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How rush the swelling tides of thought
All round grows hallowed ground to me!
How tender silence seems ! how fraught
The loving air-with THEE!
I ever thought till now, the light
Of Heaven's sweet stars was mixed with sadness;
Now they—now all-drink in my sight
A glory and a gladness!
Sweet love, I bend to kiss thy brow-
I grow enamoured of thy rest;
What dreams of heaven shall haunt me, now
My pillow is thy breast !
ON THE IMITATORS OF BYRON.
A Swan hymn’d music on the Muses' waves,
And Song's sweet daughters wept within their caves;
It chanced the Bird had something then deemed new,
Not in the music only—but the hue
Black were his plumes ;—the Rooks that heard on high,
Came envying round, and darkened all the sky;
Each Rook, ambitious of a like applause,
Clapped his grave wings—and Pierus rung with caws.
What of the Swan's attraction could they lack,
Their noise as mournful, and their wings as black ?
In vain we cry-the secret you mistook,
And grief is d--d discordant in a Rook !
ON THE WANT OF SYMPATHY WE EXPERI
“ Oh for one breast to image ours !"
Youth in its earliest vision sighs;
And Age the same desire devours,
Until--the dreamer dies.
Vain shadows from the friend the wife
Thou seek'st, how loved soe'er thou art,
The brightest stream that glads thy life,
Can never glass thy heart.
I grant thee, home's endearing sounds,
I grant thee, love's first whispered tone;
But where the breast from which rebounds
The echo to thine own?
Mad are we all--who hath not pined
For something kindred from his birth ?
And lost earth's solid joys to find,
What is not of the earth?
Ah! could we to ourselves betroth
One breast, a very shade of ours; Would Time alone not alter both
The creatures of the hours ? Go back into thy lonely soul,
And with a calm and chasten'd eye Survey thy tether, and control
The dreams that seek the sky ;-And for ideal shapes, would melt
All life into one vague desire ;
In that far air wherein thou hast dwelt,
Hope's mortal ends expire.
Go-seek for joys amid thy kind !
How much has life itself to bless
The one whose wise and healthful mind
Seeks what it can possess ! Ourself
in ourself create, A tie beyond the dreamer's art; No bond is made that mocks at Fate,
Like Man's with his own heart.
OF THE DAYS OF KING ARTHUR,
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
THERE was a time, when Rats and Mice combined
To form one state against the feline kind;
Tho’ few the Rats, and many were the Mice,
The state was governed by the Rat's advice :
Strong were their teeth, and dangerous were their claws,
And most severe upon the cats their laws.
Well sped our Aristocracy of Rats,
They laughed at snares, and triumphed o'er the cats ;
They warr'd with glory, and they lived in ease,
And filled the Treasury with a world of cheese.
The stotes—the weasels with admiring gaze
Beheld, and lavished on our State their praise.
Oft would they cry—“No Commonwealth is great
“Where Rats and Freedom govern not the State !"
And for the Rats, we must in truth confess,
That vulgar Fame outstripped not their success.
Their sage control—their plump conditions speak-
Their sides how covered, and their skins how sleek!
They knew no toil—the Mice their burrows made,
For the Rat's pleasure was the Mouse's trade.
His moral duty was—the cheese to find,
And the Rat spared the little wretch-the rind;
But if the Mouse should chance, unbid, to sup—
They called a jury, and they eat him
So far—so good—the Mice, a humble race,
Worked on, and owned the justice of the case
Inured to toil they only asked to earn-
Plain food and holes to live in—in return !
By slow degrees, howe'er, and times of peace,
Both Rats and Mice too numerously increase ;
The general commerce not increasing too,
The Mice seem hungry, and the Rats look blue.
The Mice in truth grew lamentably thinner,
And Rats-poor creatures—miss’d their cream at dinner.
Persius hath told us how the dullest brute
Is made, by hunger, knowing and acute.
And a pinched stomach best-we must admit-
Gives voice to parrots, and to lawyers wit:
Ev’n thus our Mice grew reasoners with their state,
And want of dining brought about debate.
66 We found the cheeses which our Rulers carve,
“We filled the state with plenty--yet we starve !
Why this ?”
“Hush, babbler !" quoth an ancient Mouse, “ The Rats are sitting, let us ask the House.”