Sunlight and Moonlight! these two glories reach
Into our souls from our first day and night;
And we live afterwards on what they teach,
Finding our way by their two kinds of light.
Our Sunlight is the steadfast radiance cast
Thro' true church-windows, lustrous and unfading,
Where Creed and Rite thro' life give light, and last.
But that sweet Moon, that perils oft our lading,
Lures the good ship astray, then sinks hard by,
Leaving gray water where its light was thrown;
Or hangs, midway between the sea and sky,

I.

A BLESSING on thee, Sister dear!
A blessing! whether far or near,
In city bright or desert drear
Thy path may lie,
Since we may not detain thee here
Beneath our sky.

II.

Yet ah! that thou with us couldst be!
For England's homes are fair to see,
And most our northern homes to me
All brightly shine —
Still brighter when enjoyed with thee
Sweet love! and thine.

III.

Each season has its tale to tell,

AN EPIGRAM .

Philo lov'd Sophia, and she again
Did pay him with her coy disdain,
Yet when he died, he left her all he had,
What do you think? the man was mad.

Admired Phaenix springing up apace
From the ashes of another Phaenix' bones,
Which too too courteous yielded thee his place,
Lest earth were burden'd with two birds at once
Of that rare kind which love to live alone,
Whose only offence is to be but one.

TELL me, young Poet, is it sweeter
Up to the heads of streams to travel:
Or do you minstrels deem it meeter
Their downward flowing to unravel?

Poet. — From moorland well and heathy hollow
The seaward river thou must follow,
And trace it slowly till it bend
To lowlands round a mountain end;
Then through tame dell and cultured plain
Past tidewashed cities to the main.
There is a moral in its course,
Its tranquil depth and rocky force,
Its shining shallows, widening lakes,
And woody circuits that it takes.

AFTER AN INTERRUPTED CORRESPONDENCE .

I.

More changes still? And are good hearts like thine
 Bound to the ebbs and flows of common life?
Ah! many a novel thought and random line
 Show where the world hath harmed thee with its strife.

II.

Still thou art victor: on thy pennon still
 The Cross and thorny Chaplet are displayed,
Though the wet winds of life with evil will
 Perchance have caused its crimson gloss to fade.

III.

Somewhat of Christian gracefulness hath past
 From the calm freeness which was thy chief merit;

I.

Here , where wet winds autumnal rains may fling,
And pallid ash-trees in the transept lean,
The gentle-mannered monks were wont to sing
The Son of God, the Help of the unclean;
And, from Cistercian service books, to hymn
The blissful Mother, as the nights grew dim.

II.

Here, not unmindful of the public good,
Dwelt some poor beadsmen of the stainless Mary,
Bosomed, like monkish spots, in coves of wood,

While, o'er the dancing chords , your fingers fly,
And bid them live , 'till they have made us die ;
Trembling, in transport, at your touch, they spring,
As if there dwelt a heart , in every string .

Your voice, soft rising, thro' the lengthen'd notes ,
The marry'd harmony, united, floats;
Two charms, so join'd that they compose but one;
Like heat and brightness, from the self-same sun.

T HE wishful viol would its wealth retain,
And, sweetly conscious, hugs the pleasing pain;
Envious, forbids the warbling joys to roll,

Once, when my heart and I were young,
We wandered, restless, by sea and strand,
And lingered a little space among
The sheltered valleys of Switzerland, —

Where watchful summits forever frown
Through blue air slanting clear and keen,
Wearing proudly their icy crown,
While happiest hamlets smile between;

Where rapid torrents, rejoicing, run,
Leaping the cliffs in strength and pride,
Like snow-white ribbons in wind and sun
Fluttering down the mountain-side;

Where smoke-like cloudings of tender blue

How lost this pomp of verse! how vain the hope ,
That thought can dwell on Craigs , in view of Pope!
When, upon Rubicon 's fam'd bank is shown
Caesar 's press'd foot, on the remember'd stone;
No traveller once asks the quarry's name,
Whence the coarse grit , by chance distinguish'd came;
But thinks, with rev'rence , here great Julius trod,
And hails the footstep of a Roman God!