VI. I love snow, and all the forms Of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds, and storms, Every thing almost Which is Nature's, and may be Untainted by man's misery. VII. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. VIII. I love Love- though he has wings, And like light can flee, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee Thou art love and life! Oh, come, Make once more my heart thy home. HE flower that smiles to-day All that we wish to stay What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, II. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Which ours we call. III. Whilst skies are blue and bright, Whilst eyes that change ere night Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Stanza' IF I walk in Autumn's even If I look heaven, on Spring's soft Something is not there which was. Summer's clouds, where are they now? 'Perhaps in continuation of "To-morrow."— ED. Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon HAT! alive and so bold, oh earth! Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starry fold? Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, How! is not thy quick heart cold? Thou wert warming thy fingers old Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled — What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead? "Who has known me of old," replied Earth, "Or who has my story told? It is thou who art overbold." And the lightning of scorn laughed forth my bosom I fold As she "To sung, All my sons when their knell is knolled, And so with living motion all are fed, And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead. "Still alive and still bold," shouted Earth, I grow bolder and still more bold. The dead fill me ten thousandfold Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth. I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold, Like a frozen chaos uprolled, Till by the spirit of the mighty dead My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed. |