To thee the laurels belong,

Best bard, because the wisest ! Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above

With thy burning measures suit— Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy luteWell may the stars be mute!

Yes, heaven is thine; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely-flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

HERE are some qualities-some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made

A type of that twin entity which springs

From matter and light, evinc'd in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence-sea and shore

Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore,

:

Render him terrorless his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)

Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!

HOU wouldst be loved?-then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,

Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love a simple duty.

How many

memories of what radiant hours

At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss!

How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is

No more—no more upon thy verdant slopes!

No more! alas, that magical sad sound

Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more— Thy memory no more! Accursed ground!

Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,

O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!

"Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"

BRIDAL BALLAD.

HE ring is on my hand,

And the wreath is on my brow;

Satins and jewels grand

Are all at my command,

And I am happy now.

And my lord he loves me well;

But, when first he breathed his vow,

I felt my bosom swell—

For the words rang as a knell,

And the voice seemed his who fell

In the battle down the dell,

And who is happy now.

But he spoke to reassure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"

And thus the words were spoken, And thus the plighted vow; And though my faith be broken, And though my heart be broken, Behold the golden token

That proves me happy now!

Would God I could awaken !

For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken. Lest an evil step be taken,Lest the dead who is forsaken

May not be happy now.