With shut-up senses, Edward lay : And he had passed a restless night, And talked as 'twere by stealth. "The sun peeps through the close thick leaves, See, dearest Ellen! see! 'Tis in the leaves, a little sun, No bigger than your ee; "A tiny sun, and it has got A perfect glory too; Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, Make up a glory, gay and bright, Round that small orb, so blue." And then they argued of those rays, Says this, "they're mostly green;" says that, They're amber-like to me. So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts. But soon they heard his hard quick pants, "A mother too!"' these self-same words His face was drawn back on itself, Both groaned at once, for both knew well He sat upright; and ere the dream Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst Into ungentle laughter; And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after. Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum. To-morrow! and To morrow! and To-morrow! WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made For lo the New-moon winter-bright! The coming on of rain and squally blast. And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now, perhaps, their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II. A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: I see, not feel how beautiful they are! My genial spirits fail ; III. And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavor, Though I should gaze forever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within, IV. 'O Lady! we receive but what we give, And from the soul itself must there be sent V. O pure of heart; thou need'st not ask of me This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud- And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All colors a suffusion from that light. VI. There was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness: Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, For not to think of what I needs must feel, And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural manThis was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul. |