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Oh! I were most base, Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her, Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she Met my advances with impassion'd pride, That kindled love with love. And when her sire, Who in his dream of hope already grasp'd The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit with insult, and in memory of ancient feuds pour'd curses on my head, Her blessings overtook and baffled them! But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.


Ah ! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, impatient of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice,
Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?
I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd

and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.-
Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower
I now will go-all objects there will teach me
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.
Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her-
Say nothing of me-I myself will seek her-


friend! I cannot bear the torment And keen inquiry of that scanning eye —

[EARL HENRY retires into the wood.

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SANDOVAL. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously. But Oropeza

Nay, leave


Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, Beneath the walls, which opens out at length Into the gloomiest covert of the garden The night ere my departure to the army, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, And to that covert by a silent stream, Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. No leaflet stirr’d; the air was almost sultry; So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us ! No leaflet stirrd ;-yet pleasure hung upon The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. A little further on an arbour stood, Fragrant with flowering trees- I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness Their snow-white blossoms made-thither she led me, To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled — I heard her heart beat-if 't were not my own.

SANDOVAL (alone). O Henry! always strivest thou to be great By thine own act-yet art thou never great But by the inspiration of great passion. The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves: from Earth to Heaven they stand, As though they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins !

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SANDOVAL. A rude and scaring note, my friend!

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Oh! no! I have small memory of aught but pleasure. The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams Still flowing, still were lost in those of love : So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature, Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy. The stars above our heads were dim and steady, Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us : We were all life, each atom of our frames A living soul-I vow'd to die for her: With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,

When the Partridge o'er the sheaf

Whirr'd along the yellow vale, Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!

Love the dalliance of the gale.

Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!

Heave and flutter to his sighs, While the flatterer, on his wing,

Wood and whisper'd thee to rise.

O give me,

Gaily from thy mother-stalk

Wert thou danced and wafted highSoon on this unshelter'd walk

Flung to fade, to rot and die.

from this heartless scene released, To hear our old musician, blind and

grey (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kissed),

His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play,
By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,

The while I dance amid the ledded bay
With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light,


Maiden, that with sullen brow

Siltest behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorched and mildewid bough,

Leatless 'mid the blooms of May!

Or lies the purple evening on the bay
Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide

Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees,
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,

On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,

Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own check is wet with quiet tears.

Ilim who lured thee and forsook,

Oft I watchi'd with angry gaze, Fearful saw his pleading look,

Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the youth

Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth, But no true love in his


But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-louse shed

Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow,

To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sa ilor floating dead,

Whom his own true love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures

The things of Nature utter; birds or trees, Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves,

Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze,

Loathing thy polluted lot,

Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,

With a wiser innocence.

Thou hast known deceit and folly,

Thou hast felt that vice is woc: With a musing melancholy

Jnly arm’d, go, Maiden! go,




of Self-dominion, Firm thy steps, 0 Melancholy! The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion

Is the memory of past folly.

Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,

Wbile she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn,

Or the bean-field's odorous blooms :

Tae tedded bay, the first fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gusi,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark,
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all

Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk
By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not!"
So will not fade the flowers wluich Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk
Has work'd (the Powers which most she knew I loved),
And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.

Soon with renovated wing

Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-slar spring,

And embathe in heavenly light.

LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM. Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest

These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, Ileaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,

In intricacies of laborious song.

These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign

To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint; But when the long-breathed singer's uptrill'd strain

Bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stolc along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her clowing cheek, she satc and stretch'd

! One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six 10 twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmein nicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Swedeo.

Ilark! the decp buzz of Vanity and Hate!

Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer My lady cyes some maid of humbler state,

While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest, Praules accordant scandal in her ear.

Believe me,

wbile in bed you lay, Your danger taught us all to pray:

You made us grow devouter! Each eye look'd up and seem'd to say,

How can we do without her ?

The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name
Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not-
Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair!
That forced to wander till sweet spring return,
I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,
Her voice (that even in her mirthful mood
Has made me wish to steal away and weep),
Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss
With which she promised, that when spring return'd,
She would resign one half of that dear name,
And own thenceforth no other name but mine!

Besides, what ver'd us worse, we knew, They liave no need of such as you

In the place where you were going : This World has angels all too few,

And Heaven is overflowing!

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Dut the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,

fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he· I love my Love, and


Love loves me!,

Its own sweet self-a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!

RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE. How warm this woodland wild Recess!

Love surely hath been breathing here.

And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with fain caress,

As if to have you yet more pear.

THE VISIONARY HOPE. Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling He faiu would frame a prayer within his breast, Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing, That his sick body might have ease and rest; He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest Against bis will the stifling load revealing, Though Nature forced; though like some captive guest, Some royal prisoner at liis conqueror's feast, An alien's restless mood but half concealing, The stern ness on his gentle brow confess'd, Sickness within and miserable feeling : Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams, And dreaded sleep, each night repell’d in vain, Each night was scatter'd by its own loud screams : Yet never could his heart command, though fain, One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

Eight springs have flown, since last I lay

On sea-ward Quantock's heathy bills,

Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float bere and there, like things astray,

And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.

No voice as yet had made the air

Be music with your name; yet why

That asking look ? that yearning sich? That sense of promise every where ?

Beloved ! flew your spirit by?

As when a mother doth explore

The rose-mark on her long-lost child,

I met, I loved you, maiden mild! As whom I long had loved before

So deeply, had I been beguiled.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he wouldFor Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wisbes and can wish for this alone! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams (So the love-stricken visionary deems) Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower! Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.

You stood before me like a thought,

A dream remember'd in a dream.

But when those meck eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wrought

O Greta, dear domestic stream!

Has not, since then, Love's prompture dep

Has not Love's whisper evermore,

Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? Sole voice, when other voices sleep,

Dear under-song in Clamour's hour.



OFT, oft methinks, the while with thee

I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear And dedicated name,

I hear
A promise and a mystery,

A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of Wife!





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Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking),

On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc!
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;

The Arve and Arveiron at thy base "Silent adorations, making

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
A blessed shadow of this Earth!

Risest from forth thy silent Sea of Pines,

How silently! Around thee and above
ye hopes, that stir within me,

Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
Health comes with
you above!

An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
God is with me, God is in me!

As with a wedge! But when I look again,
I cannot die, if Life be Love.

It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,

Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Cupid, if storying legends' tell aright,

Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer Once framed a rich elixir of delight.

I'worshipp'd the Invisible alone.
A chalice o'er love-kindled Games he fix'd,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd :

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
With these the magic dews, which evening brings,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings:

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Each tender pledge of sacred faith he join'd,

Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy: Each gentler pleasure of the unspotted mind

Till the dilating Soul, cprapt, transfused, Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive briglitness glow

Into the mighty vision passing—there
And Hope, the blameless parasite of woe.

As in her natural form, sweli'd vast to Heaven!
The eyeless Chemist heard the process risc,
The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighis;

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Swect sounds transpired, as when th' cnamour'd dove

Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Pours the soft murm'ring of responsive love.

Mute thanks and secret ecstacy! Awake, The finish'd work might Envy vainly blame,

Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
And « Kisses - was the precious compound's name.

Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my llymn.
With half the god bis Cyprian mother blest,
And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.

Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky or when they sink :

Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn,

| Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, 0 wake, and utter praise !

Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ?
Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,

Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who seeks a heart in ibe unthinking Mau.

Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams?
Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead:
Nought sinks into the Bosom's silent depth.

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Quick sensibility of Pain and Pleasure

Who callid


forth from night and utter death, Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul

From dark and icy caverns calld
Warmeth the inner frame,

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,

For ever shatter'd and the same for ever!

Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in And who commanded (and the silence came), the foot of Mont Blanc, tive conspicuous torrents rush down its Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its • flowers of loveliest blue.

Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow

Adown enormous ravines slope amainHast thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, In his steep course? So long he seems to pause

And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
'Effoxit quondam blandum meditata laborem
Basia lascivå Cypria Diva mana.

Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Ambrosia succos ocultà temperat arte,

Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the Sun
Fragransque infuso nectare tingit opus.

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Soflicit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim
Non impune favis surripuissot Amor.

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?--
Decussos violue foliis admiset odores

God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations
Eu spolia æstivis plurima rapta rosis. --

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Aduit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores,

God! sing ye mcadow-streams with gladsome voice!
Et quot Acidalius gandia Cestos babet.
Ex his composuit Dea basia; et omnia libans

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
Invenias nitidæ sparsa per ora Cloos.

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
Caru. Quad. Vol. II. And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

you forth,

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