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With thy clear keen joyaunce
Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but never knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleep
Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not ; Our fincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those which tell of
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear, If we were things born
Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever could come
Better than all measures
Of delightful found; Better than all treasures
That in books are found, To poet were thy skill, thou scorner of the
Teach me half the gladness
That thy soul must know; Such harmonious madness
From my lips should flow, The world would listen then as I am listening
IRD of the Wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,
Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,
Where on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou foaring,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er fell and mountain sheen,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, foar singing away.
Then when the gloaming comes,
Far where the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ;
Emblem of happiness,
Bleft be thy dwelling-place,
THE CORAL ISLE.
SAW the living pile ascend,
turned To adamant by their petrific touch. Frail were their frames, ephemeral their lives,
Their masonry imperishable. All
economy of Providence,
- Compared with this amazing edifice,
The Pyramids would be mere pinnacles, The giant statues wrought from rocks of granite, But
puny ornaments for such a pile As this stupendous mound of catacombs, Filled with dry mummies of the builder, WoRMS.
THE MOLE HILL.
ELL me, thou dust beneath my feet,
Thou dust that once hadft breathTell me how many mortals meet,
In this small hill of death?
By wafting winds and flooding rains,
From ocean, earth, and sky ; Collected here, the frail remains
Of slumbering millions lie.
The mole that scoops, with curious toil,
Her subterranean bed,
And mines among the dead.
But oh! where'er she turns the ground,
My kindred earth I see;
Lived, breathed, and felt like me.
Like me, these elder-born of clay
Enjoyed the cheerful light; Bore the brief burden of a day
And went to rest at night.