I used to think their slender tops To know I'm farther off from Heaven T. HOOB, 225. THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so link'd together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. MOORE 226. INVOCATION. Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day How shall ever one like me All but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismay'd; Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure ;— Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure;— Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay, I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest And the starry night; I love snow and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Everything almost Which is Nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What diff'rence? but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee— Thou art love and life! O come! Make once more my heart thy home! P. B. SHELLey. 227. STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Like many a voice of one delight The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods'The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown ; The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, And walk'd with inward glory crown'd- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are; And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. P. B. SHELLEY 228. THE SCHOLAR. My days among the Dead are past ; Where'er these casual eyes are cast, My never-failing friends are they, With them I take delight in weal And while I understand and feel My cheeks have often been bedew'd My thoughts are with the Dead; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the Dead; anon My place with them will be, Through all Futurity; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, R. SOUTHEY. 229. THE MERMAID TAVERN. Souls of Poets dead and gone Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? |