With the joyous and the free Spirit false! thou hast forgot All but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure, Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure. Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, And the starry night; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is Nature's, and may be Untainted by man's misery. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference! but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, But, above all other things, Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed!-Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, whick burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet, Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget! breathless awe, like the swift change Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the inchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career, Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, 'Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song On which, like one in trance upborne, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. And from isle, tower, and rock, And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou ? And see'st thou, and hear'st thou ? And drive we not free O'er the terrible sea, I and thou?" One boat-cloak did cover The loved and the lover Their blood beats one measure, They murmur proud pleasure While around the lashed Ocean, In the court of the fortress Like a blood-hound well beaten, By shame; On the topmost watch-turret, Seems tame; |