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Wretched, -as they had breathed of this world's pain,
And so bequeathed it to the world again,
Through the beholder's heart, in beavy sighs.
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lulled sublime
To everlasting rest,—and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.

AUTUMN.
The autumn skies are flushed with gold,
And fair and bright the rivers run;
These are but streams of winter cold,
And painted mists that quench the sun.

In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
In secret boughs no bird can shroud;
These are but leaves that take to wing,
And wintry winds that pipe so loud.
'Tis not trees’ shade, but cloudy glooms
That on the cheerless valleys fall;
The flowers are in their grassy tombs,
And tears of dew are on them all.

BALLAD.
She's up and gone, the graceless girl !

And robbed my failing years ;
My blood before was thin and cold,

But now 't is turned to tears; —

My shadow falls upon my grave;

So near the brink I stand,
She might have staid a little yet,

And led me by the hand!
Ay, call her on the barren moor,

And call her on the hill,—
'Tis nothing but the heron's cry,

And plover's answer shrill;
My child is flown on wilder wings

Than they have ever spread,
And I may even walk a waste

That widened when she fled.

Full many a thankless child has been,

But never one like mine; Her meat was served on plates of gold,

Her drink was rosy wine; But now she 'll share the robin's food,

And sup the common rill, Before her feet will turn again

To meet her father's will !

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
I REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,–
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

BALLAD.
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse

And Beauty's fairest queen,
Though 't is not for my peasant lips

To soil her name between :

A king might lay his sceptre down,

But I am poor and naught, The brow should wear a golden crown

That wears her in its thought. The diamonds glancing in her hair,

Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware

The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I looked too long,

And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,

And kills the crime within.
Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves,

It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,

But hoddan gray is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,

Where gartered princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart

That wins her lily hand !
Alas! there's far from russet frize

To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees

In courtly hearts and clowns. My father wronged a maiden's mirth,

And brought her cheeks to blame, And all that 's lordly of my birth

Is my reproach and shame! 'Tis vain to weep,—’t is vain to sigh,

'Tis vain this idle speech, For where her happy pearls do lie

My tears may never reach;

Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride

May say of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,

Though all the rest was mean!
My speech is rude,— but speech is weak

Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,

So, lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state

Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate

Made such a churl of me.

THE WATER LADY.
ALAS! the moon should ever beam
To show what man should never see ! -
I saw a maiden on a stream,
And fair was she !

I staid a while, to see her throw
Her tresses back, that all beset
The fair horizon of her brow
With clouds of jet.
I staid a little while to view
Her cheek, that wore in place of red
The bloom of water, tender blue,
Daintily spread.
I staid to watch, a little space,
Her parted lips if she would sing :
The waters closed above her face
With many a ring.

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