And lo! the eyelid stirr'd, beneath had grown
The tremulous light of life, and all the hems
Of her zoned peplos shook- -Upon his breast
She sank, by two dread gifts at once oppress'd.

ROSE-LEAVES.

Once a rose ever a rose, we say :

One we loved and who loved us
Remains beloved though gone from day:
To human hearts it must be thus,
The past is sweetly laid away.

Sere and seal'd for a day and year,
Smell them, dear Christina! pray:
So Nature treats its children dear,
So memory deals with yesterday ;
The past is sweetly laid away.

WILLIAM JAMES LINTON.

1812

BRIDAL SONG.

Blessed Hours! approach her gently;
Peace! smile on her excellently;
Midnight Stars! attend her pleasure:
Veil thy splendour, Night!

Not even Love's own eyes should measure
Love's delight.

Touch life's chords with lightest finger;
Echoes sweet! around her linger;

By the love makes marriage holy,

Tame thy carriage, Fate!

Like a bridesmaid murmuring lowly-
Yet we wait!

THE HAPPY LAND.

The Happy Land!

Studded with cheerful homesteads, fair to see, With garden grace and household symmetry : How grand the wide-brow'd peasant's lordly mien, The matron's smile serene!

O happy, happy land!

The happy land!

Half-hid in the dewy grass the mower blithe
Sings to the day-star as he whets his scythe;
And to his babes at eventide again

Carols as blithe a strain.

O happy, happy land!

The happy land!

Where in the golden sheen of autumn eves

The bright-hair'd children play among the sheaves;

Or gather ripest apples all the day,

As ruddy-cheek'd as they.

O happy land!

O happy, happy land!

The thin smoke curleth through the frosty air; The light smiles from the windows; hearken there To the white grandsire's tale of heroes old,

To flame-eyed listeners told !

O happy, happy land!

O happy, happy land!

The tender-foliaged alders scarcely shade
Yon loitering lover and glad blushing maid :
O happy land! the Spring that quickens thee
Is human liberty.

O happy, happy land!

IPHIGENEIA AT AULIS.

I am Achilles.

Thou wast hither brought

To be my wife, not for a sacrifice.

Greece and her kings may stand aside as nought
To what Thou art in my expectant eyes.

Or kings or Gods: I too am heaven-born.
I trample on their auguries and needs.
Where the foreboding dares to front my scorn
Or break the promise from my heart proceeds?

But thou Belovèd! smilèst down my wrath
So able to protect thee. Who should harm
Achilles' Bride ?-Thou pointest to the path
Of sacrifice, yet leaning on my arm.

There is no need of words; from me reply
As little requisite: Thy lightest hand
Guideth me, as the helm the ship; Thine eye

Doth more than all the Atridæ could command.

Thou givèst life and love for Greece and Right :
I will stand by thee lest thou shouldst be weak-

Not weak of soul.-I will but hold in sight

Thy marvelous beauty.-Here is She you seek!

AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE.

1814

SONG.

Seek not the tree of silkiest bark

And balmiest bud,

To carve her name while yet 'tis dark
Upon the wood!

The world is full of noble tasks

And wreaths hard won :

Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands,

Till day is done.

Sing not that violet-veined skin,
That cheek's pale roses,

The lily of that form wherein
Her soul reposes !

Forth to the fight, true man! true knight!
The clash of arms

Shall more prevail than whisper'd tale,
To win her charms.

The warrior for the True, the Right,
Fights in Love's name;

The love that lures thee from that fight
Lures thee to shame :

That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves
The spirit free,—

That love, or none, is fit for one
Man-shaped like thee.

SORROW.

When I was young, I said to Sorrow

66

Come, and I will play with thee!"
He is near me now all day,

And at night returns to say

"I will come again to-morrow

I will come and stay with thee."

Through the woods we walk together,-
His soft footsteps rustle by me:
To shield an unregarded head
He hath built a winter shed;

And all night in rainy weather
I hear his gentle breathings by me.

SONG.

Love laid down his golden head

On his mother's knee :

"The world runs round so fast "-he said,
66
'None has time for me."

Thought, a sage unhonor'd, turn'd
From the on-rushing crew;

Song her starry legend spurn'd;
Art her glass down threw.

Roll on, blind world! upon thy track
Until thy wheels catch fire:

For that is gone which comes not back
To seller nor to buyer.

SONG.

Softly, O midnight Hours!

Move softly o'er the bowers

Where lies in happy sleep a Girl so fair :
For ye have power, men say,
Our hearts in sleep to sway

And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.
Round ivory neck and arm

Enclasp a separate charm:

Hang o'er her poised; but breathe nor sigh nor prayer! Silently ye may smile,

But hold your breath the while

And let the wind sweep back your cloudy hair!

Bend down your glittering urns

(Ere yet the dawn returns)

And star with dew the lawn her feet shall tread;
Upon the air rain balm ;

Bid all the woods be calm;