So far from thy own, love, If death is between us, Or only the main. When the white cloud reclines On the verge of the sea, I fancy the white cliffs, And dream upon thee; But the cloud spreads its wings To the blue heav'n and flies. We never shall meet, love, Except in the skies! TO AN ABSENTEE. O'ER hill, and dale, and distant sea, Through all the miles that stretch between, My thought must fly to rest on thee, And would, though worlds should intervene. Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks The farther we are forc'd apart, But bind the closer round the heart. For now we sever each from each, Farewell! I did not know thy worth, SONG. I. THE stars are with the voyager Wherever he may sail; The moon is constant to her time; The sun will never fail ; But follow, follow round the world, Wherever he may be. II. Wherever he may be, the stars The moon will veil her in the shade ; The sun may set, but constant love Will shine when he's away; So that dull night is never night, And day is brighter day. ODE TO THE MOON. I. MOTHER of light! how fairly dost thou go Where hunter never climb'd,-secure from dread? How many antique fancies have I read Of that mild presence! and how many wrought! Wondrous and bright, Upon the silver light, Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought! II. What art thou like?-Sometimes I see thee ride A far-bound galley on its perilous way, Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray ;Sometimes behold thee glide, Cluster'd by all thy family of stars, Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide, Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, III. Oh, thou art beautiful, howe'er it be ! A silver idol, and ne'er worshipp'd thee !— And not divine the crescent on thy brows!— |