I and one other with me loiter'd yet By a lone staircase window, that o'erlook'd And the swift moonlight on those waters swift; But chief three planets look'd into our souls A strange and dream-like scene. The same thought rush'd upon us Yes, soon we spake; - let the world Change like those changing waters evermore, And spend itself in moans or reckless smiles, - Still stretches o'er us the blue sky, and thence The silver beauty of true heart affection. And like clear village bells at eventide 1845. ON AN AIR OF NOVELLO'S,-AVE VERUM. COMES it to thee with a sound of joy, Glad-hearted sister mine? Like the reckless bound of the mountain boy, Or his mirthsome eye divine? Oh, list again it has sorrowful deeps Thou hast not fathom'd yet; 'Tis a loving passionate heart that weeps Tears, none who shed forget. It speaketh of life, of beautiful life, A tissue strange and fair, Yet enwoven with threads of tenderest grief, And dark shades here and there. Speaks it of hope? yes, hope in tears, From some far distant shore; Music that steals from the nightly spheres, Yet sounding, sounds no more. Watton, 1845. 'Twas the twilight dawn at break of day, And the mists swept over the mountains gray. They flitted across like living things, Reckless wanderers they. Is there a path on those towers of air? 'Mid ice and cloud a pathway there? Wild are the rocks and interwoven, But betwixt them a path is dimly cloven. And a spear that glances like light through gloom. 'Tis a dashing steed of taintless white: 'Tis a rider's cry- an armed knight. Now high on the crag; now deep in the mist, |