I .

This is the song she sang to me ,
Upon the grass, beneath the tree,
That summer cloudless diamond day
We were together when I lay
Content her peerless face to see.

" Sleep, love, and let the ages run their weary
Wild way as they have hastened heretofore,
But do not thou be busy any more
With social schemes, and systems dusty, dreary, —
But stay with me and I will be thine eerie

I gaze on thee, thou venerable pile!
Clad in thy ivy-suit, and think the while
How many a summer's sun, or winter's storm,
Assailed or smiled on thy unshrinking form,
Ere thy green friend, with wide and cordial arms,
Came to support and shield thee from all harms.
Now of thy furrowed brow no trace is seen,
For thy bright bulwark of eternal green,
Which, with its ever true and guardian leaves,
An undecaying bower of beauty weaves.
How like some ancient man grown grey 'mid years
Of sunny pleasures or of wintry tears,

Last night I dreamed a dream of a kiss
And awoke the better for fancied bliss.
I dreamed of a maiden dear to me
Whom alas! but seldom in fact I see;
I had said " good-bye " to the rest I know,
And, waiting alone in a room below,
I found my darling, my love, my queen,
She and I only, no soul between.
And we clasped hands as lovers should do,
And thrills of lovers the palms passed through,
And she leaned forward — I hardly dare
To talk to the paper of gifts so rare;
She leaned forward — again I repeat

Now the loud winds with angry pinions sweep
The laboring bosom of the stormy deep,
The face of day o'erspread by vapors scowls,
And 'mid the shrouds the increasing tempest howls,
O'er the tall mall the giant surges rise,
And a new Chaos mingles earth and skies;
Bold even in danger's face, the naval train
Exert their force, and try their art in vain;
Despair and Death on all their efforts lower,
And the loud tempest mocks their feeble power.
Large and more large the threatening rocks appear,
And every billow brings their fate more near.

Worn out with unavailing care,
Ah! whither shall I turn!
No other rest remains for me,
But in the peaceful urn.

Nor pride, nor folly will insult
The tenant of the tomb;
Those, whose neglect abridg'd my life,
Perhaps will mourn my doom.

Perhaps my Delia will shed
A tear upon my grave,
And give that pity, when I'm dead,
She ne'er, when living, gave.

Dry up the unavailing tear,
And mourn no more for me,
My troubles were unpitied here,
I'm now from trouble free.

But learn, ah learn, to lay aside

Ye frolic Nymphs who leave the desart hills,
Charm'd by the murmurs of descending rills
Where fair Landough enjoys her rural reign
And smiles the loveliest village on the plain;
Whose whisper'd voice so oft your poet leads
In fairy dreams thro' Thaw's elysian meads;
Be present, Nymphs: your beauteous groves I sing
Green in the breathing bloom of tender spring;
To you these groves, these pictur'd meads belong,
Thrice copious subject of my youthful song.
O say, ye swains so blest, ye favour'd few,
To bounteous Heaven what grateful praise is due,

Naples, the envied and the beautiful,
Whose loveliness was fame;—her peasants were
Held in the ruthless grasp of feudal power;
Tyranny was triumphant:—the stern lord
Trode on the withered heart of the worn slave,
Whose famished offspring had, perchance, been sent
Unhelped, unsolaced, to untimely death.

The iron hand of power despoiled the wretch
Ev'n of the meagre earnings of his toil—
Oppression was the sole omnipotence,
And all who were not noble, must, perforce
Bow down before the fiend-like deity;

Their's is a bower, but not of bliss —
Joy cannot spring from love like this:
Unholy love is bought too dear —
Remorse, anxiety, and fear
Must still attend it; and each thought
Be with a burning penance fraught.
They part; he leaves her pale and trembling,
His own deep misery dissembling;
Hiding his fear, lest some keen eye
Their love unlawful should espy.
Like a troubled spirit gliding
Along, while love's wild dream subsiding,
He awakes from fancied bliss
To know himself the wretch he is!
Whilst she, with palpitating heart

Come gentle Meekness! with thy timid eye,
Thy voice of harmony, thy looks of love!
Thy wings of plumage from the spotless dove,
And mantle blue from the etherial sky!
Thy modest step, soft as the tender foot
Of soothing mercy, when she weeping stands
O'er the pale suff'rer's couch, and wrings her hands,
And forms some pious pray'r his griefs to suit,
Or guards his short repose in anguish mute! —

Come, heav'nly Meekness ! with thy smile serene,
Dispel the tumults of the raging breast;
Each savage pow'r shall fly the blessed scene,

Bright is thy form, and fair thy face,
Thy look is love, thy motion grace;
Yet, Delia, though these charms may please,
I ne'er had lov'd so well for these.
Thy manners gentle, temper mild,
By slow degrees my heart beguil'd,
By easy steps upon me stole,
And unperceiv'd possess'd my soul,
Before I knew my heart was gone,
Already it was all your own;
Unable now to break my chain,
Your willing captive I remain.