Silent as a quiet lake, Or the deepest thoughts that wake Or our glance on loveliness, WAYWARD MUSE. Is Poetry alone the voice of sorrow, Have been the burden of my strains too long. But now I have not left a thought of sadness, 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, SONNET ON FINISHING "ENDYMION." ALONG the flowery path of Poesy Led by the venturous Keats, a guide full bold, 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 Upon whose earth walked spirits, "not yet dead, AN EXPERIENCE. OFTEN we hasten to some ancient shrine While thronging memories round our hearts entwine, We come, and the expected fane behold And feel our hearts remaining hard and cold, No spirits o'er the throne their white wings fold, 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, I sought an arid plain, Down on me love rained bliss ; Full often my love dies, I doubt, but love re-opes my eyes; '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? Sooner will the moments roll, 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 ! On the lone willow-tree: Zion, O Zion! Loud in command Asked they the song And the touch of the hand 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 I saw my darling dead : How changed that face! Oh, my great woe! But it were best unsaid. |