THE SHADOW OF A FLOWER. 'Twas a dream of olden days, That Art, by some strange power That a shadow of the rose, By its own meek beauty bow'd, Or the hyacinth, to grace, For the glory of the bloom That a flush around it shed, Nought but the dim faint line To speak of vanish'd hours- -Shadows of buried flowers! 179 LINES TO A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SKULL. CREATURE of air and light! Emblem of that which will not fade or die! Wilt thou not speed thy flight, To chase the south wind through the glowing sky? What lures thee thus to stay With silence and decay, Fix'd on the wreck of cold mortality? The thoughts once chamber'd there, Have gather'd up their treasures and are gone ;Will the dust tell thee where That which hath burst the prison-house is flown? Rise, nursling of the day! If thou would'st trace its way Earth has no voice to make the secret known. Who seeks the vanish'd bird Take the bright wings of morn! THE BELL AT SEA. The dangerous islet called the Bell Rock, on the coast of Fife, used formerly to be marked only by a bell, which was so placed as to be swung by the motion of the waves, when the tide rose above the rock. A lighthouse has since been erected there. WHEN the tide's billowy swell Had reach'd its height, Then toll'd the rock's lone bell, DARKLY thou glidest onward, The laughing sunshine hath not look'd Into thy secret cave. Thy current makes no music- A muffled voice of mystery, VOL. VI.. 16 No brighter line of verdure The halcyon doth not seek thee, Thou know'st no tint of the summer sky, Thou dark and hidden wave! Yet once will day behold thee, Fresh bursting from their cavern'd veins, Leap thy lone waters free. There wilt thou greet the sunshine Oh! art thou not, dark river, Like the fearful thoughts untold, Those earth-born strange misgivings- They hold no heart communion, The grave's departed throng. THE SILENT MULTITUDE. Wild is their course, and lonely, And fruitless in man's breast; They come and go, and leave no trace Yet surely must their wanderings, THE SILENT MULTITUDE. "For we are many in our solitudes." A MIGHTY and a mingled throng Lament of Tasso The dwellers of a thousand homes- The soldier and his chief were there- The friends, the sisters of one hearth- There lovers met, between whose lives After that heart-sick hope deferr'd- You might have heard the rustling leaf, The shiver of an insect's wing, On that thick-peopled ground. 183 |