puts on ;
And inly shrinking from her own disguise
Enacts the faery Boy that's lost and gone.
O worse than all ! O



above Is Kindness counterfeiting absent Love!

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YEA, he deserves to find himself deceived,
Who seeks a heart in the unthinking Man.
Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead:
Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth.
Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure
Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul
Warmeth the inner frame.




Sermoni propriora.—HOR.

Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest rose
Peeped at the chamber-window. We could hear
At silent noon, and eve, and early morn,
The sea's faint murmur. In the open

Our myrtles blossomed; and across the porch
Thick jasmins twined: the little landscape round
Was green and woody, and refreshed the eye.
It was a spot which you might aptly call
The Valley of Seclusion ! Once I saw


(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness)
A wealthy son of commerce saunter by,
Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calmed
His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse
With wiser feelings : for he paused, and looked
With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around,
Then eyed our Cottage, and gazed round again,
And sighed, and said, it was a Blessed Place.
And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear
Long-listening to the viewless skylark's note
(Viewless, or haply for a moment seen
Gleaming on sunny wings) in whispered tones
I've said to my beloved, “ Such, sweet girl !
The inobtrusive song of happiness,
Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hushed,
And the heart listens !”

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But the time, when first From that low dell, steep up the stony mount I climbed with perilous toil and reached the top, Oh! what a goodly scene ! Here the bleak

mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with

sheep ; Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny

fields; And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowed, Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ; And seats, and lawns, the Abbey and the wood,

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