The Swan and the Skylark.
"And fare ye well, young flowers!
Ye will not mourn! ye will shed odour still,
And wave in glory, colouring every rill,
Known to my youth's fresh hours.
"And ye, bright founts! that lie
Far in the whispering forests, lone and deep,
My wing no more shall stir your shadowy sleep-
Sweet waters! I must die.
"Will ye not send one tone
Of sorrow through the pines?—one murmur low?
Shall not the green leaves from your voices know
That I, your child, am gone?
"No! ever glad and free,
Ye have no sounds a tale of death to tell :
Waves, joyous waves! flow on, and fare ye well!
Ye will not mourn for me.
"But thou, sweet boon! too late Poured on my parting breath, vain gift of song! Why com'st thou thus, o'ermastering, rich and strong, In the dark hour of fate?
"Only to wake the sighs
Of echo-voices from their sparry cell;
Only to say-O sunshine and blue skies!
O life and love! farewell."
Thus flowed the death-chant on; while mournfully
Low winds and waves made answer, and the tones
Buried in rocks along the Grecian stream-
Rocks and dim caverns of old Prophecy-
The Swan and the Skylark.
Woke to respond: and all the air was filled
With that one sighing sound-Farewell! farewell!
Filled with that sound? High in the calm blue heaven
Even then a skylark hung; soft summer clouds
Were floating round him, all transpierced with light,
And midst that pearly radiance his dark wings
Quivered with song: such free, triumphant song,
As it tears were not, -as if breaking hearts
Had not a place below; and thus that strain
Spoke to the poet's ear exultingly :-
"The summer is come; she hath said Rejoice!
The wild-woods thrill to her merry voice;
Her sweet breath is wandering around, on high:
Sing, sing through the echoing sky!
"There is joy in the mountains! The bright waves leap Like the bounding stag when he breaks from sleep; Mirthfully, wildly, they flash along—
Let the heavens ring with song!
"There is joy in the forests! The bird of night Hath made the leaves tremble with deep delight; But mine is the glory to sunshine given—
Sing, sing through the echoing heaven!
"Mine are the wings of the soaring morn, Mine are the fresh gales with dayspring born: Only young rapture can mount so high
Sing, sing through the echoing sky!"
So those two voices met; so Joy and Death
Mingled their accents; and, amidst the rush
Of many thoughts, the listening poet cried,——
"Oh! thou art mighty, thou art wonderful,
Mysterious nature! Not in thy free range
Of woods and wilds alone, thou blendest thus
The dirge-note and the song of festival;
But in one heart, one changeful human heart-
Ay, and within one hour of that strange world—
Thou call'st their music forth, with all its tones,
To startle and to pierce!-the dying swan's,
And the glad skylark's—triumph and despair!"
"Music! why thy power employ
Only for the sons of joy?
Only for the smiling guests
At natal or at nuptial feasts?
Rather thy lenient numbers pour
On those whom secret griefs devour;
And with some softly-whispered air
Smooth the brow of dumb despair!"
-WHARTON, from EURIPIDES.
ORING music! stir the brooding air
With an ethereal breath!
Bring sounds, my struggling soul to bear
Up from the couch of death!
A voice, a flute, a dreamy lay,
Such as the southern breeze
Might waft, at golden fall of day,
O'er blue, transparent seas!
Oh, no! not such! That lingering spell
Would lure me back to life,
When my weaned heart had said farewell,
And passed the gates of strife.
Let not a sigh of human love
Blend with the song its tone!
Let no disturbing echo move
One that must die alone!
But pour a solemn breathing strain
Filled with the soul of prayer!
Let a life's conflict, fear, and pain,
And trembling hope, be there.
Deeper, yet deeper! In my thought
Lies more prevailing sound,
A harmony intensely fraught
With pleading more profound:
A passion unto music given,
A sweet yet piercing cry;
A breaking heart's appeal to heaven,
A bright faith's victory!
Deeper! Oh! may no richer power
Be in those notes enshrined?
Can all which crowds on earth's last hour
No fuller language find?
Away! and hush the feeble song,
And let the chord be stilled!
Far in another land ere long
My dream shall be fulfilled.
A Voyager's Dream of Land.
A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND.
"His very heart athirst
To gaze at nature in her green array,
Upon the ship's tall side he stands possessed
With visions prompted by intense desire;
Fair fields appear below, such as he left
Far distant, such as he would die to find:
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more."
HE hollow dash of waves!-the ceaseless roar!-
Silence, ye billows!-vex my soul no more.
There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home,
Afar from the dark sea's tossing foam;
Oh! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear,
As a song from the shore to the sailor's ear!
And the sparkle which up to the sun it throws
Through the feathery fern and the olive boughs,
And the gleam on its path as it steals away
Into deeper shades from the sultry day,
And the large water-lilies that o'er its bed
Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread,
They haunt me! I dream of that bright spring's flow,
I thirst for its rills like a wounded roe!
Be still, thou sea-bird, with thy clanging cry!
My spirit sickens as thy wing sweeps by.
Know ye my home, with the lulling sound
Of leaves from the lime and the chestnut round?
Know ye it, brethren! where bowered it lies
Under the purple of southern skies?
With the streamy gold of the sun that shines
In through the cloud of its clustering vines,
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