Locked in my heart's remotest treasures,
Shall ever be one of its hoarded pleasures ;-
This from the scoffer thou hast won,
And more than this he gives to none.

SONGS FROM THE TROUBADOUR.*

I.

(FROM CANTO I.)

"My mother's grave, my mother's grave! Oh! dreamless is her slumber there,

And drowsily the banners wave

O'er her that was so chaste and fair;
Yea! love is dead, and memory faded !
But when the dew is on the brake,

And silence sleeps on earth and sea,
And mourners weep, and ghosts awake,
Oh! then she cometh back to me,

In her cold beauty darkly shaded !

"I cannot guess her face or form;
But what to me is form or face?

I do not ask the weary worm
To give me back each buried grace
Of glistening eyes, or trailing tresses!
I only feel that she is here,

And that we meet, and that we part;
And that I drink within mine ear,

And that I clasp around my heart,

Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses!

*First published in Knight's Quarterly Magazine.

"Not in the waking thought by day,
Not in the sightless dream by night,
Do the mild tones and glances play,
Of her who was my cradle's light!
But in some twilight of calm weather
She glides, by fancy dimly wrought,

A glittering cloud, a darkling beam,
With all the quiet of a thought,

And all the passion of a dream, Linked in a golden spell together!"

II.

Spirits, that walk and wail to-night,
I feel, I feel that ye are near;
There is a mist upon my sight,
There is a murmur in mine ear,
And a dark, dark dread
Of the lonely dead

Creeps through the whispering atmosphere!

Ye hover o'er the hoary trees,

And the old oaks stand bereft and bare; Ye hover o'er the moonlight seas,

And the tall masts rot in the poisoned air; Ye gaze on the gate

Of earthly state,

And the ban dog shivers in silence there.

Come hither to me upon your cloud,
And tell me of your bliss or pain,
And let me see your shadowy shroud,
And colourless lip, and bloodless vein;
Where do ye dwell,

In heaven or hell?

And why do ye wander on earth again?

Tell me where and how ye died,
Fell ye in darkness, or fell ye in day,
On lorn hill-side, or roaring tide,
In gorgeous feast, or rushing fray?
By bowl or blow,

From friend or foe,

Hurried your angry souls away?

Mute ye come, and mute ye pass,

Your tale untold, your shrift unshriven; But ye have blighted the pale grass, And scared the ghastly stars from heaven; And guilt hath known

Your voiceless moan,

And felt that the blood is unforgiven !

III.

(FROM CANTO II.)

Oh fly with me! 'tis Passion's hour;
The world is gone to sleep;
And nothing wakes in brake or bower,
But those who love and weep:
This is the golden time and weather,
When songs and sighs go out together,
And minstrels pledge the rosy wine
To lutes like this, and lips like thine!

Oh fly with me! my courser's flight
Is like the rushing breeze,
And the kind moon has said "Good night!"
The lover's voice-the loved one's ear-

There's nothing else to speak or hear;

And we will say, as on we glide,
That nothing lives on earth beside !

Oh fly with me! and we will wing
Our white skiff o'er the waves,
And hear the Tritons revelling

Among their coral caves;

The envious Mermaid, when we pass, Shall cease her song, and drop her glass; For it will break her very heart,

To see how fair and dear thou art.

Oh fly with me! and we will dwell
Far over the green seas,

Where sadness rings no parting knell
For moments such as these!
Where Italy's unclouded skies
Look brightly down on brighter eyes,
Or where the wave-wed City smiles,
Enthroned upon her hundred isles.

Oh fly with me! by these sweet strings
Swept o'er by Passion's fingers,
By all the rocks, and vales, and springs
Where Memory lives and lingers,
By all the tongue can never tell,
By all the heart has told so well,
By all that has been or may be,
And by Love's self-Oh fly with me!

IV.

Fare thee well, fare thee well,
Most beautiful of earthly things!
I will not bid thy spirit stay,

Nor link to earth those glittering wings, That burst like light away!

I know that thou art gone to dwell In the sunny home of the fresh day-beam, Before decay's unpitying tread Hath crept upon the dearest dream That ever came and fled;

Fare thee well, fare thee well;

And go thy way, all pure and fair,
Into the starry firmament;

And wander there with the spirits of air,
As bright and innocent!

Fare thee well, fare thee well!
Strange feet will be upon thy clay,
And never stop to sigh or sorrow;
Yet many wept for thee to-day,
And one will weep to-morrow:
Alas! that melancholy knell
Shall often wake my wondering ear,
And thou shalt greet me for awhile,
Too beautiful to make me fear,
Too sad to let me smile!

Fare thee well, fare thee well!
I know that heaven for thee is won!
And yet I feel I would resign
Whole ages of my life, for one-
One little hour, of thine!

Fare thee well, fare thee well!

See, I have been to the sweetest bowers, And culled from garden and from heath The tenderest of all tender flowers,

And blended in my wreath

The violet and the blue harebell,