Yet wakened from his dreamful rest,
He deemed the sound some wandering ghost
Haunting the caves of Sleep,
For like a bird upon its nest
The hushed air brooded o'er the deep;
And to his drowsy ear there crept
Only the voice of the choral waves
Only the drip of the spray that wept,
And the ripples that sang through the weedy caves: Nor marked he, ere again he slept, The muffled stroke of a hasty oar, A steed's quick tramp along the shore. When morning came, a shallop's keel Grated the edge of the pebbly strandA maid's small foot and a knight's armed heel Lay traced upon the sand!
THE LAST GIFT.
I LEAVE thee, love: in vain hast thou
The God of life implored;
My clinging soul is torn from thine,
My faithful, my adored!
My last gift-I have on it breathed
In blessing and in prayer;
So lay it close, close to thy heart,
This little lock of hair!
I know thou wilt think tenderly
And lovingly on me;
Thou wilt forgive my waywardness
When I am gone from thee;
Thou wilt remember all my love,
Which made me think thee fair;
Thou wilt with many tears begem
This little lock of hair i
And yet at last thy grief's wild storm
Will sigh itself to rest;
And thou mayst choose another love,
And clasp her to thy breast:
But when she hides her glowing face
In tearful gladness there,
Oh, do not let her hand displace
This little lock of hair!
The dark, rich hue thou oft hast praised,
The ringlet still shall hold;
Still, as the sunlight on it falls,
Give out quick gleams of gold:
Though years roll by, no trace of change
Its glossy rings shall wear—
It never will grow gray, beloved,
This little lock of hair!
And when the earth weighs chill and damp
Above my resting-place,
When fall moist tresses heavily
Around my cold, dead face-
"Tis sweet to know a part of me
Thine own life-glow may share
Thou'lt keep it warm, love, always warm,
This little lock of hair!
Ah, dearest! see how pale and cold
Has grown this hand of mine!
No longer now it glows and thrills
Within the clasp of thine.
I go!-soon where my dying head
Is pillowed with fond care,
No trace of me shall linger, save
This little lock of hair!
I see thee not! I faintly feel
The fast tears thou dost weep;
Kiss down my quivering eyelids, love,
Thus, thus, and I will sleep.
go where angels beckon me,
I go their heaven to share-
Yet with a longing envy leave
This little lock of hair!
SLOWLY fades the misty twilight
O'er the thronged and noisy town;
Storms are gathered in the distance,
And the clouds above it frown.
Yet before me leaves sway lightly
In the hushed and drowsy air,
And the trees new-ciothed in verdure
Have no summer of despair.
I have gazed into the darkness,
Seeking in the busy erowd
For a form once passing onward'
With a step as firm and proud;
For a face upturned in gladness,
To the window where I leaned,
Smiling with an eager welcome,
Though a step but intervened..
Even now my cheek is flushing
With the rapture of that gaze,
And my heart as then beats wildly,
Oh, the memory of those days:
As a dear, dear dream it cometh,
Swiftly as a dream it flies!
No one springeth now unto me,
Smiling with such earnest eyes-
No one hastens home at twilight,
Watching for my hand to wave:
For the form I seek so vainly
Sleepeth in the silent grave;
And the eyes have smiled in dying,
Blessing me with latest life-
Oh, my friend! above the discord
Of the last, wild, earthly strife.
GIVE ME BUT THY LOVE.
GIVE me but thy love, and I
Envy none beneath the sky;
Pains and perils I defy
If thy presence cheer me.
Give me but thy love, my sweet!
Joy shall bless us when we meet;
Pleasures come, and cares retreat,
When thou smilest near me.
Happy 'twere, beloved one,
When the toils of day are done,
Ever with the set of sun
To thy fond arms retiring!-
There to feel, and there to know
A balm that baffles every woe,
While hearts that beat and eyes that glow
Are sweetest thoughts inspiring.
What are all the joys of earth?
What are revelry and mirth ?
Vacant blessings-nothing worth
To hearts that ever knew love.
What is all the pomp of state,
What the grandeur of the great,
To the raptures that await
On the path of true love?
Should joy our days and years illume,
How sweet with thee to share such doom!
Nor, oh less sweet should sorrow come,
To cherish and caress thee!
Then, while I live, then till I die,
Oh! be thou only smiling by,
And, while I breathe, I'll fondly try
With all my heart to bless thee!
THE more divinely beautiful thou art,
Lady! of love's inconstancy beware:
Watch o'er thy charms, and with an angel's care,
Oh! guard thy maiden purity of heart:
At every whisper of temptation start;
The lightest breathings of unhallow'd air
Love's tender, trembling lustre will impair,
Till all the light of innocence depart.
Fresh from the bosom of an Alpine hill,
When the coy fountain sparkles into day,
And sunbeams bathe and brighten in its rill;
If here a plant, and there a flower, in play,
Bending to sip, the little channel fill,
It ebbs, and languishes, and dies away.
"SHE LOVES HIM YET."
SHE loves him yet!
I know by the blush that rises
Beneath the curls
That shadow her soul-lit cheek:
She loves him yet!
Through all Love's sweet disguises
A blush will be sure to speak.
But deeper signs
Than the radiant blush of beauty,
The maiden finds,
Whenever his name is heard:
Her young heart thrills,
Forgetting herself-her duty;
Her dark eye fills,
And her pulse with hope is stirred.
She loves him yet!
The flower the false one gave her,
When last he came,
Is still with her wild tears wet.
She'll ne'er forget,
Howe'er his faith may waver,
Through grief and shame,
Believe it-she loves him yet!
His favourite songs
She will sing-she heeds no other:
With all her wrongs
Her life on his love is set.
Oh, doubt no more!
She never can wed another:
Till life be o'er,
She loves-she will love him yet!
THE TRANCE OF LOVE.
LOVE in drowsy mood one day
Reclined, with all his nymphs around him,
His feather'd darts neglected lay,
And faded were the flowers that crown'd him.
Young Hope, with eye of light, in vain
Led smiling Beauty to implore him,
While Genius pour'd his sweetest strain,
And Pleasure shook his roses o'er him.
At length a stranger sought the grove,
And fiery Vengeance seem'd to guide him,
He rudely tore the wreaths of Love,
And broke the darts that lay beside him,
The little God now wakeful grew,
And, angry at the bold endeavour,
rose, and wove his wreaths anew,
And strung his bow more firm than ever.
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