"A thousand songs from a thousand boughs The glad birds' pleasure declare ; The rills are laughing in crystal light— For the presence of Spring is there."

"Leaves grow green to fall, Flowers grow fair to fade, Fruits grow ripe to rot — All but for passing made."

"The Dead ! the Dead ! and sleep they here, The lost of other years — The Dead ! the Dead ! can they be here, Where nought of Death appears ?"

"He enter'd now the garden, and a fall Of singing, voice and lute, sank on his ear : At first it seem'd thrice sweet and musical, But it grew sadder as he came more near."

"He leapt upon his steed, and like the wind They speed them on ; at first his giddy brain Swam like a chaos— mystery of the mind Which would guide its own workings, but in vain :"

"She spoke, they were but a few hurried words — Of the sweet flowers around, the heat, the night — Yet were they such as the blest heart records For many an after-moment's long delight ; They touch'd upon his spirit's inmost chords ; Though broken was the sense, the accents light, Yet sweeter was to him that tremulous tone Than all that eloquence were proud to own."

"Harsh all earth's destinies, — but his most hard Who may not trust the praise he loves to hear — Who may not hold his fame sure till, too late, The seal of death and truth is set by fate."

"I will not seek the battle-field — The men I there should meet, What have they done to me to make Shedding their life-blood sweet ? It is the veriest madness man In maddest mood can frame, To feed the earth with human gore, And then to call it fame. I have been wrong'd ; but were my wrong The deadliest wrong ere done, I would not slay my enemy, But bid him still live on :— And I should deem my vengeance more Than the death-wound in strife— What ills can death inflict like those Heap'd on each hour of life ?"

"We seek—we find— And find the charm has with the search declined. Affections—pleasures—all in which we trust, — What do they end in ?—Nothing, or disgust."

"Which is the best, Beauty and glory in a passionate clime, Mingled with thunder, tempest; — or the calm Of skies that scarcely change — which, at the least, If much of shine they have not, have no storms?"

"The morning Sun arose — Still the festal board was spread — Still hosts and guests were round ; But hosts and guests were dead !"

"Her likeness ! why it is a vain endeavour To image it. Painting or words may never Say what she was ; yet dwell I on the task, As if that Poesy had a right to ask From Memory its treasure."

"Love is divine in our belief Of its eternity — how vain, When we have known that Love can die, To think that he can live again !"

"There's feasting spread in gorgeous halls, The lamps flash round the city walls, And many a flood of lustre falls O'er many an honoured name. Turn thou from this, and enter where Some mother weeps o'er her despair, Some desolate bride rends her rich hair, Some orphan joins the cry ! Then back again to the death plain, Where lie those whom they weep in vain, And ask, in gazing on the slain, What art thou, Victory ?"

"Where, oh, where's the chain to fling, One that will chain Cupid's wing— One that will have longer power Than the April sun or shower?"

"It was a face, with nothing but the blush To mark it from the sculptured features round : As perfect in its beauty ; but the flush Of earthly warmth and earthly feeling crowned The master-piece of nature ;— that rich gush Was from the heart, which thus a language found, The eloquence of truth and silence ever : — Words, sighs, and smiles deceive, but blushes never."

"Life is a torrid day, Parched with the dust and sun ; And death's the calm cool night, When the weary day is done."

"I would resign the words of praise which now Make my cheek crimson and my pulses beat. Could I but deem that when my heart is cold And my lip passionless, my songs would be Numbered 'mid the young minstrels' first delights, And murmured by the lover where his suit Calls upon poetry to breathe of love."

"I would have rather been a slave In fettered bondage by thy side, Than shared in all the world could give, Had it not given thee beside."

"Who seeing the fair ship That swept through the bright waves. Would dream that tyrants trod her deck, And that her freight was slaves !"

"Happiness ! pleasure I should rather say, Happiness never made on earth a stay —"

"Oh ! never should a woman's words be more Than sighs which have found utterance."

"I have a summer gift, A sunny gift for thee : See this white vase, where blooms A beautiful rose tree. And on its crimson leaves Your heart must moralize, For love a lesson takes Of every leaf that dies."

"I made myself a little boat And launched it on the sea ; And into the wide world went forth To see what there might be."

"Passing thus with time away, The sweet gifts of youth decay ; Fleet their blooms, thus one by one, Till their very form is gone ; Memory left but to declare How beautiful and sweet they were! In the first blue noon of Spring, Who can think on withering?"

"This mountain-ash, whose flower-fill'd boughs Spread like a cloud at noon — Whose shade is as a haunted place For the sweet airs of June : 'Twas but a little shrub when first I wreathed amid thy hair Its berries, like the coral crown That the sea-maidens wear."

"He loves not, he loves me, he loves me not, He loves me, — yes, thou last leaf, yes, I'll pluck thee not, for that last sweet guess! " He loves me,”"

"There is a flower, a purple flower Sown by the wind, nursed by the shower, O'er which Love has breathed a power and spell The truth of whispering hope to tell. (According to the Lady's Book of Flowers, 1842 , this is the centaury)"

"Last night I by my casement leant, And looked on the bright firmament; And marked a group of stars, which met, Almost as if on purpose set Together for their loveliness, —"

"The Lake was that deep blue, which night Wears in the zenith moon's full light; With pebbles shining thro', like gems Lighting sultana's diadems :"

"And all was silence. — save when the wild bees. Intoxicate with their noon revelries, Murmuring, kiss'd the blossoms where they lay ; Or when the breeze bore a green leaf away; Or when the flutter of the cusha's wing Echoed its song of plaintive languishing —"

"That day the youth was told the tale, How she had pined beneath the veil And died, and then they show'd her grave— He knew that cypress's green wave. — That night, alone, he watched his bride — The next they laid him by her side."

"But give me one curl of thy raven hair, And, by all thy hopes in heaven, swear That, chance what may thou wilt claim thy bride, And thou to-morrow shall lie by my side."

"The hope that clings to the least glimpse of blue Amid a sky of murkiness ; the fear That sickens at itself; the fond deceit, That will not see the truth ; the tenderness, That only asks to trust ; and, at the last, The knowledge we have known in vain so long Comes like a thunderbolt, and crashes."

"Death has most awful lessons ! It is sad, Aye, strange, to see even the aged die ; But about youth there is a confidence In life, that makes it terrible."

"Oh! moral of enjoyment! — scattered, crushed : — The pale checks of the few that staid, like ghosts Haunting the footsteps of departing mirth, While the bright pictures over them looked down Almost in mockery."

"Oh, the heart Knows not the power of music till it loves !"

"And then the lute, the lattice, and the girl, The white rose, and the melancholy song — Oh, Night, thy reign is over lovely things ! —"

"A luxury of deep repose ! the heart Must surely beat in quiet here."

"I've thought upon thy brow when Night Threw o'er my pallet her summer moonlight, And I have looked on the midnight sky To catch the depth and light of thy eye ; I painted from these and from memory, For I could not paint when I looked on thee."

"I dread the pictures of my dreams, For, then I gaze on thee; And thou art near, and thou art all That I would have thee be. And then I startle from my sleep, And know all false, and watch and weep."

"Yet, wake again, I pray thee, wake; My soul yet lives upon the chords — My heart must breathe its wrongs, or break : Yet can it find relief in words !"

"'Twas as she hoped, — he sleeps ; and now Her lips are on his throbbing brow, Sucking the poison forth : 't was bliss To know she gave her life for his."

"My spell is done, my prize is won ; True love! thou hast equal none; True love ! who could choose for thee Gold or gems or vanity ? Where is the spell whose charm will prove, Like the spell of thy charm, true love ?"

"To hide the wells from the beam of the sun, She took the webs of silvery white Herself had wove in the lone moonlight, And threw them o'er, so that not one ray Could lighten their depths with a glimpse of day;"

"But as old tradition tells, There are other, deeper, spells In the lone and mystic wells — Spells of strange wild augury Few have had the heart to try. —"

"Rode by radiant shapes that seem Creatures made of bloom and beam, With their hair and plumes' gay dyes Glorious as the morning skies."

"To what may youth's first joyance be compared ? To daylight, and the glad song of the lark Bursting together, — to a sudden gush Of perfume, till the giddy senses link With overmuch delight,— a dream,— a tale Of Paradise, told in fair poesy."