ROMANCE. ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing, Hath been-a most familiar bird- Of late, eternal Condor years FAIRY LAND. DIM vales and shadowy floods- Whose forms we can't discover Every moment of the night- And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces. About twelve by the moon-dial One more filmy than the rest (A kind which, upon trial, They have found to be the best) Comes down-still down-and down Of a mountain's eminence, In easy drapery falls Wherever they may be― O'er the strange woods-o'er the ses- Over spirits on the wing- And then, how deep!-O, deep! With the tempests as they tos, They use that moon no more Which I think extravagant: Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies, THE LAKE-TO In spring of youth it was my lot Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, But when the Night had thrown her pall Then-an then I would awake Yet that terror was not fright, Could teach or bribe me to define Nor Love-although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining— Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake. SONG. I SAW thee on thy bridal day- The world all love before thee: And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see. That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame- Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush would come o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee. |