2 Come not as thou camest of late, On the white day: but robed in soften'd light Whilome thou camest with the morning mist The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight The black earth with brilliance rare. 3 Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Though deep not fathomless, Was cloven with the million stars which tremble For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could dull O strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. 4 Come forth I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! Divinest Memory ! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried : Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side, That stand beside my father's door, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland. Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat When the first matin-song hath waken'd loud What time the amber morn Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 5 Large dowries doth the raptured eye To the young spirit present When first she is wed; And like a bride of old In triumph led, With music and sweet showers Unto the dwelling she must sway. With royal frame-work of wrought gold; Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls For the discovery And newness of thine art so pleased thee, Artist-like, On the prime labour of thine early days: Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, Or even a sand-built ridge Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh, Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretch'd wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bower'd close With plaited alleys of the trailing rose, Of crowned lilies, standing near Purple-spiked lavender : Whither in after life retired From brawling storms, From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, We may hold converse with all forms And those whom passion hath not blinded, My friend, with you to live alone, O strengthen me, enlighten me ! Thou dewy dawn of memory. X SONG 1 A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours For at eventide, listening earnestly, Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 2 The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower XI ADELINE 1 MYSTERY of mysteries, But beyond expression fair Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast 2 Whence that aery bloom of thine, 3 What hope or fear or joy is thine? Do beating hearts of salient springs Hast thou heard the butterflies With what voice the violet woos Hast thou look'd upon the breath Wherefore that faint smile of thine, 4 Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, In love with thee forgets to close And those dew-lit eyes of thine, 5 Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the morn, On thy pillow, lowly bent With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-dropping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays, And ye talk together still, |