And then they argued of those rays, What colour they might be; Says this," they're mostly green;" says that, "They're amber-like to me." So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts But soon they heard his hard quick pants, "A mother too!" these self-same words His face was drawn back on itself, Both groaned at once, for both knew well He sat upright; and ere the dream "O God, forgive me! (he exclaimed) I have torn out her heart." Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst Into ungentle laughter; And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after. Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum. To morrow! and To-morrow! and To-morrow! ODES AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. DEJECTION: AN ODE. Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, And I fear, I fear, my Master dear! We shall have a deadly storm. BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE. W I. ELL! Ifthe Bard was weather-wise who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Eolian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the New-moon winter bright! The coming on of rain and squally blast. live! II. A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze-and with how blank an eye! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see, not feel how beautiful they are! III. My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. IV. O Lady! we receive but what we give, Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! Than that inanimate cold world allowed Enveloping the Earth And from the soul itself must there be sent V. O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud-- And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All colours a suffusion from that light. VI. There was a time when, though my path was rough, Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness : For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth : Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, For not to think of what I needs must feel, VII. Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream! I turn from you, and listen to the wind, [out, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, 1 Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Stormwind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a mountainous country. |