Έρως με λάληδρος έταιρος.
In many ways does the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal;
But in far more th' estranged heart lets know
The absence of the love, which yet it fain would show.
DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE,
THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE.
UNCHANGED within to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' Wanings shouldst thou fret?
Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light
In selfish forethought of neglect and slight.
O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,
While, and on whom, thou may'st-shine on! nor heed Whether the object by reflected light
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite :
And though thou notest from thy safe recess
Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,
Love them for what they are: nor love them less,
Because to thee they are not what they were.
A LOVELY form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender Love so pure from earthly leaven
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven
Wooing its gentle way into my soul !
But ah! the change-It had not stirr'd, and yet--
Alas! that change how fain would I forget?
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing Look!
'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew, it was the same!
This riddling Tale, to what does it belong?
Is't History? Vision? or an idle Song?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Of Time this wild disastrous change took place?
Call it a moment's work (and such it seems)
This Tale's a Fragment from the Life of Dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a Record from the Dream of Life.
THOUGH veiled in spires of myrtle wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro' the clefts itself has made
We spy the flashes of the Blade!
But thro' the clefts itself has made
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain,
And only Hilt and Stump remain.
VERSE, a Breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee-
Both were mine! Life went a maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young? Ah, woeful When !
Ah for the Change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing House not built with hands.
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery Cliffs and glittering Sands,
How lightly then it flashed along :-
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding Lakes and Rivers wide,
That ask no aid of Sail or Oar,
That fear no spite of Wind or Tide!
Nought cared this Body for wind or weather
When Youth and I liv'd in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the Joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
"Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:-
And thou wert aye a Masker bold!
What strange Disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou art gone?
I see these Locks in silvery slips,
This drooping Gait, this altered Size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy Lips,
And Tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are House-mates stil.
OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT WOMEN HAVE
NAY, dearest Anna! why so grave?
I said, you had no soul, 'tis true!
For what you are, you cannot have:
"Tis I, that have one since I first had you!
I have heard of reasons manifold
Why Love must needs be blind,
But this the best of all I hold
His eyes are in his mind.
What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair,
He seeth with the heart.
LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear.--
REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE.
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have'said :
I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer
Right onward. What? though dread of threatened death And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath
Inconstant to the truth within thy heart?
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice didst start,
Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
Or not so vital as to claim thy life :
And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew
Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true.
Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
And proudly talk of recreant Berengare—
O first the age, and then the man compare !
That age how dark! congenial minds how rare!
No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn!
No throbbing hearts awaited his return.
Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
He only disenchanted from the spell,
Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
Moved in the scanty circlet of his light;
And was it strange if he withdrew the ray
That did but guide the night-birds to their prey?
The ascending Day-star with a bolder eye
Hath lit each dewdrop on our trimmer lawn!
Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry
The spots and struggles of the timid dawn;
Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scorn
The mists and painted vapours of our Morn.
FROM AN UNFINISHED MELODRAMA.
Lady. If Love be dead, (and you aver it !)
Bard! where love lies buried.
Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born:
Ah, faithless Nymph! think it no scorn
If in my fancy I presume
To name thy bosom poor Love's Tomb.
And on that Tomb to read the line,--
"Here lies a love that once was mine,
But took a chill, as I divine,
And died at length of a decline."
CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL OBJECT.
SINCE all, that beat about in Nature's range,
Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain
The only constant in a world of change,
Oh yearning thought, that liv'st but in the brain?
Call to the hours, that in the distance play,
The fairy people of the future day-
Fond Thought! not one of all that shining swarm
Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,
Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm,
Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death!
Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see,
She is not thou, and only thou art she,
Still, still as though some dear embodied Good,
Some living Love before my eyes there stood
With answering look a ready ear to lend,
I mourn to thee and say-"Ah! loveliest Friend!
"That this the meed of all my toils might be,
"To have a home, an English home, and thee !"
Vain repetition! Home and Thou are one.
The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon,
Lulled by the Thrush and wakened by the Lark
Without thee were but a becalmed Bark,
Whose Helmsman on an Ocean waste and wide
Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.
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