(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams And saw in sleep old palaces and towers If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; I were as in my boyhood, and could be As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed Scarce seemed a vision,-I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES. 'HE sun is warm, the sky is clear, THE The waves are dancing fast and bright, The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple sea-weeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone; 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 walked with inward glory crowned Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure; Others I see whom these surround Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Some might lament that I were cold, They might lament-for I am one Whom men love not,-and yet regret ; Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. To MUSIC, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, X FELICIA HEMANS. Born 1793. Died 1835. A BALLAD OF RONCESVALLES. HOU hast not been with the festal throng "THOU At the pouring of the wine, Men bear not from the hall of song So dark a mien as thine! There's blood upon thy shield, There's dust upon thy plume, Thou hast brought from some disastrous field That brow of wrath and gloom.' 'And is there blood upon my shield? Maiden, it well may be! We have sent the streams from our battle field All darkened to the sea! We have given the founts a stain 'The ground is wet-but not with rain; And the noblest blood of Christian Spain I have seen the strong man die, "In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait There's many a fair young face 'Alas for love, for woman's breast, If woe like this must be! Hast thou seen a youth with an eagle crest With his proud quick-flashing eye, And his mien of kingly state, Doth he come from where the swords flashed high In the Roncesvalles' Strait?' 'In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait 'Thou canst not say that he lies low, Oh none could look on his joyous brow |