English

I.

Earth is a thirsty drinker,
The trees drink from its bosom,
The ocean drinks the wet winds,
The fiery sun the ocean,
The moon drinks in the sun's light.
Then why, my friends, be angry,
Because I love to drink too.

II.

Full -bosomed maids of Chio!
Around your auburn tresses
The woven roses twining,
Now sport in circling dances.
The moon is on the ocean,
The light, loose clouds around her
Their fleecy heaps are piling,
And gird her with a halo:
No longer from the billow

APRIL, 1855

Where, under Loughrigg, the stream
Of Rotha sparkles through fields
Vested for ever with green,
Four years since, in the house
Of a gentle spirit, now dead —
Wordsworth's son-in-law, friend —
I saw the meeting of two
Gifted women. The one,
Brilliant with recent renown,
Young, unpractised, had told
With a master's accent her feign'd
Story of passionate life;
The other, maturer in fame,
Earning, she too, her praise
First in fiction, had since

We name thy name, O God,
As our God call on thee,
Though the dark heart meantime
Far from thy ways may be.
And we can own thy law,
And we can sing thy songs,
While the sad inner soul
To sin and shame belongs.

On us thy love may glow,
As the pure mid-day fire
On some foul spot look down,
And yet the mire be mire.
Then spare us not thy fires,
The searching light and pain;
Burn out our sin; and, last,
With thy love heal again!

It was a little naughty page,
Ha! ha!
Would catch a bird was closed in cage.
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!
He seized the cage, the latch did draw,
Ha! ha!
And in he thrust his knavish paw.
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!
The bird dashed out, and gained the thorn,
Ha! ha!
And laughed the silly fool to scorn!
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!

O wherefore should I seek above
Thy City in the sky?
Since firm in faith and deep in love
Its broad foundations lie;

Since in a life of peace and prayer,
Nor known on earth, nor praised,
By humblest toil, by ceaseless care,
Its holy towers are raised.

Where pain the soul hath purified,
And penitence hath shriven,
And truth is crowned and glorified,—
There, only there, is Heaven!

In thee my powers, my treasures live;
To thee my life must tend;
Giving thyself, thou all dost give,

IN MEMORY OF EDWARD QUILLINAN

I saw him sensitive in frame,
I knew his spirits low;
And wish'd him health, success, and fame —
I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,
And leave no good behind;
They try us, oftenest make us hard,
Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! yet to the suffering man,
In this his mortal state,

To guard my body from the blight of age
I scoured those heights where magic simples thrive
By breath-control, by drafts of powdered jade,
Within my breast a new Me came alive.

I grew immortal, coaxed a team of dragons
To wear my harness so that I might ride
The roll of thunder while, through whirling clouds,
White lightnings flickered from their scaly hide.

I dropped the reins of the charioteer of the sun
And stamped my foot to open heaven's gate
Like some small horse's hoofprint filled with water

The capital is a cave for wandering knights,
Mountains and forests are hiding-places for hermits
What lustre lies in those vermilion gates?
They cannot compare with a dwelling on Mount Penglai
The hermit drinks from the clear waves of the spring,
Then climbs the hills to gather cinnabar buds.
Hidden from the world, he can stroll by Magic Stream,
So why should he care to climb the Ladder to the Clouds?
A haughty official once lived in Lacquer Garden,
Master Lai's wife was fond of the hermit's life

O, wilt thou go with me, love,
And seek the lonely glen?
O, wilt thou leave for me, love,
The smiles of other men? —
The birds are there aye singing,
And the woods are full of glee,
And love shall there be flinging
His roses over thee.

O, wilt thou go with me, dear,
And share my humble lot?
O, wilt thou live with me, dear,
Within a lowly cot? —
Though beauty hath enshrouded thee
With all that 's sweet and fair,
The sorrows that have clouded thee
Shall all be wanting there.

My heart was a mirror, that showed every treasure
Of beauty and loveliness life can display;
It reflected each beautiful blossom of pleasure,
But turned from the dark looks of bigots away;
It was living and moving with loveliest creatures,
In smiles or in tears, as the soft spirit chose;
Now shining with brightest and ruddiest features,
Now pale as the snow of the dwarf mountain-rose.

These visions of sweetness for ever were playing,
Like butterflies fanning the still summer air;
Some sported a moment, some, never decaying,