THE LAKE.

The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness

Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody—

Then-ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright.
But a tremulous delight-

A feeling not the jewelled mine

Could teach or bribe me to define

Nor Love-although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,

And in its gulf a fitting grave

For him who thence could solace bring

To his lone imagining—

Whose solitary soul could make

An Eden of that dim lake.

AN

SONG.

SAW thee on thy bridal day

When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay,

The world all love before thee:

And in thine eye a kindling light
(Whatever it might be)

Was all on Earth my aching sight
Of Loveliness could see.

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-
As such it well may pass-

Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame
In the breast of him, alas!

Who saw thee on that bridal day,

When that deep blush would come o'er thee,

Though happiness around thee lay,

The world all love before thee.

TO M. L. S.-

Fall who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun-of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope--for life-ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth-in Virtue-in Humanity-

Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen

At thy soft-murmured words, " Let there be light!" At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled In the seraphic glancing of thine eyesOf all who owe thee most-whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship-oh, remember

The truest-the most fervently devoted,

And think that these weak lines are written by him-

By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think

His spirit is communing with an angel's.

TO HELEN.

HELEN, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicéan barks of yore That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are holy-land!

NOTES TO AL AARAAF.

Note1 page 113. Al Aaraaf.

A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which appeared suddenly in the heavens -attained, in a few days, a brilliancy surpassing that of Jupiter-then as suddenly disappeared, and has never been seen since.

2 P. 115. On the fair Capo Deucato.

On Santa Maura-olim Deucadia.

3P. 115. Of her who loved a mortal—and so died.]—Sappho.

4 P. 115. And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnamed.

This flower is much noticed by Leuwenhoek and Tournefort. The bee, feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated.