A little earth for him

Whose banner flew so far!
And a peasant's tale could dim

The name, a nation's star!

One deep voice thus arose

From a heart which wrongs had riven:
Oh! who shall number those

That were but heard in heaven?

LYRICS.

SONGS OF A GUARDIAN SPIRIT.

I-NEAR THEE, STILL NEAR THEE !*

NEAR thee, still near thee!-o'er thy pathway gliding,
Unseen I pass thee with the wind's low sigh;
Life's veil enfold's thee still, our eyes dividing,
Yet viewless love floats round thee silently!
Not 'midst the festal throng,

In halls of mirth and song;
But when thy thoughts are deepest,
When holy tears thou weepest,

Know then that love is nigh!

When the night's whisper o'er thy harp-strings creeping, Or the sea-music on the sounding shore,

Or breezy anthems through the forest sweeping,

Shall move thy trembling spirit to adore;

When every thought and prayer

We loved to breathe and share,

On thy full heart returning,

Shall wake its voiceless yearning;

Then feel me near once more!

Near thee, still near thee!-trust thy soul's deep dreaming -Oh! love is not an earthly rose to die!

Even when I soar where fiery stars are beaming,

Thine image wanders with me through the sky.

The fields of air are free

Yet lonely, wanting thee;
But when thy chains are falling,

When heaven its own is calling,

Know then thy guide is nigh!

*This piece has been set to music of most impressive beauty by John Lodge, Esq., for whose compositions several of the author's songs were written.

SONGS OF A GUARDIAN SPIRIT.

11.-OH! DROOP THOU NOT

"They sin who tell us love can die
With life all other passions fly ;
All others are but vanity.

In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell.

Earthly these passions, as of earth

They perish where they drew their birth.
But love is indestructible!

Its holy flame for ever burneth ;

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth."

GH! droop thou not, my gentle earthly love!
Mine still to be!

I bore through death, to brighter lands above
My thoughts of thee.

Yes! the deep memory of our holy tears,
Our mingled prayer,

Southey

Our suffering love, through long devoted years,
Went with me there.

It was not vain, the hallow'd and the tried---
It was not vain!

Still, though unseen, still hovering at thy side,
I watch again!

From our own paths, our love's attesting bowers,
I am not gone;

In the deep calm of Midnight's whispering hours,
Thou art not lone:

Not lone, when by the haunted stream thou weepest,
That stream whose tone

Murmurs of thoughts, the richest and the deepest,
We two have known :

Not lone, when mournfully some strain awaking
Of days long past,

From thy soft eyes the sudden tears are breaking,
Silent and fast:

Not lone, when upwards, in fond visions turning
Thy dreamy glance,

Thou seek'st my home, where solemn stars are burning,
O'er night's expanse.

My home is near thee, loved one! and around thee,

Where'er thou art ;

Though still mortality's thick cloud hath bound thee,
Doubt not thy heart!

Hear its low voice, not deem thyself forsaken

Let faith be given

To the still tones which oft our being waken-
They are of heaven!

377

MIGNON'S SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM GOETHE

["Mignon, a young and enthusiastic girl, (the character in one of Goethe's romances, from which Sir Walter Scott's Fenella is partially imitated,) has been stolen away in early childhood, from Italy. Her vague recollections of that land, and of her early home, with its graceful sculptures and pictured saloons, are perpetually haunting her, and at times break forth into the following song The original has been set to exquisite music, by Zelter, the friend of Goethe."]

"Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluhn ?"

KNOW'ST thou the land where bloom the citron bowers,
Where the gold-orange lights the dusky grove?
High waves the laurel there, the myrtle flowers,

And through a still blue heaven the sweet winds rove.
Know'st thou it well?

-There, there, with thee,
O friend! O loved one! fain my steps would flee.

Know'st thou the dwelling?-there the pillars rise,
Soft shines the hall, the painted chambers glow;
And forms of marble seem with pitying eyes

To say "Poor child! what thus hath wrought thee woe?"
Know'st thou it well?

There, there with thee,

O my protector! homewards might I flee!

Know'st thou the mountain ?-high its bridge is hung,
Where the mule seeks through mist and cloud his way;
There lurk the dragon-race, deep caves among,

O'er beetling rocks there foams the torrent spray.
Know'st thou it well?

With thee, with thee,
There lies my path, O father! let us flee!

THE SISTERS.*

A BALLAD.

"I go, sweet sister; yet my heart would linger with thee fain, And unto every parting gift some deep remembrance chain: Take then the braid of Eastern pearls which once I loved to

wear,

And with it bind for festal scenes the dark waves of thy hair! Its pale pure brightness will beseem those raven tresses well, And I shall need such pomp no more in my lone convent cell.”

*This ballad was composed for a kind of dramatic recitative, relieved by music. It was thus performed by two graceful and highly accomplished sisters.

---:འཀ

THE SISTERS.

379

"Oh, speak not thus, my Leonor! why part from kindred love? Through festive scenes, when thou art gone-my steps no inore shall move!

How could I bear a lonely heart amid a reckless throng?

I should but miss earth's dearest voice in every tone of song;
Keep, keep the braid of Eastern pearls, or let me proudly twine
Its wreath once more around that brow, that queenly brow of
thine."

r

Oh, would'st thou strive a wounded bird from shelter to de-
tain?

Or would'st thou call a spirit freed, to weary life again ?—
Sweet sister, take the golden cross that I have worn so long,
And bathed with many a burning tear for secret woe and

wrong.

It could not still my beating heart! but may it be a sign

Of peace and hope, my gentle one! when meekly press'd to thine!"

Take back, take back the cross of gold, our mother's gift to thee,

It would but of this parting hour, a bitter token be ;

With funeral splendor to mine eye, it would but sadly shine,
And tell of early treasures lost, of joy no longer mine!

Oh sister! if thy heart be thus with buried grief oppress'd,
Where would'st thou pour it forth so well, as on my faithful
breast?"

Urge me no more! a blight hath fallen upon my summer
years!

I should but darken thy young life with fruitless pangs and fears;
But take at least the lute I loved, and guard it for my sake,
And sometimes from its silvery strings one tone of memory

wake!

[hymn, Sing to those chords by starlight's gleam our own sweet vesper And think that I too chant it then, far in my cloister dim.”

Yes, I will take the silvery lute-and I will sing to thee
A song we heard in childhood's days, even from our father'

knee.

Oh, sister, sister! are these notes amid forgotten things?
Do they not linger as in love, on the familiar strings?

Seems not our sainted mother's voice to murmur in the strain,
K.nd sister! gentlest Leonor! say shall it plead in vain ?”

SONG.

"Leave us not, leave us not!

Say not adieu!

Have we not been to thee

Tender and true?

"Take not thy sunny smile

Far from our hearth!

With that sweet light will fade
Summer and mirth.

"Leave us not, leave us not!
Can thy heart roam?
Wilt thou not pine to hear
Voices from home?

"Too sad our love would be,

If thou wert gone!

Turn to us, leave us not!

Thou art our own!"

"Oh! sister, hush that thrilling lute, oh! cease that haunting

lay, [stay; Too deeply pierce those wild sweet notes-yet, yet I cannot For weary, weary is my heart! I hear a whisper'd call

In every breeze that stirs the leaf and bids the blossom fall.
I cannot breathe in freedom here, my spirit pines to dwell
Where the world's voice can reach no more!-oh calm thee!
Fare thee well!"

THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO.

[Suggested by a beautiful sketch, the design of the younger Westmacott. It represents Sappho sitting on a rock above the sea, with her lyre cast at her feet. Their is a desolate grace about the whole figure, which seems penetrated with the feeling of utter abandonment.]

SOUND on, thou dark unslumbering sea!
My dirge is in thy moan;

My spirit finds response in thee,

To its own ceaseless cry-" Alone, alone!"

Yet send me back one other word,

Ye tones that never cease!

Oh! let your secret caves be stirr'd,

And say, dark waters! will ye give me peace?

Away! my weary soul hath sought
In vain one echoing sigh,

One answer to consuming thought
In human hearts-and will the wave reply?
Sound on, thou dark unslumbering sca!
Sound in thy scorn and pride!

I ask not, alien world, from thee,

What my own kindred earth hath still denied.

And yet I loved that earth so well,

With all its lovely things?

-Was it for this the death wind fell

On my rich lyre, and quench'd its living strings?

-Let them lie silent at my feet!
Since broken even as they,

The heart whose music made them sweet,
Hath pour'd on desert-sands its wealth away

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