Untimely death too oft attends the brave;
“The path of glory leads unto the grave.”
Too oft, when war's alarming din is o'er,
Want waits the hero on his natal shore;
And what's more dreadful to a gen'rous mind,
Scorn, from the basest, meanest of mankind:
But kinder fates, (and kinder fates are due,)
O, ever-honour'd W! distinguish you;
The laurels reap'd by G ANGES ' sacred flow,
In all their verdure still adorn your brow;
Respect and Plenty former labours crown,
And Envy mutters, They are fairly won.

Woman is part of Nature. She was born
 From the bright sea-wave. She and flowers are one.
Can your cold Western culture e'er adorn
 Her who is taught by sea-waves and the sun?

Oh, God deliver me from Western dreams!
 Give me warm moonlight on an Arab tent:
Within, the touch that thrills, the glance that gleams;
 Soft bosom o'er me through the darkness bent.

Then am I saved and crowned,—for bliss is there,
 And perfect bliss is heaven. Whate'er men say,
I hold that God set stars within the air
 That mouth to mouth might find a readier way!

Dear, lovely Sylvia ! fairest of the fair;
Pride of my muse, and object of my care!
Propitious hear; nor, blooming maid! complain,
To find unequal to your praise my strain.
With ease I paint the mazy prattling rill,
The woods and tow'rs that crown the craggy hill;
The various blossoms that adorn the spring;
But Sylvia 's charms what raptur'd youth can sing?
What straining bard exalt his daring aim,
In just proportion to his lovely theme?
Your beauties crowd — which first shall grace my song,
Your blushing cheeks, or pretty lisping tongue?

TO ERNEST BIRCH

O THOU who through high Music's golden gate
Hast right of entrance to the land divine
Wherein the poets' crowns and sceptres shine,
Thy coming we, Song's warders, celebrate.
Thou art a poet-soul beyond debate: —
Thy music thunders out like Milton's line:
Thou canst describe in music and design;
Thy music sighs forth love, or volleys hate.

Poems are silent till thou layest thine hand

( " J'aime a me figurer. " )

I love to watch in fancy, to some soft dreamy strain
A choir of lovely virgins issuing angel-calm,
Veiled all in white, at even, from some old shadowy fane;
In hand — a palm!

A dream which in my darkest hours doth aye beguile
Is this: a group of children, ere they seek repose,
Merrily dancing; on each rosebud mouth a smile,
Each brow — a rose!

Haply a dream yet sweeter, that yields yet more delight,

THE FIRST VISIOUN .

Before my face, this night, to me appeir'd
My silent Muse in sorow all confound;
And, [all] dismay'd, this question at me speir'd;
" Quhy do we not his glorious praise resound?
" Quhose goodnes we beyond our hope hes found:
" Quhose favour hes surmounted our desert:
" And, as he dois in pouir maist abound,
" So to our ayd the same he dois convert".
" O Muse " , quod I, " even with a willing hairt
" I sall fulfill this chairge with bent desyre;
" So that to me your furye ye impart,

But surely, far beyond the eternal hills
And the slow river that pale men revere
More than earth's quiet violet-girdled rills,
Shall love and all things doubtful be made clear.
Earth's autumn, red and solemn and austere,
Shall blossom into green May-scented spring,
And the opening of a green eternal year
Arouse the happy praise of everything; —
Then shall the hills and heaven's copses ring
With notes of throstles that were broken-hearted,
And whistle of nightingales too weak to sing
When love and all love's music had departed;

( " La nuit morne tombait. " )

On ocean mournful, vast, fell the vast mournful night.
The darkling wind awoke, and urged to hurried flight,
Athwart the granite-crags, above the granite-crests,
Some sails unto their haven, some birds unto their nests.

Sad unto death, I gazed on all the world around.
Oh! how yon sea is vast and the soul of man profound!

Afar St. Michael towered, the wan salt waves amid,
Huge Cheops of the west, the ocean-pyramid.

On Egypt, home of fathomless mysteries, did I brood,

Not all the suns that throng the soundless spaces
Are worth the radiance of one loving heart;
The least and humblest of all human faces
Hath nobler import in the eyes of Art.

Gaze through your glass till ye be stricken with blindness!
Peer at the heavens whose bright star-clusters gleam!
One human heart that glows with loving-kindness
Outshines the stars, and makes your heavens a dream.

Fair Science trumpets her own praise so loudly
She fails to catch creation's under-tune;
But listening Art, who walks the earth less proudly,

Loe heir tuo wights inburied be, of nobil birth and blude,
Quho, by thair death, hes nature's course by nature's lyne conclude.
In mariage band they lived long; (thrie scoir of yeirs, and foure.)
In honour, maist contentedlye, thair lyfe they did dryve oure.
Bot now hes DEATH thair aged dayes desaced by his dairt:
And hes thair brethles weryet corps, convoyed to this pairt.
Bot yit quhat DEATH hes preast to doe, thair love so to devyde
Love hes againe, surmounting DEATH , the force of DEATH defy'd.