And every beast stretched in its rugged cave, Of one serene and unapproached star, Itself how low, how high, beyond all height form That worshipped in the temple of the night Was awed into delight, and by the charm Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion And so this man returned with axe and saw Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green 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, Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness ;— 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 If love can live when pleasure dies, Come, be happy!-lie thee down On the fresh grass newly mown, 13 VOL. III. 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 In the sleep that lasts alway. 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 What but mockery can they mean, Where I am-where thou hast been? TO MARY O MARY dear, that you were here With your brown eyes bright and clear, And your sweet voice, like a bird Singing love to its lone mate |