Where lovely Albion's valleys bright are by their virtues fed: Thus ever with her sister stream, the rich romantic Wye, May winter's storms their bosoms fan as summer evening sigh; Still peace adorn the gentle banks their shining waters lave, Harmonious resting on the brink, harmonious in the cave. TO BRECON WRITTEN AT SEA. SWEET vale! no voice of Ocean e'er Thy still retirement knew ; No sea-storm lurks in sullen lair Amid thy mountains blue ;— Loved Brecon, absent from the gaze That billows bound for me, How oft the flight of memory strays Instinctive back to thee! Borne swift across the briny waste, Back to some sheltering wood, Where, winding green, thy vale is traced By Usk's transparent flood,— Bright Usk! the woodland shade at eve, When sunset rays divide, Smiles, as their latest beam they leave. Upon thy golden tide. There yet will ling'ring wishful rest One Time-existing ray, Waiting to die upon thy breast, When life's full beams decay: Thus, hastening on, sometimes a flower Beside our path we find, Which leaves not at its fading hour But beauty's blight behind. A SISTER'S VOICE. "But thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet, as if a sister's voice reproved." BYRON. How often on my heedless ear, In days gone by, that gentle tone Had fallen soft; but ah! though near The words were breathed, I did but hear,Not half they meant was known! Now, stealing o'er the moonlit wave With the wild music of the sea, Lost words from many an early grave, Words which a gentle sister gave, Come sadly back to me. I close mine eyelids, and I stand I seem to clasp her soft white hand, I weep not when they rest again Or sigh, remembering how vain The music of the murmuring main "Twixt that loved land and me. For Heaven's calm light upon the deep, So oft by cruel tempests driven, Forbids me, while those tempests sleep, And starry worlds shine bright, to weep ;And thou didst speak of Heaven. |