XXV.

He could have loved her-fervently and well; But still the cold world with its false allure, Bound his free liking in an icy spell,

And made its whole foundation insecure.

XXVI.

But not like meaner souls, would he, to prove
A vulgar admiration, her pursue;
For though his glances after her would rove,
As something beautiful, and strange, and new,
XXVII.

They were withdrawn if but her eye met his,
Or, for an instant if that light remain'd,
They soften'd into gentlest tenderness,

As asking pardon that his look had pain'd.

XXVIII.

And she was nothing unto him,-nor he

Aught unto her; but each of each did dream In the still hours of thought, when we are free To quit the real world for things which seem.

XXIX.

When in his heart love's folded wings would stir, And bid his youth choose out a fitting mate, Against his will his thoughts roam'd back to her, And all around seem'd blank and desolate.

XXX.

When, in his worldly haunts, a smother'd sigh
Told he had won some lady of the land,
The dreaming glances of his earnest eye
Beheld far off the Creole orphan stand;

XXXI.

And to the beauty by his side he froze,

As though she were not fair, nor he so young, And turn'd on her such looks of cold repose

As check'd the trembling accents of her tongue,

XXXII.

And bid her heart's dim passion seek to hide
Its gathering strength, although the task be pain,
Lest she become that mock to woman's pride-
A wretch that loves unwoo'd, and loves in vain.

XXXIII.

So in his heart she dwelt,-as one may dwell Upon the verge of a forbidden ground; And oft he struggled hard to break the spell And banish her, but vain the effort found;

XXXIV.

For still along the winding way which led
Into his inmost soul, unbidden came
Her haunting form, and he was visited
By echoes soft of her unspoken name,
XXXV

Through the long night, when those we love seem

near,

However cold, however far away,

Borne on the wings of floating dreams, which cheer

And gives us strength to meet the struggling day.

XXXVI.

And when in twilight hours she roved apart, Feeding her love-sick soul with visions fair, The shadow of his eyes was on her heart, And the smooth masses of his shining hair XXXVII.

Rose in the glory of the evening light,

And, where she wander'd, glided evermore, A star which beam'd upon her world's lone night Where nothing glad had ever shone before. XXXVIII.

But vague and girlish was that love, no hope,
Even of familiar greeting, ever cross'd
Its innocent, but, oh! most boundless scope;
She loved him,-and she knew her love was lost

277

Loving to be alone, her thirst to fill

XV.

drink.

V.

One eve, beneath the acacia's waving bough, Wrapt in these lonely thoughts she sate and read;

Her dark hair parted from her sunny brow,

Her graceful arm beneath her languid head;

VI..

And droopingly and sad she hung above

The open page, whercon her eyes were bent, With looks of fond regret and pining love;

Nor heard my step, so deep was she intent.

VII.

And when she me perceived, she did not start,
But lifted up those soft dark eyes to mine,
And smiled, (that mournful smile which breaks
the heart!)

Then glanced again upon the printed line.

VIII.

Because she was the unknown child of shame (Albeit her mother better kept the vow Of faithful love, than some who keep their fame.)

(Which, bending down, I saw was Coralie,") Then gave me one imploring piteous look,

tence,

Nor chills thy tears, nor mocks at thy distress.
XIX.

From man's injustice, from the cold award
Of the unfeeling, thou hast pass'd away;
Thou'rt at the gates of light where angels guard
Thy path to realms of bright eternal day.

XX.

X.

It was a tale of one, whose fate had been

Too like her own to make that weeping strange; Like her, transplanted from a sunnier scene; Like her, all dull'd and blighted by the change.

XI.

No further word was breathed between us two;No confidence was made to keep or break ;But since that day, which pierced my soul quite through,

My hand the dying girl would faintly take,

XII.

And murmur, as its grasp (ah! piteous end!)
Return'd the feeble pressure of her own,
"Be with me to the last,-for thou, dear friend,
Hast all my struggles, all my sorrow known!"

XIII.

She died!-The pulse of that untrammell'd heart Fainted to stillness. Those most glorious eyes Closed on the world where she had dwelt apart, And her cold bosom heaved no further sighs.

XIV.

She died and no one mourn'd, except her sire, Who for a while look'd out with eyes more dim; Lone was her place beside his household fire, Vanish'd the face that ever smiled on him.

There, meekly standing before God's high

throne,

Thou'lt find the judgments of our earth reversed, And answer for no errors but thine own.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

I CANNOT LOVE THEE!

I CANNOT love thee, tho' thy soul
Be one which all good thoughts control;
Altho' thy eyes be starry bright,
And the gleams of golden light
Fall upon thy silken hair,

And thy forehead, broad and fair;
Something of a cold disgust,
(Wonderful, and most unjust,)
Something of a sullen fear

Weighs my heart when thou art near;
And my soul, which cannot twine
Thought or sympathy with thine
With a coward instinct tries
To hide from thy enamour'd eyes,
Wishing for a sudden blindness
To escape those looks of kindness;
Sad she folds her shivering wings
From the love thy spirit brings,

Like a chainéd thing, caress'd
By the hand it knows the best,
By the hand which, day by day,
Visits its imprison'd stay,
Bringing gifts of fruit and blossom

From the green earth's plenteous bosom ;
All but that for which it pines

In those narrow close confines,
With a sad and ceaseless sigh-
Wild and wingéd liberty!

Can it be, no instinct dwells
In th' immortal soul, which tells
That thy love, oh! human brother,
Is unwelcome to another?

Can the changeful wavering eye,
Raised to thine in forced reply,-
Can the cold constrainéd smile,
Shrinking from thee all the while,-
Satisfy thy heart, or prove
Such a likeness of true love?

Seems to me, that I should guess By what a world of bitterness, By what a gulf of hopeless care, Our two hearts divided were: Seems to me that I should know All the dread that lurk'd below, By the want of answer found In the voice's trembling sound; By the unresponsive gaze; By the smile which vainly plays, In whose cold imperfect birth Glows no fondness, lives no mirth; By the sigh, whose different tone Hath no echo of thine own; By the hand's cold clasp, which still Held as not of its free will, Shrinks, as it for freedom yearn'd;That my love was unreturn'd.

When thy tongue (ah! woe is me!) Whispers love-vows tenderly, Mine is shaping, all unheard, Fragments of some withering word, Which, by its complete farewell, Shall divide us like a spell! And my heart beats loud and fast, Wishing that confession past; And the tide of anguish rises, Till its strength my soul surprises, And the reckless words, unspoken, Nearly have the silence broken, With a gush like some wild river,— "Oh! depart, depart for ever!"

But my faltering courage fails, And my drooping spirit quails; So sweet-earnest looks thy smile Ful! of tenderness the while,

And with such strange pow'r are gifted
The eyes to which my own are lifted;

So my faint heart dies away,
And my lip can nothing say,
And I long to be alone,―

For I weep when thou art gone!

Yes, I weep, but then my soul, Free to ponder o'er the whole,

Free from fears which check'd its thought,
And the pain thy presence brought,
Whispers me the useless lie,-
"For thy love he will not die,
Such pity is but vanity."
And I bend my weary head
O'er the tablets open spread,
Whose fair pages me invite
All I dared not say to write;
And my fingers take the pen,
And my heart feels braced again
With a resolute intent ;-

But, ere yet that page be sent,

Once I view the written words
Which must break thy true heart's chorde
And a vision, piercing bright,
Rises on my coward sight,

Of thy fond hand, gladly taking
What must set thy bosom aching;
While too soon the brittle seal
Bids the page the worst reveal,
Blending in thy eager gaze-
Scorn, and anguish, and amaze.

Powerless, then, my hand reposes
On the tablet which it closes,
With a cold and shivering sense
Born of truth's omnipotence:
And my weeping blots the leaves,
And my sinking spirit grieves,
Humbled in that bitter hour
By very consciousness of power!
What am I, that I should be
Such a source of woe to thee?
What am I, that I should dare
Thus to play with thy despair,
And persuade myself that thou
Wilt not bend beneath the blow ?

Rather should my conscience move Me to think of this vain love, Which my life of peace beguiles, As a tax on foolish smiles, Which-like light not meant for one Who, wandering in the dark alone, Hath yet been tempted by its ray To turn aside and lose his wayBinds me, by their careless sin To take the misled wanderer in.

And I praise thee, as I go, Wandering, weary, full of woe, To my own unwilling heart; Cheating it to take thy part By rehearsing each rare merit Which thy nature doth inherit. To myself their list I give, Most prosaic, positive :How thy heart is good and true, And thy face most fair to view; How the powers of thy mind Flatterers in the wisest find, And the talents God hath given Seem as held in trust for Heaven; Labouring on for noble ends,Steady to thy boyhood's friends,Slow to give, or take, offence,Full of earnest eloquence,

Hopeful, eager, gay of cheer,-
Frank in all thy dealings here,-
Ready to redress the wrong
Of the weak against the strong,-
Keeping up an honest pride
With those the world hath deified,
But gently bending heart and brow
To the helpless and the low ;—
How, in brief, there dwells in thee
All that's generous and free,
All that may most aptly move
My spirit to an answering love.

But in vain the tale is told;

Still my heart lies dead and cold,
Still it wanders and rebels

From the thought that thus compels,
And refuses to rejoice

Save in unconstrained choice.

Therefore, when thine eyes shall read
This, my book, oh take thou heed!
In the dim lines written here,
All shall be explained and clear;
All my lips could never speak

When my heart grew coward-weak,-
All my hand could never write,
Tho' I planned it day and night, —
All shall be at length confest,
And thou'lt forgive, and let me rest!
None but thou and I shall know
Whose the doom, and whose the woe;
None but thou and I shall share
In the secret printed there;
It shall be a secret still,
Tho' all look on it at will;
And the eye shall read in vain
What the heart cannot explain.
Each one, baffled in his turn,
Shall no more its aim discern,
Than a wanderer who might look
On some wizard's magic book,
Of the darkly-worded spell
Where deep-hidden meanings dwell.
Memory, fancy, they shall task
This sad riddle to unmask,-
Or, with bold conjectural fame,
Fit the pages with a name;-
But nothing shall they understand,
And vainly shall the stranger's hand
Essay to fling the leaves apart,
Which bear MY message to THY heart!

THE PICTURE OF SAPPHO

I.

THOU! whose impassion'd face
The painter loves to trace,

Theme of the sculptor's art and poet's story-
How many a wand'ring thought
Thy Loveliness hath brought,

Warming the heart with its imagined glory!

II.

Yet, was it history's truth,

That tale of wasted youth,

Of endless grief, and love forsaken pining?

What wert thou, thou whose woe

The old traditions show

279

With fame's cold light around thee vainly shining?

III.

Didst thou indeed sit there

In languid lone despair

Thy harp neglected by thee idly lying-
Thy soft and earnest gaze

Watching the lingering rays

In the far west, where summer-day was dying-

IV.

While with low rustling wings,

Among the quivering strings

The murmuring breeze faint melody was making. As though it wooed thy hand

To strike with new command,

Or mourn'd with thee because thy heart was breaking?

V.

Didst thou, as day by day

Roll'd heavily away,

And left thee anxious, nerveless, and dejected, Wandering thro' bowers beloved

Roving where he had roved

Yearn for his presence, as for one expected?

VI.

Didst thou, with fond wild eyes

Fix'd on the starry skies,

Wait feverishly for each new day to wakenTrusting some glorious morn

Might witness his return, Unwilling to believe thyself forsaken?

VII.

And when conviction came,
Chilling that heart of flame,

Didst thou, O saddest of earth's grieving daugh

ters!

From the Leucadian steep

Dash, with a desperate leap,

And hide thyself within the whelming waters?

VIII.

Yea, in their hollow breast

Thy heart at length found rest!

The ever-moving waves above thee closing:
The winds, whose ruffling sigh
Swept the blue waters by,
Disturb'd thee not!-thou wert in peace reposing

IX.

Such is the tale they tell!

Vain was thy beauty's spell

Vain all the praise thy song could still inspireThough many a happy band

Rung with less skilful hand

The borrowed love-note of thy echoing lyre.

X.

FAME, to thy breaking heart

No comfort could impart,

In vain thy brow the laurel wreath was wearing One grief, and one alone,

Could bow thy bright head downThou wert a WOMAN, and wert left despairing!