V. I seek for comfort, all in vain, I fly to shadows for relief; And call old fancies back again; And breathe on pleasure's withered leaf. VI. In vain for days gone by I mourn, And feebly murmur, o'er and o'er; My fretful cry, "Return! return!" Alas, the dead return no more! VII. It may not be; my lot of thrall VIII. Then ask me not, sweet friend, to wake IX. When pain has done its part assigned, My heart again a voice shall find, And my first notes be poured to thee! SONNETS ON COLUMBUS. BY SIR AUBREY DE VERE, BART. I. THE crimson sun was sinking down to rest, A Thoughts shadowy still, but indistinctly grand!There stood his Genius, face to face, and signed (So legends tell) far seaward with her hand; Till a New World sprang up and bloomed beneath her wand. II. He was a man whom danger could not daunt, So, when by all deserted, still he knew Lovelier than fondest fancy ever trod; Then softening nature melted in his eyes; He knew his fame was full-and blessed his God;And fell upon his face, and kissed the virgin sod! III. Beautiful realm beyond the western main, Joy-joy for Spain! A seaman's hand confers The load-star of succeeding mariners? Behold him-crushed beneath o'ermastering woes; Hopeless-heart-broken-chained-abandoned to his foes! MEMORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF "LILIAN." Nessun magglor dolore, Che recordarsi del tempe felici, Nella miseria. 1. STAND on a funeral mound, Far, far from all that love thee; With a barren heath around, And a cypress bower above thee : And think, while the sad wind frets, And the night in cold gloom closes, Of spring, and spring's sweet violets, Of summer, and summer's roses. II. Sleep where the thunders fly Across the tossing billow; Thy canopy the sky, And the lonely deck thy pillow: DANTE. And dream, while the chill sea-foam In mockery dashes o'er thee, Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home, And the kiss of her that bore thee. III. Watch in the deepest cell Of the foeman's dungeon tower, Of the huntsman hurrying o'er the plain, IV. Talk of the minstrel's lute, The warrior's high endeavour, When the honied lips are mute, And the strong arm crushed for ever: Look back to the summer sun, From the mist of dark December; Then say to the broken-hearted one, ""T is pleasant to remember!" |