Unlocks each thought chained down by coward art, And to full day the latent passions start!
-And she, whose first, best wish is your applause,
Herself exemplifies the truth she draws.
Born on the stage-through every shifting scene,
Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene,
Still has your smile her trembling spirit fired!
And can she act with thoughts like these inspired?
Thus from her mind all artifice she flings,
All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things!
To you unchecked, each genuine feeling flows;
For all that life endears-to you she owes.
WELL may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Look in each other's face and melt in tears.
Well may you shun all counsel, all relief,
Oh, she was great in mind, though young in years.
Changed is that lovely countenance, which shed Light when she spoke ; and kindled sweet surprise, As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread, Played round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes.
Those lips so pure, that moved but to persuade,
Still to the last enlivened and endeared.
Those eyes at once her secret soul conveyed,
And ever beained delight when you appeared.
* On the death of a younger sister.
Yet has she fled the life of bliss below,
That youthful hope in bright perspective drew?
False were the tints! false as the feverish glow
That o'er her burning cheek distemper threw !
And now in joy she dwells, in glory moves!
Glory and joy reserved for you to share ;
Far, far more blest in blessing those she loves,
Than they, alas! unconscious of her care.
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
THERE, in that bed so closely curtained round,
Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! oh hushed be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
He stirs yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise; Till through the shattered pane the morning streams, And on the hearth the glimmering rush light dies.
FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES,
AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,
Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurled,
Still sit as on the fragment of a world;
Surviving all, magestic and alone?
What though the spirits of the north, that swept
Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept,
Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk
Deep in the dust mid tower and temple sunk;
Soon to subdue mankind 'twas thine to rise,
Still, still unquelled thy glorious energies!
Aspiring minds, with thee conversing caught*
Bright revelations of the good they sought:
By thee that long-lost spellt in secret given,
To draw down gods, and lift the soul to heaven!
* In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II, it was long the favourite study of those great men, to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci.
+ Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.
Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200.
IMITATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET.*
LOVE, under friendship's vesture white,
Laughs, his little limbs concealing;
And oft in sport, and oft in spite,
Like pity meets the dazzled sight,
Smiles through his tears revealing.
But now as rage the god appears!
He frowns, and tempests shake his frame!—
Frowning, or smiling, or in tears,
'Tis love; and love is still the same.
* See Gray's Mem. sec. II. lett. 30.
ON A ROBIN REDBREAST.
TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said,
When piping winds are hushed around,
A small note wakes from under ground,
Where now his tiny bones are laid.
No more in lone and leafless groves,
With ruffled wing and faded breast,
His friendless, homeless spirit roves;
-Gone to the world were birds are blest!
Where never cat glides o'er the green,
Or school-boy's giant form is seen :
But love, and joy, and smiling spring
Inspire their little souls to sing!
*Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.
ON A GIRL ASLEEP.
SLEEP on, and dream of heaven awhile.
Though shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy lips still seem to smile,
And move, and breathe delicious sighs !
Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
And mantle o'er her neck of snow.
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish-and fear to know.
She starts, she trembles, and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast;
And now, how like a saint she sleeps!
A seraph in the realms of rest!
Sleep on secure! above control,
Thy thoughts belong to heaven and thee!
And may the secret of thy soul
Repose within its sanctuary!
AH! little thought she, when, with wild delight, By many a torrent's shining track she flew ; When mountain-glens and caverns full of night 'er her young mind divine enchantment threw.
* On the death of her sister.
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