The Subterranean Stream.

And we will dream it is thy joy we hear,

When life's young music, ringing far and clear,
O'erflows the sky.

No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours-
Thou art for converse with all glorious powers,
Never to die!

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THE SUBTERRANEAN STREAM.

"Thou stream,

Whose source is inaccessibly profound,

Whither do thy mysterious waters tend?
-Thou imagest my life."

ARKLY thou glidest onward,

DA

Thou deep and hidden wave!

The laughing sunshine hath not looked
Into thy secret cave.

Thy current makes no music-
A hollow sound we hear,

A muffled voice of mystery,
And know that thou art near.

No brighter line of verdure
Follows thy lonely way;
No fairy moss, or lily's cup,
Is freshened by thy play.

The halcyon doth not seek thee,
Her glorious wings to lave;

Thou know'st no tint of the summer sky,
Thou dark and hidden wave!

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The Subterranean Stream.

Yet once will day behold thee,
When to the mighty sea,

Fresh bursting from their caverned veins,
Leap thy lone waters free.

There wilt thou greet the sunshine
For a moment, and be lost,
With all thy melancholy sounds,
In the ocean's billowy host.

Oh! art thou not, dark river!
Like the fearful thoughts untold
Which haply, in the hush of night,
O'er many a soul have rolled?

Those earth-born strange misgivings-
Who hath not felt their power?

Yet who hath breathed them to his friend,
E'en in his fondest hour?

They hold no heart-communion,
They find no voice in song,
They dimly follow far from earth
The grave's departed throng.

Wild is their course and lonely,
And fruitless in man's breast;
They come and go, and leave no trace
Of their mysterious guest.

Yet surely must their wanderings
At length be like thy wave;
Their shadows as thy waters, lost
In one bright flood of day!

Tasso and his Sister.

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TASSO AND HIS SISTER

"Devant vous est Sorrente; la demeuroit la sœur de Tasse, quand il vint en pelerin demander a cette obscure amie un asyle contre l'injustice des princes.-Ses longues douleurs avaient presque egare sa raison; il ne lui restoit plus que son genie."-Corinne.

HE sat, where on each wind that sighed

S1

The citron's breath went by,

While the red gold of eventide

Burned in the Italian sky.

Her bower was one where daylight's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,
As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.

But still and thoughtful at her knee
Her children stood that hour,
Their bursts of song and dancing glee
Hushed as by words of power.

With bright fixed wondering eyes, that gazed
Up to their mother's face,

With brows through parted ringlets raised,

They stood in silent grace.

While she-yet something o'er her look

Of mournfulness was spread

Forth from a poet's magic book
The glorious numbers read;

The proud undying lay, which poured

Its light on evil years;

His of the gifted pen and sword,

The triumph, and the tears.

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Tasso and his Sister.

She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas at night
By many a gondolier:

Of him she read, who broke the charm
That wrapt the myrtle grove;

Of Godfrey's deeds, of Tancred's arm,
That slew his Paynim love.

Young cheeks around that bright page glowed,

Young holy hearts were stirred;

And the meek tears of woman flowed

Fast o'er each burning word.

And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,
Came sweet each pause between,
When a strange voice of sudden grief
Burst on the gentle scene.

The mother turned-a way-worn man,
In pilgrim garb, stood nigh,
Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,
Of proud yet mournful eye.

But drops which would not stay for pride
From that dark eye gushed free,
As, pressing his pale brow, he cried,
"Forgotten! e'en by thee!

"Am I so changed?—and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have played;
This brow hath been all bathed in dew

From wreaths which thou hast made;
We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain;

My soul is dim with clouds of care-
Tell me those words again!

Let her Depart.

"Life hath been heavy on my head-
I come a stricken deer,

Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here."

She gazed, till thoughts that long had slept

Her brother's name!-and who was he,
The weary one, th' unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,
A stranger to his own?

He was the bard of gifts divine
To sway the souls of men;
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!

H

LET HER DEPART.

ER home is far, oh! far away!
The clear light in her eyes

Hath naught to do with earthly day—
'Tis kindled from the skies.

Let her depart!

She looks upon the things of earth,

Even as some gentle star

Seems gazing down on grief or mirth,

How softly, yet how far!

Let her depart!

333