Down one clear path of effluence crystalline THE AZIOLA. "Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh," Said Mary, as we sate In dusk, ere the stars were lit, or candles brought; And I, who thought This Aziola was some tedious woman, Asked, "Who is Aziola?" How elate I felt to know that it was nothing human, And laughed and said, "Disquiet yourself not, Sad Aziola! many an eventide Thy music I had heard By wood and stream, meadow and mountain side, And fields and marshes wide, Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird, The soul ever stirred; Unlike and far sweeter than they all: Sad Aziola! from that moment I Loved thee and thy sad cry. A LAMENT. O WORLD! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more-Oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar. Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more-Oh, never more! ΤΟ I. THE serpent is shut out from paradise. The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower, I too, must seldom seek again Near happy friends a mitigated pain. II. Of hatred I am proud,-with scorn content; But, not to speak of love, pity alone Turns the mind's poison into food,- Therefore if now I see you seldomer, Dear friends, dear friend know that I only fly Griefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die : I scarce can bear; yet I, So deeply is the arrow gone, Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn. IV. When I return to my cold home, you ask You spoil me for the task Of acting a forced part on life's dull scene,- In the world's Carnival. I sought Peace thus, and but in you I found it not. V. Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot To speak what you may know too well: • See Faust. VI. The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home; The sleepless billows on the ocean's breast Doubtless there is a place of peace Where my weak heart and all its throbs will cease. VII. I asked her, yesterday, if she believed Would ne'er have thus relieved His heart with words,-but what his judgment bade To send to you, but that I know, A LAMENT. SWIFTER far than summer's flight, Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone: As the earth when leaves are dead, As the night when sleep is sped, The swallow Summer comes again, But the wild swan Youth is fain To fly with thee, false as thou. Sleep itself is turned to sorrow, Vainly would my winter borrow Sunny leaves from any bough. Lilies for a bridal bed, Violets for a maiden dead, Pansies let my flowers be On the living grave I bear, Let no friend, however dear, Waste one hope, one fear for me. LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thee Has led me-who knows how? The wandering airs they faint As I must die on thine, O beloved as thou art! O lift me from the grass! ΤΟ ONE word is too often profaned One feeling too falsely disdained One hope is too like despair I can give not what men call love, The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not: The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow? MUSIC. I PANT for the music which is divine, Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound, It loosens the serpent which care has bound The dissolving strain, through every vein, As the scent of a violet withered up, Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, And mist there was none its thirst to slakeAnd the violet lay dead while the odour flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up, Invites to love with her kiss divine. ΤΟ WHEN passion's trance is overpast, It were enough to feel, to see And dream the rest-and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been. After the slumber of the year The woodland violets re-appear; And sky and sea; but two, which move, |