A long, mysterious, and perplexing strain
Of music, or combine the joy of years
In half an hour of slumber; till he started
From such sweet visions, weeping and wild-hearted.
And, in her mirthful moments, would she seek
The bachelor's room, and spoil his lonely rest; Or with old maids play many a wicked freak ; Or rattle loudly at the miser's chest, Till he woke trembling; she would often wreak
Her vengeance on stern fathers who repress'd Their children's young and innocent loves, and sold (Like our two Kings) their happiness for gold.
I KNEW that Death was stern and strong,
That sceptred hand and helmed head,
The fear'd on earth, the famed in song,
Must sink beneath his silent tread;
That Poet's brain, and Warrior's heart,
And Beauty's most resplendent form,
Glory and pride, and strength, must part,
Το grace the banquet of the worm.
But tell not me-it cannot be,
That Death, my love, may alter thee.
Oh! hast thou ne'er in fancy view'd
The shadows dark of days to comeTheir toils and cares, a hideous brood, Strife with the world's fierce multitude,— Pain, sickness, agony, distress,
When yearns the heart in weariness
Tow'rds absent friends, the dead, the lost, And those by fortune tempest-toss'd
To some far-distant home?
Though many an hour of love and mirth
May cheer man's spirit here on earth,
And friends may meet in moments gay,
And the dancing heart keep holiday;
Yet oh! far oftener must it bear
Its solitary load of care,
Aching in anguish deep and lone,
For many a loved and loving one.-
I'll not believe that at his birth
To man such sympathies were given,
But that their joys, so few on earth,
Might be renew'd in Heaven. Then tell not me-it cannot be,
That Death, my love, may alter thee.
And hast thou ne'er at fall of Even,
When moans the breeze in sounds of woe,
And stars begin to wink in Heaven,
And earth in twilight melts below,
And, in the stillness of the hour,
The voice of waters solemn seems
Felt some unknown mysterious Power
Breathe o'er thee, from the woods and streams,
Steeping thy soul in tearful dreams;
Till wandering thoughts spring up on high,
As the soul would roam through the starry sky,
And the realms of the sainted dead explore,
Whom the living eye shall view no more,
In the crystal light of their calm retreat,
The look of Earth's affection bearing,
And still their radiant faces wearing
The smile we used to think so sweet?
Thou must have felt that witching hour, Its deep, and calm, and silent power; Thou must have felt that tearful gushing
From the heart's fresh and lonely springs;
And the charm'd soul through the blue sky rushing,
On the Spirit of Twilight's wings.
Then rise, each sense to rapture hushing,
Visions of unforgotten things,
And they who loved, whose spirits love us,
Float in the deep blue sky above us,
In dreamlike wanderings.
On every passing breeze float by
Voices we loved in infancy-
They tell of some untroubled land,
Where souls that love repose together,
And many a white and radiant hand
With gentlest motion waves us thither.
And oh! 'tis sweet to rove on high
With that celestial company,
And feel, while yet we breathe beneath,
That hearts remain unchanged in Death.
In sleep I dream of happy days,
That smile beyond the tomb;
And fond imagination roves
Through wondrous valleys, fields, and groves,
Where gentle brooks that gush between,
And skies eternally serene,
Make one perpetual bloom.
And ever in those dreams divine,
Thy gentle spirit stands by mine;
Thy voice of music wanders by,
Thy form is floating in my view;
And still thy soft and earnest eye
Smiles on me, as 'tis wont to do.
Then tell not me-it cannot be,
That Death, my love, can alter thee.
I HAD a wondrous dream-methought I stood
Within the threshold of an ancient house,
Which I had loved in childhood-forms well known,
And old, familiar voices were around me,
And happy thoughts, and half-forgotten feelings,
And tearful recollections rose within me,
Bathing each sense in ecstasy. I felt
A gushing at the fountains of my spirit;
My heart dissolved-I was a child again.
Yet as I gazed on each remember'd face,
A freezing pang shot o'er me-a chill sense,
Of longing separation, and I knew
That woe was deeply blended with my dream.
I gazed upon the forms around me. One
(A matron) had methought been beautiful
In other days, but now upon her cheek
Sickness had set his seal, and wasting years,
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