With strange and dusky aspects; he was not There was a mass of many images V. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. VI. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Her face was fair, but was not that which made His bosom in its solitude; and then As in that hour-a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, What business had they there at such a time? VII. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The lady of his love;-oh! she was changed As by the sickness of the soul; her mind VIII. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And made him friends of mountains: with the stars And the quick spirit of the universe IX. My dream was past; it had no further change. It was of a strange order, that the doom Of these two creatures should be thus traced out Almost like a reality-the one To end in madness-both in misery. TO THYRZA. WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, And say, what truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot, Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid? By many a shore and many a sea Divided, yet beloved in vain ; The past, the future fled to thee To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Could this have been-a word, a look, That softly said, "We part in peace," Had taught my bosom how to brook, With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, Who held, and holds thee in his heart? *Mithridates of Pontus. Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? 'Twas thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er, Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow Affection's mingling tears were ours? The smile none else might understand; That love each warmer wish forbore: But sweet to me from none but thine; The pledge we wore-I wear it still, But where is thine ?-ah, where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill, But never bent beneath till now! I would not wish thee here again; Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss, To wean me from mine anguish here. To bear, forgiving and forgiven: STANZAS. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence, for, oh! I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter daysBut lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze On what I am, on what I was. The voice that made those sounds more sweet A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! Is worse than discord to my heart! 'Tis silent all!-but on my ear The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear, A voice that now might well be still; Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake : Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, Thou art but now a lovely dream; A star that trembled o'er the deep, Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he who through life's dreary way Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. TO THYRZA. ONE struggle more, and I am free Then back to busy life again. With things that never pleased before. Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; That smiles with all and weeps with none. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! On many a lone and lovely night It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye; And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon-" Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave My life when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new, How different now thou meet'st my gaze! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as even the dead can be, It feels, it sickens with the chill. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! More hallow'd when its hope is fled: To that which cannot quit the dead? EUTHANASIA WHEN time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion may the languid wing Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche, to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, Even Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan! "Ay, but to die, and go," alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be. TO A LADY WEEPING. WEEP, daughter of a royal line, A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away! Weep-for thy tears are virtue's tearsAuspicious to these suffering isles; And be each drop, in future years, Repaid thee by thy people's smiles! March, 1812. INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth, OH! had my fate been join'd with thine, To thee these early faults I owe, To thee, the wise and old reproving : They know my sins, but do not know 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. 3. For once my soul, like thine, was pure, 4. Perhaps his peace I could destroy, For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. Go where I will, to me thou art the sameA loved regret which I would not resign. There yet are two things in my destiny, A world to roam through, and a home with thee II. The first were nothing-had I still the last But other claims and other ties thou hast, Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore, He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. III. If my inheritance of storms hath been I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks, I have been cunning in mine overthrow, The careful pilot of my proper woe. IV. Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. My whole life was a contest since the day That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd The gift, a fate, or will, that walk'd astray; Kingdoms and empires in my little day hold A spirit of slight patience ;-not in vain, Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. VI. Perhaps the workings of defiance stir not The chief companion of a calmer lot. * Admiral Byron was remarkable for never making a voyage without a tempest. He was known to the sailors by the facetious name of "Foul-weather Jack." "But though it were tempest-tost, Still his bark could not be lost." He returned safely from the wreck of the Wager, (in Anson's voyage,) and subsequently circumnavigated the world, many years after as commander of a similar expedition. |