None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean: This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd.
But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued: This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!
FAREWELL TO THE HARP OF THE NORTH. HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea,
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
Yet once again, farewell, thou minstrel Harp! Yet once again, forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay.
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own. Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! "T is now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire, "T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell- And now, 'tis silence all!-Enchantress, fare thee well!
O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar?"- "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;— Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide- And now I am come with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,- Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume; And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper'd "Twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see, So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
AND said I that my limbs were old; And said I that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither'd heart was dead, And that I might not sing of love? How could I to the dearest theme That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream, So foul, so false, a recreant prove! How could I name love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!
In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
MANFRED TO THE SORCERESS.
FROM my youth upwards
My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes; The thirst of their ambition was not mine;
The aim of their existence was not mine; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor 'midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who-but of her anon. I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men, I held but slight communion; but instead, My joy was in the wilderness, to breathe The difficult air of the iced mountain's top, Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge Into the torrent, and to roll along
On the swift whirl of the new breaking wave Of river stream or ocean in their flow. In these my early strength exulted; or To follow through the night the moving moon, The stars and their development; or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; Or to look, listening, on the scatter'd leaves, While autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes, and to be alone; For if the beings, of whom I was one,- Hating to be so,-cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again. And then I dived, In my lone wanderings to the caves of death, Searching its cause in its effect; and drew From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-up dust, Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd The nights of years in sciences untaught, Save in the old-time; and with time and toil, And terrible ordeal, and such penance As in itself hath power upon the air, And spirits that do compass air and earth, Space, and the people infinite, I made Mine eyes familiar with Eternity, Such as, before me, did the Magi, and
He who from out their fountain dwellings raised Eros and Anteros, at Gadara,
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