Fled are the blossoms of each tree,
And blasted ev'ry bough;
Silent and gloomy is the grove,
And solitary now.

In vain I seek each fav'rite spot
That gave delight before;
Dismal each fav'rite spot appears,
And gives delight no more.

A prospect comfortless and sad,
Long lengthens all around;
And ev'ry passing streamlet gives
A melancholy sound.

If on the azure of the east
I fix my wand'ring eye,
Love, grief, and M IRA , fill my soul;
I rave, I mourn, I cry.

And can I look to where the sun

Those who are true to their Ideal Love
Flit down from heaven as angels with bright wings
To guard their ladies' souls from sorrow's stings,
Hovering with tender brilliance ever above
The head they worship:—to this pleasure clings
Each true soul, putting all joys else aside;
Desiring no white breast of earthly bride,
Nor crowns of violent fame, nor glory of kings.

As angel-spirits these pervade the airs,—
Some fluttering plumes that bring blue violets' breath,
Some pinions rich with reddest roses' balm.

Behold, ye fair! yon melancholy maid,
The tear just bursting from her downcast eye,
Who on the willow rests her pensive head,
“And pores upon the brook that babbles by.”

She once, like you, did laugh the hours away,
Was often merry, and was seldom grave;
Walks were not wanting to deceive the day,
Nor love, I ween, to cheer the gloomy eye.

The flow'rs of beauty blossom'd on her cheek,
Men thought her witty, and she thought so too;
She now and then would think, but oft'ner speak,
And always did as other virgins do.

Death equalizes all,
The humblest ragged beggar, when he dies,
May win a golden bright crown in the skies
And at his feet the Seraphim may fall.

Woman and man in perfect man unite;
The marvellous light
Of Christ's eyes had its fount and source in this.
In true man strength and sweetness blend their powers,
Like diverse flowers
Wedded for ever in one marriage-kiss.

Through Christ's eyes shone the light, most pure, divine,
Which soon shall shine
Like God's own sunlight through all women's eyes.
The Magdalen caught that saving glance and knew
One man was true,
And in her soul the harlot straightway dies

When this light shines through all the eyes of men
There shall be then

Why, O God! thy people spurn?
Why permit thy rage to burn?
God of mercy! save once more,
All our broken hearts restore.

Thou hast made our land to quake,
Heal the breaches thou dost make!
Bitter is the cup we drink,
Suffer not our souls to sink.

Be thy banner now unfurl'd,
Show thy might to all the world;
Save us, Lord! we cry to thee,
Lift thine arm, and set us free.

Late does the sun begin his shorten'd race,
Languid, altho' no cloud obscures our view;
The nipping hoar-frost veils the shrivel'd grass,
Where, whilom, wav'd the cool refreshing dew.

Cold from the north his hooked atoms calls,
And ev'ry field in firmer fetters binds;
Rustling in show'rs the wither'd foliage falls,
Slow from the tree, the sport of eddy winds.

The birds, all flocking from their summer haunts,
On the corn-stubbles pick the costly grain,
His deadly snares the cruel sowler plants,

And dost thou feel, O bard, that in thine heart
There are strange powers
Unshared of men;
That in thine Art
Is something cognate to the fields of flowers
Or clouds that storm the granite-bouldered glen?

And dost thou feel that like another sense
Unknown, undreamed of by the common crowd,
The beauty of woman thrills thy soul,
A joy intense:
That thou hast ever to proclaim aloud
That Beauty sways beginning, course, and goal?

Then, if thou feelest this,
If unto thee
There is a marvel in the sunset-air

Why, Lord! dost thou our race despise,
And spurn our feeble band?
Behold our foes in triumph rise,
And overrun the land!

As helpless sheep to slaughter led,
We fall before their might,
We're sold like beasts, cast out as dead,
And worthless in their sight.

We're fill'd with sorrow, cloth'd with shame,
And loaded with disgrace;
For all the world our cause defame,
And spurn us from their face.

Bow'd down to earth, in dust we lie,
With none to help or save;
Rise, Lord! make haste, fly, quickly fly,

Fair art thou, M IRA ! in thy lover's eye;
No maiden on our plains is half so fair;
I gaze with rapture on your charms, but sigh
To think that others may that rapture share.

I can't endure the cringing sawning race,
That bow around you wheresoe'er you go;
Contract your sphere, be cautious how you please:
The man that smiles upon you is my foe.

Away, the empty bustle of a croud,
The languid starv'ling pleasures of a town;