With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
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
Of the radiant frost:

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost

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
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love-though he has wings,
And like light can flee,

But, above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee-

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!

A 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

O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings,
The blood and life within those snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.
My brain is wild, my breath comes quick-
The blood is listening in my frame,
And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
Fall on my overflowing eyes;

My heart is quivering like a flame;

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I am dissolved in these consuming extacies.

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee,
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song
Flows on, and fills all things with melody.-
Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong,

On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves I weep,

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.

THE FUGITIVES.

The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing-
Away!

The whirlwind is rolling,

The thunder is tolling,

The forest is swinging,

The minster bells ringing-
Come away!

The Earth is like Ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion :

Bird, beast, man, and worm,
Have crept out of the storm-
Come away!

"Our boat has one sail,

And the helmsman is pale ;-
A bold pilot I trow,

Who should follow us now,"-
Shouted He-

And she cried: "Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore !"-
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail specked their path
O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower, and rock,
The blue beacon cloud broke,
Though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee.

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
Soft and low;-

While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,

Sunk, shattered, and shifted,
To and fro.

In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a blood-hound well beaten,
The bridegroom stands, eaten

By shame;

On the topmost watch-turret,
As a dead-boding spirit,
Stands the grey tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather

Seems tame;