Unless Thou show to us thine own true way By which such virtue may in me be bred XXVII. SURPRISED by joy, impatient as the Wind Have I been so beguiled as to be blind power, To my most grievous loss! — That thought's re turn Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more: That neither present time, nor years unborn, Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. XXVIII. I. METHOUGHT I saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapors from mine eyes did shroud, Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed; But all the steps and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have XXIX. NOVEMBER, 1836. II. EVEN SO for me a Vision sanctified The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen Thy countenance, -the still rapture of thy mien, When thou, dear Sister! wert become Death's Bride: No trace of pain or languor could abide That change:- age on thy brow was smoothed, thy cold, Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold A loveliness to living youth denied. Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline, And let my spirit in thy power divine Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn. XXX. Ir is a beauteous evening, calm and free, Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, XXXI. WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Neither friend nor foe She cares for; let her travel where she may, Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark ? Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark! XXXII. WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed ; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. Come like a giant from a haven broad; When will she turn, and whither? She will brook No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir: On went she, and due north her journey took. XXXIII. THE world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. XXXIV. A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye; |