Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers On which he wept, the while the savage storm Waked by the darkest of December's hours Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm; The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers, The fish were frozen in the pools, the forin Of every summer plant was dead [ Whilst this THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT. "SLEEP, sleep on! forget thy pain; My hand is on thy brow, My spirit on thy brain; My pity on thy heart, poor friend; The powers of life, and like a sign, 'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not; Who made and makes my lot "Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of Forget thy life and love; Forget that thou must wake for ever; Forget the world's dull scorn; Forget lost health, and the divine Feelings which died in youth's brief morn; And forget me, for I can never Be thine. "Like a cloud big with a May shower, On thee, thou withered flower; Its light within thy gloomy breast "The spell is done. How feel you now?" "Better-Quite well," replied The sleeper,-"What would do You good when suffering and awake? What cure your head and side?"— ""Twould kill me what would cure my pain; And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break My chain." LINES. WHEN the lamp is shattered, As music and splendour No song when the spirit is mute :- Like the wind through a ruined cell, That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; To endure what it once possest. The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee, As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. 10 A LADY WITH A GUITAR. ARIEL to Miranda :-Take This slave of music, for the sake When you die, the silent Moon, Is not sadder in her cell When you live again on earth, Your course of love, and Ariel still Has tracked your steps and served your will, Now in humbler, happier lot, This is all remembered not; And now, alas! the poor sprite is The artist who this idol wrought, Felled a tree, while on the steep To live in happier form again: From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star, The artist wrought this loved Guitar, To all who question skilfully, FRAGMENTS OF AN UNFINISHED DRAMA. THE following fragments are part of a Drama, undertaken for the amusement of the individuals who composed our intimate society, but left unfinished. I have preserved a sketch of the story as far as it had been shadowed in the poet's mind. An Enchantress, living in one of the islands of the Indian Archipelago, saves the life of a Pirate, a man of savage but noble nature. She becomes enamoured of him; and he, inconstant to his mortal love for a while returns her passion; but at length, recalling the memory of her whom he left, and who laments his loss, he escapes from the enchanted island and returns to his lady. His mode of life makes him again go to sea, and the Enchantress seizes the opportunity to bring him, by a spirit-brewed tempest, back to her island. Scene, before the Cavern of the Indian Enchantress. ENCHANTRESS. He came like a dream in the dawn of life, And for my sake Make answer the while my heart shall break! But my heart has a music which Echo's lips, On my desolate path Cast the darkness of absence, worse than death! The Enchantress makes her spell: she is answered by a Spirit. My mansion is; where I have lived insphered Have woven all the wondrous imagery Of this dim spot, which mortals call the world And as a veil in which I walk through Heaven BB |