Thou makest all things heavy with regrets ; Too late-too soon: My mind is like a sun that ever sets, I am become the very fool of time,— Has no sure test of innocence or crime; For every notion that has filled my brain That every instant it may rise again Faces and fancies I have cursed or cherished Throng round my head; In vain I call on thee to leave the perishedTo hide the dead. Confused and tossed on this ideal sea, I hardly keep A sense of weak and maimed identity, Save when the Future wins my yearning gaze, That shore where still Imagination resolutely stays The tide of ill. SHADOWS. I. THEY owned their passion without shame or fear, Than that one spiritual bond, and men severe And truth the world went ill with them: he knew That he had broken up her maiden life, Where only pleasures and affections grew, And sowed it thick with labour, pain, and strife. What her unpractised weakness was to her They asked their kind for hope, but there was none, II. They seemed to those who saw them meet The worldly friends of every day, Her smile was undisturbed and sweet, His courtesy was free and gay. But yet if one the other's name The heart, you thought so calm and tame, And letters of mere formal phrase Alas, that Love was not too strong Yet what no chance could then reveal, III. Beneath an Indian palm a girl Of other blood reposes, Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl, Amid that wild of roses. Beside a northern pine a boy Is leaning fancy-bound, Nor listens where with noisy joy Awaits the impatient hound. Cool grows the sick and feverish calm,- The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, As soon shall nature interlace IV. She had left all on earth for him, She watched the crimson sun's decline, From some lone rock that fronts the sea,"I would, O burning heart of mine, There were an ocean-rest for thee. "The thoughtful moon awaits her turn, V. I had a home wherein the weariest feet Found sure repose; And Hope led on laborious day to meet A cottage with broad eaves and a thick vine, Whose mountain-language was the same as mine: I had a home to make the gloomiest heart A temple of chaste love, a place apart From Time's annoy ; A moonlight scene of life, where all things rude With pity rounded and by grace subdued : MOMENTS. I LIE in a heavy trance, With' a world of dream without me, Shapes of shadow dance, In wavering bands, about me; But, at times, some mystic things Appear in this phantom lair, Of Truth known elsewhere: The world is wide,-these things are small, A prayer in an hour of pain, Then lowered, as it would fain Be heard by the heart alone; |