Poems, third period | Page 2

with that sweet tone,
Of that fond heart, which, pining silently,
Ne'er ventures to express
its feelings lowly,
The real and modest worth is known to me--

'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy.
Most blest of all, the
meek one's lot shall be--
Love's flowers by love's own hand are
gathered solely-- The fairest prize to that fond heart is due,
That feels
it, and that beats responsive, too!
THE SECRET.
She sought to breathe one word, but vainly;
Too many listeners were
nigh;
And yet my timid glance read plainly
The language of her
speaking eye.
Thy silent glades my footstep presses,
Thou fair and
leaf-embosomed grove!
Conceal within thy green recesses
From
mortal eye our sacred love!
Afar with strange discordant noises,
The busy day is echoing;
And
'mid the hollow hum of voices,
I hear the heavy hammer ring.
'Tis
thus that man, with toil ne'er ending
Extorts from heaven his daily
bread;
Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending
The gifts of fortune on
his head!
Oh, let mankind discover never
How true love fills with bliss our
hearts
They would but crush our joy forever,
For joy to them no
glow imparts.
Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it--
'Tis never
captured save as prey;
Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it,

E'er envy dark asserts her sway.
The hours of night and stillness loving,
It comes upon us silently--

Away with hasty footstep moving
Soon as it sees a treacherous eye.

Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving,
A watery barrier cast

around,
And, with thy waves in anger heaving,
Guard from each foe
this holy ground!
THE ASSIGNATION. [14]
Hear I the creaking gate unclose?
The gleaming latch uplifted?

No--'twas the wind that, whirring, rose,
Amidst the poplars drifted!

Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof,
Destined the bright
one's presence to receive,
For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof
With
holy night, thy boughs familiar weave.
And ye sweet flatteries of the
delicate air,
Awake and sport her rosy cheek around,
When their
light weight the tender feet shall bear,
When beauty comes to
passion's trysting-ground.
Hush! what amidst the copses crept--
So swiftly by me now?

No-'twas the startled bird that swept
The light leaves of the bough!

Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high,
With thy loved
silence, come, thou haunting Eve,
Broaden below thy web of purple
dye,
Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave.
For love's
delight, enduring listeners none,
The froward witness of the light will
flee;
Hesper alone, the rosy silent one,
Down-glancing may our
sweet familiar be!
What murmur in the distance spoke,
And like a whisper died?

No--'twas the swan that gently broke
In rings the silver tide!
Soft to
my ear there comes a music-flow;
In gleesome murmur glides the
waterfall;
To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low;
Through
life goes joy, exchanging joy with all.
Tempt to the touch the
grapes--the blushing fruit, [15] Voluptuous swelling from the leaves
that bide;
And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute
Air sleeps
all liquid in the odor-tide!
Hark! through the alley hear I now
A footfall? Comes the maiden?

No,--'twas the fruit slid from the bough,
With its own richness laden!

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death,
And pale and paler
wane his jocund hues,
The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath,

Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews.
The bright face of the
moon is still and lone,
Melts in vast masses the world silently;

Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone;
And round all
beauty, veilless, roves the eye.
What yonder seems to glimmer?
Her white robe's glancing hues?

No,--'twas the column's shimmer
Athwart the darksome yews!
O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed
Let the sweet airy image
thee befool!
The arms that would embrace her clasp the void
This
feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool,
O, waft her here, the true,
the living one!
Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel--
The
very shadow of her robe alone!--
So into life the idle dream shall
steal!
As glide from heaven, when least we ween,
The rosy hours of bliss,

All gently came the maid, unseen:--
He waked beneath her kiss!
LONGING.
Could I from this valley drear,
Where the mist hangs heavily,
Soar
to some more blissful sphere,
Ah! how happy should I be!
Distant
hills enchant my sight,
Ever young and ever fair;
To those hills I'd
take my flight
Had I wings to scale the air.
Harmonies mine ear assail,
Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm;

And the gently-sighing gale
Greets me with its fragrant balm.

Peeping through the shady bowers,
Golden fruits their charms display.

And those sweetly-blooming flowers
Ne'er become cold winter's
prey.
In you endless sunshine bright,
Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell!

How the breeze on yonder height
Must the heart with rapture swell!


Yet the stream that hems my path
Checks me with its angry frown,

While its waves, in rising wrath,
Weigh my weary spirit down.
See--a bark is drawing near,
But, alas, the pilot fails!
Enter
boldly--wherefore fear?
Inspiration fills its sails,
Faith and courage
make thine own,--
Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand;
'Tis by magic
power alone
Thou canst reach the magic land!
EVENING.
(AFTER A PICTURE.)
Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, Thirsting for
freshening dew, and man is pining;