TO HELEN. (July 7th, 1836.) WHEN some grim sorceress, whose skill Of the faint slave the hardest task, She sent him forth to gather up Thus Helen bids her poet write The thanks he owes this morning's light; Dearest and best! she knows, if wit Each of her tones and of her looks Would have its four, not lines, but books. TO HELEN. (WITH A SMALL CANDLESTICK, A BIRTHDAY PRESENT.) February 12th, 1838. IF, wand'ring in a wizard's car Through yon blue ether, I were able To fashion of a little star A taper for my Helen's table,— "What then?" she asks me, with a laugh ;- The light her love o'er mine is throwing! TO HELEN. (July 7th, 1839.) DEAREST, I did not dream, four years ago, That in so brief-so very brief a space, He who in love both clouds and cheers our life, Yet not unwelcomed doth this morn arise, Though with more gladsome beams it might have shone: Strength of these weak hands, light of these dim eyes, In sickness, as in health,-bless you, My own! → GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. (1839.). THAT she may see, our bright and fair, Or make a favourite's cause her own,— That she may keep in womanhood The heaven-born impulses of youth, The zeal for universal good, The reverence for eternal truth,— That she may seek the right and just,— That she may shun the false and mean,That she may win all love and trust, Blessing and blest,-God save the Queen. CHARADES. I. SIR HILARY charged at Agincourt; 'Tis said Sir Hilary muttered there Two syllables by way of prayer : My First to all the brave and proud My next, with her cold and quiet cloud, And both together to all blue eyes, II. My First in torrents bleak and black "Now take me in; the moon hath past; I pray ye, take me in! The lightnings flash, the hail falls fast, "I know thee well, thy songs and sighs; A wicked god thou art, And yet most welcome to the eyes, And shook his drooping wing; And therefore-(so the urchin swore, III. ALAS! for that forgotten day Oh, then I carried sword and shield, And casque with flaunting feather, And earned my spurs in battlefield, In winter and rough weather; And polished many a sonnet up To ladies' eyes and tresses, And learned to drain my father's cup, And loose my falcon's jesses. |