LET other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing:
Rejoice that thou art not!
Heed not tho' none should call thee fair; 5
So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.
YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved
To scorn the declaration,
That sometimes I in thee have loved
My fancy's own creation.
Imagination needs must stir;
Dear Maid, this truth believe,
Minds that have nothing to confer
Find little to perceive.
Be pleased that nature made thee fit
To feed my heart's devotion,
By laws to which all Forms submit
In sky, air, earth, and ocean.
How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
-Waft her to glory, wingèd Powers,
Ere sorrow be renewed,
And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring back a humbler mood!
So looked Cecilia when she drew
An Angel from his station;
So looked; not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration!
But hand and voice alike are still;
No sound here sweeps away the will
That gave it birth: in service meek
One upright arm sustains the cheek,
And one across the bosom lies-
That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Subdued by breathless harmonies
Of meditative feeling;
Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies,
Through the pure light of female eyes
Their sanctity revealing!
WHAT heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,
Through my very heart they shine;
And, if my brow gives back their light,
Do thou look gladly on the sight;
As the clear moon with modest pride
Beholds her own bright beams
Reflected from the mountain's side
And from the headlong streams.
O DEARER far than light and life are dear,
Full oft our human foresight I deplore;
Trembling, through my unworthiness, with
fear
That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no
Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control,
Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest;
While all the future, for thy purer soul,
With "sober certainties" of love is blest.
That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear,
Tells that these words thy humbleness offend;
Yet bear me up-else faltering in the rear
Of a steep march: support me to the end.
Peace settles where the intellect is meek,
And Love is dutiful in thought and deed;
Through Thee communion with that Love I
The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the Creed.
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR.
SMILE of the Moon !-for so I name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth
My torpor to reprove!
Bright boon of pitying Heaven!—alas,
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that Time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull ;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.
And yet the soul-awakening gleam,
That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
Save those who to my sorrows lend
Tears due unto their own.
To-night the church-tower bells will ring Through these wide realms a festive peal ;
To the new year a welcoming;
A tuneful offering for the weal
Of happy millions lulled in sleep;
While I am forced to watch and weep,
By wounds that may not heal.
Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higher-to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields !
It is my royal state that yields
This bitterness of woe.
Yet how ?-for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair ;
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its time
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.
Unblest distinction! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains :
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,
Is gone; but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear
Of what I was remains.
A woman rules my prison's key;
A sister Queen, against the bent
Of law and holiest sympathy,
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