STANZAS. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Have a being less durable even than he. COWPER. STANZAS. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright ; The breath of the moist air is light Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods, The city's voice itself is soft like solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor, Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown; I sit upon the sands alone; The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion- How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, 145 Nor that Content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found; And walked with inward glory crowned; Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ;- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. SHELLEY. VERSES. 'NTHINKING, idle, wild, and young, I laughed, and talked, and danced, and sung; Concluding, in those hours of glee, That all the world was made for me! But when the days of trial came, When sickness shook this trembling frame, STANZAS. When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, Were this world only made for me! PRINCESS AMELIA. STANZAS. HE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Thy fate is the common fate of all,- Some days must be dark and dreary. LONGFELLOW. 147 148 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE. LIFE. HIS Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it everywhere, And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometimes seem of its own might Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there, And firm to hover in that empty height, -But in that pomp it doth not long appear, W. DRUMMOND, THE FLIGHT OF LOVE. HEN the lamp is shattered, When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, THE FLIGHT OF LOVE. The heart's echoes render 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; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. O Love! who bewailest 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. SHELLEY. 149 |