'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense, Emboldened by a keener sense ;

That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year

Should knell them to the tomb.

Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Blest times when mystery is laid bare,

Truth shows a glorious face,
While on that isthmus which commands
The councils of both worlds, she stands,

Sage spirits ! by your grace.

God, who instructs the brutes to scent
All changes of the element,

Whose wisdom fixed the scale
Of natures, for our wants provides,
By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,

When lights of reason fail.

1830,

MEMORY.

A PEN—to register; a key

That winds through secret wards ;
Are well assigned to memory
By allegoric Bards.

As aptly, also, might be given
A Pencil to her hand;
That, softening objects, sometimes even
Outstrips the heart's demand ;

That smoothes foregone distress, the lines
Of lingering care subdues,
Long-vanished happiness refines,
And clothes in brighter hues ;

Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works
Those Spectres to dilate
That startle Conscience, as she lurks
Within her lonely seat.

O! that our lives, which flee so fast,
In purity were such,
That not an image of the past
Should fear that pencil's touch!

Retirement then might hourly look
Upon a soothing scene,
Age steal to his allotted nook
Contented and serene ;

With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,
In frosty moonlight glistening;
Or mountain rivers, where they creep
Along a channel smooth and deep,
To their own far-off murmurs listening.

1823.

THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.

PART I.

ENOUGH of rose-bud lips and eyes

Like harebells bathed in dew, Of cheek that with carnation vies,

And veins of violet hue;

Earth wants not beauty that may scorn

A likening to frail flowers;
Yea, to the stars, if they were born

For seasons and for hours.

Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,

Stepped one at dead of night,
Whom such high beauty could not guard

From meditated blight;
By stealth she passed, and fled as fast

As doth the hunted fawn,
Nor stopped, till in the dappling east

Appeared unwelcome dawn.

Seven days she lurked in brake and field,

Seven nights her course renewed,
Sustained by what her scrip might yield,

Or berries of the wood;
At length in darkness travelling on,

When lowly doors were shut,
The haven of her hope she won,

Her Foster-mother's hut.

“ To put your love to dangerous proof

I come,” said she, “ from far;
For I have left my Father's roof,

In terror of the Czar."
No answer did the Matron give,

No second look she cast,
But hung upon the Fugitive,

Embracing and embraced.

She led the Lady to a seat

Beside the glimmering fire, Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,

Prevented each desire :

The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,

And on that simple bed,
Where she in childhood had reposed,

Now rests her weary head.

When she, whose couch had been the sod,

Whose curtain, pine or thorn,
Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,

Who comforts the forlorn;
While over her the Matron bent,

Sleep sealed her eyes and stole Feeling from limbs with travel spent,

And trouble from the soul.

Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,

And soon again was dight
In those unworthy vestments worn

Through long and perilous flight;
And so beloved Nurse,” she said,

“ My thanks with silent tears Have unto Heaven and You been paid :

Now listen to my fears !

bird,

“ Have you forgot”—and here she smiled

“ The babbling flatteries You lavished on me when a child

Disporting round your knees ? I was your lambkin, and

your Your star, your gem, your flower; Light words, that were more lightly heard In

many a cloudless hour!
“The blossom you so fondly praised

Is come to bitter fruit;
A mighty One upon me gazed ;
I spurned his lawless suit,

And must be hidden from his wrath :

You, Foster-father dear,
Will guide me in my forward path;
I may

not tarry here!

“I cannot bring to utter woe

Your proved fidelity." “Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so!

For you we both would die.” * Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned

And cheek embrowned by art; Yet, being inwardly unstained,

With courage will depart."

fleet?

" But whither would

you,
could

you,
A poor Man's counsel take;
The Holy Virgin gives to me

A thought for your dear sake; Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace,

And soon sball you be led Forth to a safe abiding-place,

Where never foot doth tread."

PART II.

The dwelling of this faithful pair

In a straggling village stood,
For One who breathed unquiet air,

A dangerous neighborhood ;
But wide around lay forest ground,

With thickets rough and blind;
And pine-trees made a heavy shade

Impervious to the wind.