VI.

And though I weep, as I repair
Some bitter recollection

Of bootless labor, baffled prayer,
Scorned passion, crushed affection,
Yet I would never give away

One tear of such rare sorrow
For all I have of bliss to-day,
Or all I hope to-morrow.

VII.

Lady, if I would e'er renew,

When Care's cold night has bound me,
The brightest morn that ever threw
Its youthful radiance round me,
Or deck with bloom, when Hope is bare,
And Pleasure's wreaths are serest,

Of all dead flowers, so dear and fair,
The fairest, and the dearest,-

VIII.

If, when my lute in other days
Is silent or unheeded,

I would revive one voice, whose praise
Was all the fame it needed,-

If, when false Friendship has betrayed
Or fickle Love deceived me,

My heart would cling to one soft shade

Which could not so have grieved me,-

IX.

In bower or banquet, heath or hill,
The form I seek will glisten;
Again the liquid voice will thrill,
The fair face bend to listen:
But whatsoe'er the hour or place,

No bribe or prayer shall win me To say whose voice, or form, or face, That spell awoke within me!

THE PORTRAIT.

Oh yes! these lips are very fair,
Half lifted to the sky,

As if they breathed an angel's prayer
. Mixed with a mortal's sigh;
But theirs is not the song that flings
O'er evening's still imaginings

Its cherished witchery;

No, these are not the lips whose tone Sad Memory has made her own.

And these long curls of dazzling brown In many a fairy wreath

Float brightly, beautifully, down

Upon the brow beneath;

But these are not the locks of jet
For which I sought the violet

On that remembered heath;

No, these are not the locks that gleam Around me in my moonlight dream.

And these blue eyes—a very saint
Might envy their pure rays-
Are such as limners learn to paint,
And poets long to praise;

But theirs is not the speaking glance
On which, in all its young romance,
My spirit loves to gaze;

(1825.)

No, these are not the eyes that shine,
Like never-setting stars, on mine.

By those sweet songs I hear to-night,
Those black locks on the brow,
And those dark eyes, whose living light
Is beaming o'er me now,

I worship naught but what thou art!
Let all that was-decay-depart,
I care not when or how;

And fairer far these hues may be,-
They seem not half so fair to me!

ΤΟ

1.

STILL is the earth, and still the sky;
The midnight moon is fleeting by;
And all the world is wrapt in sleep,

But the hearts that love, and the eyes that weep.

II.

And now is the time to kiss the flowers
Which shun the sunbeam's busy hours;
For the book is shut, and the mind is free
To gaze on them, and to think of thee.

III.

Withered they are and pale in sooth;
So are the radiant hopes of youth;
But Love can give with a single breath
Bloom to languor, and life to death.

IV.

Though I must greet thee with a tone
As calm to-morrow as thine own,

Oh! Fancy's vision, Passion's vow,

May be told in stillness and darkness now!