love poem

Yes! some such form hath haunted me before,
In younger days, when I have lingered long
In fairy glade, and drank the Poet's song,
And revelled fondly in romantic lore;
But never one the garb of mortal wore,
Or uttered human breath, till from the throng,
Of fierce and feeble — powerless and strong —
Hideous and lovely, thou didst spring, and o'er
My path of life scattered the light of love,

I.

When I seek my pillow at night, love,
I seek not that pillow for sleep,
But lie amid thoughts that delight, love,
And tears it is blissful to weep.

II.

And these thoughts are only of thee , love —
Thine only these passionate tears;
In these there's a rapture for me, love
That Night's silent shadow endes.

III.

And even when over me steals, love,

SCENE I.

A Street, in which, after a separation of many years, the two brothers, Edward and Charles Elliot, have
accidentally met .

Charles. And now my tale is brief; we loved each other
Tenderly — truly loved; secretly met,
And sorrowfully parted; for her sire
Knew I was poor, and thought me profligate:
Her mother knew me better; but she knew
That to oppose his prejudice were vain;
And though her daughter's happiness and hopes

WRITTEN BY PARTICULAR REQUEST OF THE AUTHOR'S SISTER .

Mild were his sorrows! dignified — serene,
And graceful Resignation touch'd his mien,
Whilst Love paternal cast its soft'ning glow,
O'er the dark scene of suff'ring and of woe. —
Come, spotless Truth, thy flow'rs shou'd ever bloom,
With sweets unfading, o'er thy M ILBANK'S tomb!
— Oh virtuous Spirit! form'd on earth to prove
The purest energy of faithful Love!
To find a nobler state must yield, sincere,
That heartfelt peace which oft is wounded here!

( " O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir. " )

I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this beautiful valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
In how short a span doth all Nature change,
How quickly she smoothes with her hand serene —
And how rarely she snaps, in her ceaseless range,
The links that bound our hearts to the scene.

FROM THE GREEK

I was the Sibyl! — In this marble cell
Sleep the pale lips that breathed the oracle.
Death's sceptre stoop'd upon my virgin brow;
Then voice and beauty fled! All's silent now.
Yet still with Hermes and the Nymphs I rove,
Elysian spirit! — I was Phaebus' love.

Mother of Dante and Raffaelle — I TALY ,
Poets will ever love thy skies of calm,
And voice of music, and warm breath of balm,
And glorious forms of grace and majesty! —
Old Chaucer loved thee for Boccaccio's stories —
Spenser for Tasso's; and Milton trod
Thy viny fields — Milton, minstrel of God, —
And loved idolatrously thy olden glories.
As poets have loved thee, do thou love them —
And chiefly one who wanders now thy land;
Be as the fondest lover unto him;
And shield him from the savage bandit's hand,

High peace to the soul of the dead,
From the dream of the world she has gone!
On the stars in her glory to tread,
To be bright in the blaze of the throne.

In youth she was lovely; and Time,
When her rose with the cypress he twined,
Left her heart all the warmth of its prime,
Left her eye all the light of her mind.

The summons came forth, — and she died!
Yet her parting was gentle, for those
Whom she loved, mingled tears at her side —
Her death was the mourner's repose.

I.

With many a plant, with many a flower,
My lattice, my casement is gleaming,
In whose spreading bells, at midnight's hour,
Many a fairy lies dreaming.
To-night! to-night! when all are at rest,
(Unless, my love, you abhor it,)
I mean to think what 'tis I love best,
And ask some light fairy for it.

II.

Come, whisper me, love, within this bower,
What you count as the greatest blessing,

You ask, dear Car , what mistress I would chufe?
Not one too strictly coy, nor yet too loose;
Whose unaffected character would prove
Like Delia modest, yet a friend to love;
No prudish air to damp the genial joy,
And charms enough to satisfy, — not cloy.