DIRGE.

WHERE shall we make her grave?
-Oh! where the wild-flowers wave
In the free air!

Where shower and singing-bird
'Midst the young leaves are heard—
There-lay her there!

Therefore let song and dew
Thence, in the heart renew
Life's vernal glow!

And o'er that holy earth
Scents of the violet's birth
Still come and go!

Oh! then where wild-flowers wave,
Make ye her mossy grave
In the free air!

Where shower and singing-bird
'Midst the young leaves are heard—
There, lay her there!

A SONG OF THE ROSE.

"Cosi fior diverrai che non soggiace

All 'acqua, al gelo, al vento ed allo scherno

D' una stagion volubile e fugace;

E a piu fido Cultor posto in governo,
Unir potrai nella tranquilla pace,

Ad eterna Bellezza odore eterno."

PIETRO METASTASIO.

ROSE! what dost thou here?

Bridal, royal rose ?

How, 'midst grief and fear,

Canst thou thus disclose

That fervid hue of love, which to thy heart-leaf glows?

Rose! too much array'd

For triumphal hours,

Look'st thou through the shade

Of these mortal bowers,

Not to disturb my soul, thou crown'd one of all flowers!

As an eagle soaring

Through a sunny sky,

As a clarion pouring

Notes of victory,

So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too

high.

Thoughts of rapture, flushing

Youthful poet's cheek;

Thoughts of glory, rushing

Forth in song to break,

But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak.

Yet, oh, festal rose!

I have seen thee lying

In thy bright repose

Pillow'd with the dying,

Thy crimson by the lip whence life's quick blood was

flying.

Summer, hope and love

O'er that bed of pain,

Met in thee, yet wove

Too, too frail a chain

In its embracing links the lovely to detain.

Smilest thou, gorgeous flower?
-Oh! within the spells

Of thy beauty's power,

Something dimly dwells,

At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells.

All the soul forth flowing
In that rich perfume,

All the proud life glowing

In that radiant bloom,

Have they no place but here, beneath th' o'ershadowing tomb?

Crown'st thou but the daughters

Of our tearful race?

Heaven's own purest waters

Well might wear the trace

Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace.

Will that clime enfold thee
With immortal air?

Shall we not behold thee

Bright and deathless there?

In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendently more fair?

Yes! my fancy sees thee

In that light disclose,

And its dream thus frees thee

From the mist of woes,

Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal rose!

NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS.

CHILDREN of night! unfolding meekly, slowly
To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours,
When dark-blue heavens look softest and most holy,
And glow-worm light is in the forest bowers;

To solemn things and deep,
To spirit-haunted sleep,
To thoughts, all purified

From earth, ye seem allied;

O dedicated flowers!

Ye, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling,
Keep in dim vestal urns the sweetness shrined:
Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing,
Looks on you tenderly and sadly kind.
-So doth love's dreaming heart

Dwell from the throng apart,
And but to shades disclose

The inmost thought which glows
With its pure life entwined.

Shut from the sounds wherein the day rejoices,
To no triumphant song your petals thrill,
But send forth odours with the faint soft voices
Rising from hidden streams, when all is still.
So doth lone prayer arise,
Mingling with secret sighs,
When grief unfolds, like you,
Her breast, for heavenly dew
In silent hours to fill.

THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT-FLOWERS.

CALL back your odours, lovely flowers,

From the night-winds call them back; And fold your leaves till the laughing hours Come forth in the sunbeam's track!