Thou, Lady, in thy meek, affectionate eyes,
Bearest such magic as, I well believe,

Few can resist; to me the charms they weave
Spring from thy gentle wedded sympathies:
And couldst thou less adore thy wayward mate,
Oh! I should hate thee with a poet's hate!

SONNET IX.

IN heaven "" are many

mansions"-what if thou, Hereafter cleansed from taint of mortal sin, By paths untrod by me, shouldst chance to win Some separate Paradise ?—The hope which now Soothes my bruised heart, and calms my sleepless brow,

Oh! must it perish ?-when the stormy din

Of life is o'er, shall we not meet within

The halls of heaven, as once my soul did vow?
Oh! not for centuries of happy years

Would I endure that thought!-'twere hell to know,
Beloved Friend, that all our hopes and fears,
Yearnings, and dreams of future joy and woe,
Hung upon
different creeds !-With fervent tears,
I'll kneel, and pray that it may not be so !

1823.

SONNET X.

Now, lady, that our parting is so nigh,
Fain would I think that thou, in future hours,
Amidst thine own Dunedin's queenly towers,
Or, haply, Scotland's mountain scenery,

Wilt tow'rd the South turn no unkindly eye,
Nor scorn to think of these poor woods of ours,
And friends who dwelt in Windsor's sylvan bowers,
And him who frames this sorry minstrelsy.
Believe me, in no false or hollow guise
Sing I to thee my parting madrigal ;

For I have found thee gentle, good, and wise,
High-minded, simple-hearted—and withal
Beloved of her whose deep, soul-beaming eyes
Hold my rapt spirit in such pleasant thrall.
May, 1825.

SONNET XI.

SCOTCH QUADRILLES.

PERISH the coxcomb who united first

To these vain whimsies, hatch'd beyond the seas, Old Caledonia's touching melodies;

Wedding the follies of that land accurst,

To strains whose high and soothing music nursed
Heroic hearts, or gave crush'd spirits ease,
Awakening the bright Past's remembrances
While grief's fierce tempest o'er the Present burst.
Oh! ye sweet notes, ye were not meant to lead
The measured steps of fashion: ye should tell
Of Highland glen, wild rock, and pastoral dell,
And scenes like those of which the world doth read
In that bright page, which many a wondrous deed
Of Scottish story hath embalm'd so well.

1824.

SONNET XII.

MAIDEN, there's many a fairer face than thine
Flitting to-night around me, many an eye
As lustrous, locks as glossy in their dye,
And haply some few shapes scarce less divine:
Yet for no other brow must I entwine
This coronal of rhymes; the time's gone by,
When, like a lover, I could sit and sigh,
And breathe despairing vows at beauty's shrine;
My gaze hath now grown passionless; yet long
Have I, (poor foolish dreamer,) through the dance
Track'd thee to-night amidst this glittering throng,
Watching thy gay and artless countenance,
And form that floats so lightsomely along

With grace by nature fashion'd-not by France.

1824.

SONNET XIII.

WHY dost thou haunt me with thy bright wild eyes
Through the long sleepless night? when I should be
Plodding through tomes of old divinity,

And learning to be holy, pure, and wise,
And worthy to obtain that twofold prize
I pant for-Immortality and thee.

Oh! my sweet friend, I fear my phantasy
Clings to thee over fondly; in the skies
I have no hope, no purpose, no desire
With which thou minglest not; and if I lose

Thy love on earth, I fear lest I should tire
Of life's dull race too soon, and, in the dearth
Of my twice crush'd affections, cease to aspire
To the lone bliss of an immortal birth.

Cambridge, April, 1825.

SONNET XIV.

ARE there no marriages in heaven ?-then why Is earthly love so quenchless and so strong? Why doth the lover wish and yearn and long For bliss that dies not in eternity?

No! no! the grave doth only purify

Love's ore from its alloy-the sordid throng Of Earth's defilements, change, and chance, and wrong

And jealous fears, and chill adversity.

My Margaret, when I think on what thou art,
How spirit-like a being, how refined

From all that chains to earth our human heart,
From all that now pollutes our human mind,
I cannot think that death will tear apart
The links thy magic round my soul hath twined.
April, 1825.

THE LAY OF THE LOVELY.

1.

THE mirth and music of the festal hall,

And sunshine of bright eyes, had past away; And, till late slumber should mine own enthrall, Circled with deep tranquillity I lay;

Thinking, (as Bards should think,) in amorous wise, Of those sweet faces and love-beaming eyes.

II.

And soon upon my weary soul descended

The dreamy sleep which is the Poet's waking; But still before my fancy's eye were blended

The night's past joys, more rapturous still and taking

An earthly glory from the gleams which come, When sleeps the body, of the spirit's home.

III.

I saw the many forms which I had deem'd

So fair, that fairer nought on earth could be; But now from out their Human Beauty stream'd Effulgence as of Immortality;

And when they lifted up their gentle eyes,

I saw swift thoughts and winged phantasies

IV.

Throng thro' those azure gates, like gathering stars

In summer-evening's sky; and when they spoke