LOVE AND POLITICS.

A BIRTH-DAY MEDITATION.

ANOTHER year! alas, how swift,

ALINDA, do these years flit by,

Like shadows thrown by clouds that drift
In flakes along a wintry sky.
Another year! another leaf

Is turn'd within life's volume brief,
And yet not one bright page appears
Of mine within that book of years.

There are some moments when I feel
As if it should not yet be so;
As if the years that from me steal

Had not a right alike to go,
And lose themselves in Time's dark sea,
Unbuoy'd up by aught from me;
Aught that the future yet might claim
To rescue from their wreck a name.

But it was love that taught me rhyme,
And it was thou that taught me love;
And if I in this idle chime

Of words a useless sluggard prove,
It was thine eyes the habit nurs❜d,
And in their light I learn'd it first.
It is thine eyes which, day by day,
Consume my time and heart away.

And often bitter thoughts arise

Of what I've lost in loving thee,
And in my breast my spirit dies,

The gloomy cloud around to see,
Of baffled hopes and ruined powers
Of mind, and miserable hours-
Of self-upbraiding, and despair-
Of heart, too strong and fierce to bear.

"Why, what a peasant slave am I,"

To bow my mind and bend my knee To woman in idolatry,

Who takes no thought of mine or me.
O, GOD! that I could breathe my life
On battle-plain in charging strife-
In one mad impulse pour my soul
Far beyond passion's base control.

Thus do my jarring thoughts revolve
Their gather'd causes of offence,
Until I in my heart resolve

To dash thine angel image thence;
When some bright look, some accent kind,
Comes freshly in my heated mind,
And scares, like newly-flushing day,
These brooding thoughts like owls away.

And then for hours and hours I muse

On things that might, yet will not be, Till, one by one, my feelings lose

Their passionate intensity,
And steal away in visions soft,

Which on wild wing those feelings waft
Far, far beyond the drear domain
Of Reason and her freezing reign.

And now again from their gay track

I call, as I despondent sit,
Once more these truant fancies back,
Which round my brain so idly flit;
And some I treasure, some I blush
To own-and these I try to crush-
And some, too wild for reason's reign,
I loose in idle rhyme again.

And even thus my moments fly,
And even thus my hours decay,
And even thus my years slip by,

My life itself is wiled away;
But distant still the mounting hope,
The burning wish with men to cope
In aught that minds of iron mould
May do or dare for fame or gold.
Another year! another year,

ALINDA, it shall not be so;
Both love and lays forswear I here,
As I've forsworn thee long ago.
That name, which thou wouldst never share,
Proudly shall Fame emblazon where

On pumps and corners posters stick it,
The highest on the JACKSON ticket.

WHAT IS SOLITUDE?

Nor in the shadowy wood,

Not in the crag-hung glen, Not where the echoes brood

In caves untrod by men;
Not by the bleak sea-shore,

Where loitering surges break,
Not on the mountain hoar,
Not by the breezeless lake,
Not on the desert plain,

Where man hath never stood,
Whether on isle or main-
Not there is solitude!
Birds are in woodland bowers,
Voices in lonely dells,
Streams to the listening hours

Talk in earth's secret cells;
Over the gray-ribb'd sand

Breathe ocean's frothing lips, Over the still lake's strand

The flower toward it dips; Pluming the mountain's crest, Life tosses in its pines; Coursing the desert's breast,

Life in the steed's mane shines. Leave-if thou wouldst be lonely

Leave Nature for the crowd; Seek there for one-one onlyWith kindred mind endow'd! There-as with Nature erst Closely thou wouldst communeThe deep soul-music, nursed In either heart, attune! Heart-wearied, thou wilt own,

Vainly that phantom woo'd, That thou at last hast known What is true solitude!

THE STUDENT'S SONG. THOUGHTS-wild thoughts! O, why will ye wander, Wander away from the task that's before ye? Heart-weak heart! O, why art thou fonder, Fonder of her than ever of glory? What though the laurel for thee hath no glitter; What though thy soul never yearn'd for a name: When did Love garland a brow that was fitter

To wake in Love's bosom the wild wish of fame? Doth she not watch o'er thine every endeavour? Leans not her heart in warm faith on thine own? If thou sit doubting and dreaming forever,

Too late thou 'It discover that her dream is flown! Ay! though each thought that is tender and glowing Hath yet no errand, save only to herShe may forget thee, while Time is thus flowing; Thou waste thy worship-fond idolater!

WITHERING-WITHERING.

WITHERING-withering-all are withering-
All of Hope's flowers that youth hath nursed-
Flowers of Love too early blossoming;

Buds of Ambition too frail to burst.
Faintily-faintily-O! how faintily
I feel life's pulses ebb and flow:
Yet, Sorrow, I know thou dealest daintily

With one who should not wish to live moe.
Nay! why, young heart, thus timidly shrinking?
Why doth thy upward wing thus tire?
Why are thy pinions so droopingly sinking,
When they should only waft thee higher?
Upward-upward let them be waving,

Lifting thy soul toward her place of birth. There are guerdons there more worth thy havingFar more than any these lures of the earth.

INSCRIPTION FOR A LADY'S FLORA. BRIGHT as the dew, on early buds that glistens, Sparkle each hope upon thy flower-strewn path; Gay as a bird to its new mate that listens,

Be to thy soul each winged joy it hath; Thy lot still lead through ever-blooming bowers, And Time forever talk to thee in flowers. Adored in youth, while yet the summer roses

Of glowing girlhood bloom upon thy cheek, And, loved not less when fading, there reposes The lily, that of spring-time past doth speak. Never from Life's garden to be rudely riven, But softly stolen away from earth to heaven.

I DO NOT LOVE THEE.

I no not love thee-by my word I do not!
I do not love thee-for thy love I sue not!
And yet, I fear, there's hardly one that weareth
Thy beauty's chains, who like me for thee careth:
Who joys like me when in thy joy believing—
Who, like me, grieves when thou dost seem but
grieving.

But, though I charms so perilous eschew not,
I do not love thee-trust me that I do not!

I do not love thee!-prithee why so coy, then?
Doth it thy maiden bashfulness annoy, then;
Sith the heart's homage still will be up-welling,
Where truth and goodness have so sweet a dwelling?
Surely, unjust one, I were less than mortal,
Knelt I not thus before that temple's portal?
Others dare to love thee--dare what I do not-
Then O! let me worship, bright one, while I woo
not!

"TRUST IN THEE."

"TRUST in thee?" Ay, dearest! there's no one but must,

Unless truth be a fable, in such as thee trust! For who can see heaven's own hue in those eyes, And doubt that truth with it came down from the skies; [young light, While each thought of thy bosom, like morning's Almost ere 'tis born, flashes there on his sight?

"Trust in thee?" Why, bright one, thou couldst

not betray,

While thy heart and thine eyes are forever at play!
And he who unloving can study the one,
Is so certain to be by the other undone,
That if he cares aught for his quiet, he must,
Like me, sweetest MARY, in both of them trust.

I KNOW THOU DOST LOVE ME.

I KNOW thou dost love me-ay! frown as thou wilt, And curl that beautiful lip,

Which I never can gaze on without the guilt

Of burning its dew to sip.

I know that my heart is reflected in thine,
And, like flowers that over a brook incline,

They toward each other dip.

Though thou lookest so cold in these halls of light,
Mid the careless, proud, and gay,

I will steal, like a thief, in thy heart at night,
And pilfer its thoughts away.

I will come in thy dreams at the midnight hour,
And thy soul in secret shall own the power
It dares to mock by day.

ΤΟ

I KNEW not how I loved thee--no!
I knew it not till all was o'er-
Until thy lips had told me so-

Had told me I must love no more!

I knew not how I loved thee!--yet
I long had loved thee wildly well;

I thought 't were easy to forget-

I thought a word would break the spell:
And even when that word was spoken,
Ay! even till the very last,

I thought, that spell of faith once broken,
I could not long lament the past.
O, foolish heart! O, feeble brain,

That love could thus deceive--subdue!

Since hope cannot revive again,

Why cannot memory perish too?

INDIAN SUMMER, 1828.

LIGHT as love's smiles, the silvery mist at morn Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river; The blue bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne, As high in air he carols, faintly quiver; The weeping birch, like banners idly waving, Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving; Beaded with dew, the witch-elm's tassels shiver; The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping, And from the springy spray the squirrel's gayly leaping.

I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery ere The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes That richly deck the slow-declining year; I love the splendour of thy sunset skies, The gorgeous hues that tinge each failing leaf, Lovely as beauty's cheek, as woman's love too, I love the note of each wild bird that flies, [brief; As on the wind he pours his parting lay, And wings his loitering flight to summer climes away.

O, Nature! still I fondly turn to thee,

With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were ;Though wild and passion-toss'd my youth may be, Toward thee I still the same devotion bear; To thee-to thee-though health and hope no more Life's wasted verdure may to me restoreI still can, child-like, come as when in prayer I bow'd my head upon a mother's knee, And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity.

TOWN REPININGS.

RIVER! O, river! thou rovest free,
From the mountain height to the fresh blue sea!
Free thyself, but with silver chain,
Linking each charm of land and main,
From the splinter'd crag thou leap'st below,
Through leafy glades at will to flow-
Lingering now, by the steep's moss'd edge-
Loitering now mid the dallying sedge:
And pausing ever, to call thy waves
From grassy meadows and fern-clad caves—
And then, with a prouder tide to break
From wooded valley, to breezy lake:
Yet all of these scenes, though fair they be,
River! O, river! are bann'd to me.

River! O, river! upon thy tide
Full many a freighted bark doth glide;
Would that thou thus couldst bear away
The thoughts that burthen my weary day!
Or that I, from all save them made free,
Though laden still, might rove with thee!
True that thy waves brief lifetime find,
And live at the will of the wanton wind-
True that thou seekest the ocean's flow,
To be lost therein for evermoe.
Yet the slave who worships at Glory's shrine,
But toils for a bubble as frail as thine:

But loses his freedom here, to be
Forgotten as soon as in death set free.

On the heart that for thee such devotion hath nursed:
To thee its best feelings were trusted away,
And life hath hereafter not one to betray.

Yet not in resentment thy love I resign;

I blame not-upbraid not-one motive of thine;
I ask not what change has come over thy heart,
I reck not what chances have doom'd us to part;
I but know thou hast told me to love thee no more,
And I still must obey where I once did adore.

Farewell, then, thou loved one-O! loved but too well,

Too deeply, too blindly, for language to tellFarewell! thou hast trampled love's faith in the dust, Thou hast torn from my bosom its hope and its trust! Yet, if thy life's current with bliss it would swell, I would pour out my own in this last fond farewell!

I WILL LOVE HER NO MORE.

I WILL love her no more -'t is a waste of the heart,
This lavish of feeling-a prodigal's part:
Who, heedless the treasure a life could not earn,
Squanders forth where he vainly may look for return.

I will love her no more; it is folly to give
Our best years to one, when for many we live.
And he who the world will thus barter for one,
I ween by such traffic must soon be undone.
I will love her no more; it is heathenish thus
To bow to an idol which bends not to us;
Which heeds not, which hears not, which recks

not for aught

That the worship of years to its altar hath brought.

I will love her no more; for no love is without
Its limit in measure, and mine hath run out;
She engrosseth it all, and, till some she restore,
Than this moment I love her, how can I love more?

BOAT-SONG.

WE court no gale with wooing sail,
We fear no squall a-brewing;
Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff,
Alike our course pursuing.

For what to us are winds, when thus

Our merry boat is flying,
While, bold and free, with jocund glee,
Stout hearts her oars are plying!

At twilight dun, when red the sun
Far o'er the water flashes,
With buoyant song, our bark along

His crimson pathway dashes.

And when the night devours the light,
And shadows thicken o'er us,

The stars steal out, the skies about,
To dance to our bold chorus.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke,

And light around creation flow'd.
The glad earth smiled to see the day,
The first-born day, come blushing in;
The young day smiled to shed its ray
Upon a world untouch'd by sin.

"Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The GoD who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth,

And shed the gospel's light abroad,
And, like the dawn, its cheering rays
On rich and poor were meant to fall,
Inspiring their Redeemer's praise,
In lowly cot and lordly hall.

Then come, when in the orient first

Flushes the signal-light for prayer; Come with the earliest beams that burst

From Gon's bright throne of glory there. Come kneel to Him who through the night Hath watch'd above thy sleeping soul, To Him whose mercies, like his light, Are shed abroad from pole to pole.

THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS

MISTRESS.

WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue,

And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay,

As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play

Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride.

Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm gleams [meet.

Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep.

THY NAME.

Ir comes to me when healths go round,
And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing
The flowers of wit, with music wound,

Are freshly from the goblet breathing;
From sparkling song and sally gay
It comes to steal my heart away,
And fill my soul, mid festal glee,
With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee.
It comes to me upon the mart,

Where care in jostling crowds is rife ;
Where Avarice goads the sordid heart,

Or cold Ambition prompts the strife;
It comes to whisper, if I'm there,
"Tis but with thee each prize to share,
For Fame were not success to me,
Nor riches wealth unshared with thee.

It comes to me when smiles are bright
On gentle lips that murmur round me,
And kindling glances flash delight

In eyes whose spell would once have bound me. It comes--but comes to bring alone

Remembrance of some look or tone,
Dearer than aught I hear or see,

Because 't was born or breathed by thee.

It comes to me where cloister'd boughs
Their shadows cast upon the sod;
A while in Nature's fane my vows

Are lifted from her shrine to God;
It comes to tell that all of worth
I dream in heaven or know on earth,
However bright or dear it be,
Is blended with my thought of thee.

ROSALIE CLARE.

WHO Owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield;

For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare
The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE CLARE.
When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board
Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is
pour'd,

And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup,
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there,
Or is whisper'd more warmly, than RoSALIE CLARE?
They may talk of the land of the olive and vine,
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine;
Of the houris that gladden the East with their
smiles,
[isles;
Where the sea's studded over with green summer
But what flower of far-away clime can compare
With the blossom of ours-bright ROSALIE CLARE?
Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair?
Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE!
Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form,
And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm,
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air
Than that which is bless'd by sweet ROSALIECLARE.

THINK OF ME, DEAREST.

THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking
Away from the sable chains of night,
When the sun, his ocean-couch forsaking,
Like a giant first in his strength awaking,

Is flinging abroad his limbs of light;
As the breeze that first travels with morning forth,
Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth--
As the dream that has cheated my soul through the
night,

Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light.

Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking
In the soft embrace of twilight gray,
When the starry eyes of heaven are winking,
And the weary flowers their tears are drinking,

As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray.
Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve,
As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave,
When they, blushing, tremble along the deep,
While stealing away to their place of sleep.

Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling

Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee; When words are winning and looks are wiling, And those words and looks, of others, beguiling Thy fluttering heart from love and me. Let me come true in thy thoughts in that hour; Let my trust and my faith-my devotion--have power,

When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest.

WE PARTED IN SADNESS.

WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more.

Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles

One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,

Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board

Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical

power,

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that

hour.

FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,

And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,

The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole.

The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When Jove himself added a handful of hail.