-No! from that bright band of morn, Whose faint whisper thus their hearts can melt, "I too, Shepherds! in Arcadia dwelt." II. THE WANDERING WIND. THE Wind, the wandering Wind Or from the long tall grass? Or is it from the voices Of all in one combined, That it wins the tone of mastery? Nor the fir-trees whispering low. They are not of the waters, Nor of the cavern'd hill: 'Tis the human love within us That gives them power to thrill, And we start, and weep, and tremble, III-YE ARE NOT MISS'D, FAIR FLOWERS. YE are not miss'd, fair flowers, that late were spreading The summer's glow by fount and breezy grot; There falls the dew, its fairy favours shedding, The leaves dance on, the young birds miss you not. Still plays the sparkle o'er the rippling water, And thou, meeek hyacinth! afar is roving Ye, that were born to lend the sunbeam gladness, And the winds fragrance, wandering where they list, Oh! it were breathing words too deep in sadness, To say-earth's human flowers not more are miss'd. IV. WILLOW SONG. WILLOW! in thy breezy moan, Through thy leaves come whispering low Willow, sighing willow! Many a mournful tale of old Heart-sick love to thee hath told, Leaves to cool his burning brow. Willow, sighing willow! Many a swan-like song to thee Hath been sung, thou gentle tree! Many a lute its last lament Down thy moonlight stream hath sent: Willow, sighing willow! Therefore, wave and murmur on! Sigh for sweet affections gone, And for tuneful voices fled, And for love, whose heart hath bled, V. LEAVE ME NOT YET. LEAVE me not yet-through rosy skies from far, But now the song-birds to their nests return; The quivering image of the first pale star Not yet!-oh, hark! low tones from hidden streams, Piercing the shivery leaves, even now arise; Their voices mingle not with daylight dreams, They are of vesper's hymns and harmonies : Leave me not yet! My thoughts are like those gentle sounds, dear love! They wait for dews on earth, for stars above, Leave me not yet! VI. THE ORANGE BOUGH. OH! bring me one sweet orange-bough, Go, seek the grove along the shore, Oh! Love's fond sighs, and fervent prayer, Then bear me thence one bough, to shed VII. THE STREAM SET FREE. FLOW on, rejoice, make music, Bright living stream set free! The troubled haunts of care and strife The woodland is thy country, Thou art all its own again; The wild birds are thy kindred race, That fear no chain. Flow on, rejoice, make music Unto the glistening leaves! Thou, the beloved of balmy winds, And golden eves. Once more the holy starlight Sleeps calm upon thy breast, Whose brightness bears no token more Of man's unrest. Flow, and let freeborn music Flow with thy wavy line, While the stock-dove's lingering, loving voice Comes blent with thine. |