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But warm,

I go, thou sad inquirer,

Yes, Peace and Love might build a nest As list the winds to blow,

For us amid these vales serene, Sear, sapless, lost,

And Truth should be our constant guest And tempest-tost,

Among these pleasant wild-woods green. I go where all things go.

My heart should never nurse again

The once fond dreams of young Ambition,

And Glory's light should lure in vain, The rude winds bear me onward

Lest it should lead to Love's perdition; As suiteth them, not me,

Another light should round me shine,
O’er dale, o'er hill,

Beloved, from those eyes of thine!'
Through good, through ill,
As destiny bears thee.

'Ah, Gilbert! happy should I be

This hour to die, lest fate reveal What though for me one summer,

That life can never give a joy And threescore for thy breath

Such as the joy that now I feel, I live my span,

Oh! happy! happy! now to die, Thou thine, poor man!

And go before thee to the sky;
And then adown to death?

Losing, may be, some charm of life,
But yet escaping all its strife;

And, watching for thy soul above,
And thus we go together ;

There to renew more perfect love, For lofty as thy lot,

Without the pain and tears of this And lowly mine,

Eternal, never palling bliss!' My fate is thine,

And more she yet would say, and strives to To die and be forgot!'

speak, fast tears begin to course her

cheek,

And sobs to choke her; so, reclining still The Parting of Lovers.

Her head upon his breast, she weeps her

fill: [From the Salamandrine.] And all so lovely in those joyous tears

To his impassioned eyes the maid appears; Now, from his eastern couch, the sun, He cannot dry them, nor one word essay

Erewhile in cloud and vapour hidden, To soothe such sorrow from her heart away. Rose in his robes of glory dight; And skywards, to salute his light, Upsprung a choir, unbidden,

At last she lifts her drooping head, Of joyous larks, that, as they shook

And, with her delicate fingers, dashes The dewdrops from their russet pinions, The tears away that hang like pearls Pealed forth a hymn so glad and clear, Upon her soft eyes' silken lashes : That darkness might have paused to hear Then hand in hand they take their way

(Pale sentinel on morn's dominions), O’er the green meadow gemmed with dew, And envied her the flood of song

And up the hill, and through the wood, Those happy minstrels poured along.

And by the streamlet, bright and blue, And sit them down upon a stone

With mantling mosses overgrown, The lovers listened. Earth and heaven That stands beside her cottage door,

Seemed pleased alike to hear the strain; And oft repeat, And Gilbert, in that genial hour,

When next they meet, Forgot his momentary pain :

That time shall never part them more. 'Happy', said he, beloved maid,

Our lives might flow 'mid scenes like this;
Still eve might bring us dreams of joy, He's gone! Ah no! he lingers yet,
And morn awaken us to bliss.

And all her sorrow, who can tell ?
I could forgive thy jealous brother; As gazing on her face he takes
And Mora's quiet shades might be

His last and passionate farewell?
Blessed with the love of one another, 'One kiss! said he, 'and I depart
A Paradise to thee and me.

With thy dear image in my heart:

One more to soothe a lover's pain, The winds may dash it,
And think of till I come again!

The storms may wash it,
One more: Their red lips meet and tremblc, The lightnings rend its tall masts three;
And she, unskilful to dissemble,

But neither the wind, nor the rain, nor the sea Allows, deep blushing, while be presses,

Can injure me can injure me.
The warmest of his fond caresses.

The lightnings cannot strike me down
Whirlwinds wreck, or whirpools down;
And the ship to be lost ere the break of

morn,
May pass o'er my head in saucy scorn;
And when the night unveils its face

I may float, unharmed, in my usual place, The Floating Straw.

And the ship may show to the pitying stars

No remnant but her broken spars. (A Thought in the Panic 1847.) Among the shells The wild waves are my nightly pillows,

In the ocean dells Beneath me roll th' Atlantic billows;

The ships, the crews, and the captains lie, And as I rest on my couch of brine

But the floating straw looks up to the sky. I watch the eternal planets shine.

And the humble and contented man, Ever I ride

Unknown to fortune, escapes her ban, On a harmless tide

And rides secure when breakers leap, Fearing naught enjoying all things

And mighty ships go down to the deep. Undisturbed by great or small things.

May pleasant breezes waft them home

That plough with their keels the driving foam. Alas! for the lordly vessel

Heaven be their hope, and Truth their law, That sails so gallantly.

There needs no prayer for the floating straw. Leipzig, printed by Alexander Wiede.

gn п.

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