Silent as a quiet lake,

Or the deepest thoughts that wake
In the hiddenness of mind,
Or the loves that closest bind,
Falls the snow.
Silent as a last caress,

Or our glance on loveliness,
Falls the snow.

WAYWARD MUSE.

Is Poetry alone the voice of sorrow,
That happiness should stay my constant song?
A sad to-day, and yet more sad to-morrow,

Have been the burden of my strains too long.

But now I have not left a thought of sadness,
The past forgotten, and the present sweet;
The future such a wide expanse of gladness-
And yet the Muse delays her coming feet.

Now that my life is lovely with affection,

Now that my heart dreams tender dreams of love, Why does not joy sing louder than dejection,

And blissful thoughts in tuneful measures move?

Now that the clouds have a serener brightness,

And flowers bloom with more transcendant hues ; Now that the white stars gleam with holier whiteness, And lovelier scenes the loving spirit views;

Now that my soul is throbbing with its passion,
Throbbing an endless harmony of hope;
Should not my verse have more delightful fashion,
Seeing my song has such a happy scope?

SONNET

ON FINISHING "ENDYMION."

ALONG the flowery path of Poesy
I passed away into the world of old,

Led by the venturous Keats, a guide full bold,
Who knew those haunts and all their mystery;
For he was of Apollo's progeny,

And trod our land alone, for it is cold,

And the fair children southern seas enfold

Are chilled beneath the rigour of our sky.

Such poets as old Greeks and Romans praised

Our land calls not her own; the bards who raised
Poetic fanes, where Truth and Fable wed,
And softest melodies the senses lull,-

Upon whose earth walked spirits, "not yet dead,
But in old marbles ever beautiful."

AN EXPERIENCE.

OFTEN we hasten to some ancient shrine
With hopes aroused by history or romance,
Trusting to see some mystic glory shine,
Dazzling the mental glance :

While thronging memories round our hearts entwine,
With inspirations sweet, seeming to us divine.

We come, and the expected fane behold
With sober gaze, and unexcited eyes,

And feel our hearts remaining hard and cold,
While fancy sleeping lies.

No spirits o'er the throne their white wings fold,
Nor feel we any change from the fact-life of old.

CHARACTER.

THE character is usually made

In the few years when first we run alone; The sins indulged, the virtues then displayed, Live on, and ere we think it, are full grown.

"Crowneth us with loving kindnesses and tender mercies."

Он, daily when I think

Of things this life above,
Almost beneath the load I sink,
Of God's too mighty love.

I sought an arid plain,

Down on me love rained bliss ;
My mouth to murmurings was fain,
Love stayed me with its kiss.

Full often my love dies,
His love for ever lives;

I doubt, but love re-opes my eyes;
I sin, but love forgives.

'Tis thus the coals of fire

Are heaped my head above; I might resist a father's ire, But not this weight of love.

TO ONE MOURNING.

(PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1857.)

WHY sit watching for the morn?
Why sit waiting for the sun?
There are duties to be done,
There are burdens to be borne.

Sooner will the moments roll,
Sooner will the time pass on,
And the sun will shine upon
Nobler work, a nobler soul.

Grow more full of charity,

Wise, pure, God-like, day by day, Give thy heart its widest sway; Brighter dawn will come to thee.

If for thee rise grateful prayers, Longed-for morn will sooner come; He who cheers the humble home, Blesses angels unawares.

THE CAPTIVES' SONG.

ZION, O Zion !
Weeping for thee,
Hung we our harps

On the lone willow-tree:
By proud Babel's waters
Sat we down weeping,
Thinking of thee.

Zion, O Zion!

Loud in command

Asked they the song

And the touch of the hand
On the harp oh, how could we
Sing the Lord's song there
In a strange land?

PEACE IN THE GRAVE.

I HAVE been singing all the weary day,― "The clouds so near, the heaven so far away;" But I shall sing throughout the quiet night,"The heaven is near, the clouds have vanished quite." Oh, clouds are with us while we breathe weak breath, There are no clouds when we have welcomed death.

A LOVER'S HOPE.

Ir was this very day twelve years
That, through a blinding rain of tears,

I saw my darling dead :

How changed that face!

Oh, my great woe!

But it were best unsaid.
Yet, whither did her spirit go,