And like the play of words above,
That lily's trembling flower.

WATER-LILIES.

A FAIRY SONG.

COME away, elves! while the dew is sweet,
Come to the dingles where fairies meet;
Know that the lilies have spread their bells
O'er all the pools in our forest dells;
Stilly and lightly their vases rest

On the quivering sleep of the water's breast,
Catching the sunshine through leaves that throw
To their scented bosoms an emerald glow;
And a star from the depth of each pearly cup,
A golden star unto heaven looks up,

As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie,
Set in the blue of the summer sky.

-Come away! under arching boughs we'll float,
Making those urns each a fairy boat;

We'll row them with reeds o'er the fountains free,
And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be,

And we'll send out wild music so sweet and low,
It shall seem from the bright flower's heart to flow,
As if 'twere a breeze with a flute's low sigh,

Or water drops train'd into melody.

-Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong, And the life of the lily may not be long

THE BROKEN FLOWER.

OH! wear it on thy heart, my love!
Still, still a little while!

Sweetness is lingering in its leaves,
Though faded be their smile.

Yet, for the sake of what hath been,

Oh, cast it not away!

"Twas born to grace a summer scene,
A long, bright, golden day,

My love!

A long, bright, golden day!

A little while around thee, love!
Its fragrance yet shall cling,
Telling, that on thy heart hath lain,
A fair, though faded thing.

But not even that warm heart hath power
To win it back from fate :

-Oh! I am like thy broken flower,

Cherish'd too late, too late,

My love!

Cherish'd alas! too late!

I WOULD WE HAD NOT MET AGAIN.-ETC.

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I WOULD WE HAD NOT MET AGAIN.

1 WOULD we had not met again!

I had a dream of thee,

Lovely, though sad, on desert plain,
Mournful on midnight sea.

What though it haunted me by night
And troubled through the day?
It touched all earth with spirit-light,
It glorified my way!

Oh! what shall now my faith restore
In holy things and fair?

We met-I saw thy soul once more-
The world's breath had been there!
Yes! it was sad on desert-plain,
Mournful on midnight sea,

Yet would I buy with life again
That one deep dream of thee!

FAIRIES' RECALL.

WHILE the blue is richest
In the starry sky,
While the softest shadows
On the greensward lie,
While the moonlight slumbers

In the lily's urn,

Bright elves of the wild wood!
Oh! return, return!

Round the forest fountain,
On the river shore,
Let your silvery laughter
Echo yet once more;
While the joyous bounding
Of your dewy feet
Rings to that old chorus:
"The daisy is so sweet!"*

Oberon, Titania,

Did your starlight mirth,
With the song of Avon,

Quit this work-day earth?

Yet while green leaves glisten,
And while bright stars burn,
By that magic memory,
Oh, return, return!'

* See the chorus of Fairies in the Flower and the Leaf" of

Chaucer

THE ROCK BESIDE THE SEA.
OH! tell me not the woods are fair,
Now Spring is on her way;
Well, well I know how brightly there
In joy the young leaves play;
How sweet on winds of morn or eve
The violet's breath may be ;-
Yet ask me, woo me not to leave
My lone rock by the sea.

The wild wave's thunder on the shore,
The curlew's restless cries,
Unto my watching heart are more
Than all earth's melodies.

Come back my ocean rover! come.
There's but one place for me.
Till I can greet thy swift sail home→→→
My lone rock by the sea!

O YE VOICES GONE.

OH! ye voices gone,
Sounds of other years!
Hush that haunting tone,
Melt me not to tears!

All around forget,

All who loved you well.
Yet, sweet voices, yet
O'er my soul ye swell.

With the winds of spring,
With the breath of flowers,
Floating back, ye bring
Thoughts of vanish'd hours.
Hence your music take,
Oh! ye voices gone!
This lone heart ye make

But more deeply lone.

BY A MOUNTAIN STREAM AT REST.

By a mountain stream at rest,

We found the warrior lying,

And around his noble breast
A banner clasp'd in dying:
Dark and still

Was every hill,

And the winds of night were sighing.

IS THERE SOME SPIRIT SIGHING.-ETC.

Last of his noble race

To a lonely bed we bore him;

'Twas a green, still, solemn place,

Where the mountain-heath waves o'er him.
Woods alone

Seem to moan,

Wild streams to deplore him.

Yet, from festive hall and lay

Our sad thoughts oft are flying,
To those dark hills far away,
Where in death we found him lying;
On his breast

A banner press'd,

And the night-wind o'er him sighing.

IS THERE SOME SPIRIT SIGHING.

Is there some spirit sighing
With sorrow in the air,
Can weary hearts be dying,
Vain love repining there?

If not, then how can that wild wail,
O sad Æolian lyre!

Be drawn forth by the wandering gale,
From thy deep thrilling wire?

No, no!-thou dost not borrow
That sadness from the wind,
Nor are those tones of sorrow
In thee, O harp! enshrined;
But in our own hearts deeply set
Lies the true quivering syre,
Whence love, and memory, and regret,
Wake answers from thy wire.

THE NAME OF ENGLAND.

THE trumpet of the battle

Hath a high and thrilling tone;

And the first deep gun of an ocean fight
Dread music all its own.

But a mightier power, my England!
Is in that name of thine,

To strike the fire from every heart
Along the banner'd line."

Proudly it woke the spirits

Of yore, the brave and true,

When the bow was bent on Cressy's field,
And the yeoman's arrow flew.

429

And proudly hath it floated

Through the battles of the sea,

When the red-cross flag o'er smoke wreaths play'd,
Like the lightning in its glee.

On rock, on wave, on bastion,
Its echoes have been known,

By a thousand streams the hearts lie low,
They have answer'd to its tone.

A thousand ancient mountains
Its pealing note hath stirr'd;
-Sound on, and on, for evermore,
O thou victorious word!

OLD NORWAY.

A MOUNTAIN WAR-SONG.

"To a Norwegian the words Gamle Norge (Old Norway) have a spell in them immediate and powerful; they cannot be resisted. Gamle Norgé is heard, in an instant, repeated by every voice; the glasses are filled, raised, and drained; not a drop is left; and then bursts forth the simultaneous chorus For Norge!' the national song of Norway. Here, (at Christiansand,) and in a hundred other instances in Norway, I have seen the character of a company entirely changed by the chance introduction of the expression Gamlé Norge. The gravest discussion is instantly interrupted; and one might suppose for the moment, that the party was a party of patriots assembled to commemorate some national anniversary of freedom."-DERWENT CONWAY's Personal Narrative of a Journey through Norway and Sweden.

The following words were written to the national air, as con tained in the work above cited.]

ARISE! old Norway sends the word
Of battle on the blast;

Her voice the forest pines hath stirr'd,
As if a storm went past;

Her thousand hills the call have heard,
And forth their fire-flags cast.

Arm, arm, free hunters! for the chase,
The kingly chase of foes;

"Tis not the bear or wild wolf's race,
Whose trampling shakes the snows;
Arm, arm! 'tis on a nobler trace
The northern spearman goes.

Our hills have dark and strong defiles,
With many an icy bed;

Heap there the rocks for funeral piles,
Above the invader's head!

Or let the seas, that guard our isles,
Give burial to his dead!