To honor thine abandoned Urn? No, no it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, 'Tis meet that I remember still.

For well I know, that such had been

Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene, Where none regarded him, but thou: And, oh! I feel in that was given

A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of heaven, For earthly Love to merit thee.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
[Hebrew Melodies.]

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes, and starry skies:
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace,

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwellingplace.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

THE HARP THE MONARCH

MINSTREL SWEPT.

THE harp the monarch minstrel swept, The King of men, the loved of Heaven,

Which Music hallowed while she wept O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven !

It softened men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold, That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!

It told the triumphs of our King,
It wafted glory to our God;

It made our gladdened valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to heaven and
there abode !

Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love,
Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can

not remove.

IF THAT HIGH WORLD.

IF that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherished heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres!

How sweet this very hour to die! To soar from earth and find all fears, Lost in thy light - Eternity!

It must be so: 'tis not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that

shares,

With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs.

ON JORDAN'S BANKS.

ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,

On Sion's hill the False One's votaries

pray,

OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN
BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

OH! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender
gloom.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feel deep thought with many a dream,

And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed

the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou - who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wel.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?

It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies displayed,
Shall it survey, shall it recall:
Each fainter trace that memory holds

So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;

And where the furthest heaven had birth,

The spirit trace its rising track, And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks, Fixed in its own eternity.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly;

A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset

were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when
Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered
and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,

But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,

And cold as the spray of the rockbeating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
[Miscellaneous Poems.]

THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay. 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness,

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain

The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the

fountain of our tears,

And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath,

All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.

Oh! could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,

Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

FARE WELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. "Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell! Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.

My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain

I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell!

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted

STANZAS TO AUGUSTA (LORD BYRON'S SISTER).

THOUGH the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover

The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,

It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted

It never hath found but in thee.

Then when nature around me is smiling, The last smile which answers to mine, I do not believe it beguiling,

Because it reminds me of thine; And when winds are at war with the ocean,

As the breasts I believed in with me, If their billows excite an emotion, It is that they bear me from thee.

Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,

And its fragments are sunk in the

wave, Though I feel that my soul is delivered

To pain it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me: They may crush, but they shall not