One of so perfect form, and finished grace, Sent her in kindness, that our hearts might waken By such an adoration from a dark And grovelling world. Such beauty should be worshipped, And not a thought of weakness or decay Should mingle with the pure and hallowed dreams, And lose one tint of its now perfect brightness, THE VENETIAN GONDOLIER. Here rest the weary oar!-soft airs Where the tall fir in quiet stands, And waves, embracing the chaste shores, Move o'er sea-shells and bright sands,~ Swift o'er the wave the light bark springs, Love's midnight hour draws lingering near: And list!-his tuneful viol strings The young Venetian Gondolier. Lo! on the silver-mirrored deep, On earth, and her embosomed lakes, And where the silent rivers sweepFrom the thin cloud fair moonlight breaks. Soft music breaths around, and dies At their dim altars bow fair forms, The bell swings to its midnight chime, EUTHANASIA. My hour has come, I lay me down The angry forms of earth are fled, For me no golden beams are shed, One sense remains. I feel a hand If it be thine, my gentle bride! I asked of God an easy death, A little throbbing of my heart If thus life's links are rent apart I deemed of tortures in death's hour, Of fevered brain and limb, And of unearthly forms that lower, My dreams in death have other mould, Are with me-not the beaten gold I'm sinking as a bird on wing I come the scene is closed below, A SONG OVER THE GRAVE OF A LOVER. Aye, flowers may glow In new born beauty, and the rosy spring Of flowers in freshest infancy I wreathe, Their transient life of fragrancy to breathe And I have sought The lowly violet, that in shade appears, And rosebuds too, Crimson as young Aurora's blush, or white And flowers, that close Their buds beneath the sun, but pure and pale The fragrant leaves Of the white lily too with these I twine- There will be none To deck thy grave with flowers, and chant for thee These snatches of remembered melody, When I am gone. But thou shalt have A gift more precious than the buds I fling→ Upon thy grave. |