For tears must flow to wash away

A thought that shows so stern as this:
Forgive, if somewhile I forget,

In woe to come, the present bliss.

As frighted Proserpine let fall

Her flowers at the sight of Dis,

Ev'n so the dark and bright will kiss.

The sunniest things throw sternest shade,

And there is ev'n a happiness

That makes the heart afraid!

Now let us with a spell invoke

The full-orb'd moon to grieve our eyes; Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud Lapp'd all about her, let her rise

All pale and dim, as if from rest

The ghost of the late buried sun

Had crept into the skies.

The Moon she is the source of sighs,

If but to think in other times

The same calm quiet look she had,

As if the world held nothing base,

Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad;

The same fair light that shone in streams,

The fairy lamp that charm'd the lad ;

For so it is, with spent delights

She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad.

All things are touch'd with Melancholy,

Born of the secret soul's mistrust,

To feel her fair ethereal wings

Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust;

Even the bright extremes of joy

Bring on conclusions of disgust,

Like the sweet blossoms of the May,
Whose fragrance ends in must.

O give her, then, her tribute just,

Her sighs and tears, and musings holy!
There is no music in the life

That sounds with idiot laughter solely;

There's not a string attun'd to mirth,
But has its chord in Melancholy.

I.

WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled !
Hues of all flow'rs that in their ashes lie,
Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed,
Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red,—
Like exhalations from the leafy mould,

Look here how honour glorifies the dead,

And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold !

Such is the memory of poets old,

Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom'd elate;

Now they are laid under their marbles cold,

And turn'd to clay, whereof they were create ;

But God Apollo hath them all enroll❜d,

And blazon'd on the very clouds of fate !

II.

TO FANCY.

MOST delicate Ariel! submissive thing,
Won by the mind's high magic to its hest,--
Invisible embassy, or secret guest,-

Weighing the light air on a lighter wing ;—
Whether into the midnight moon, to bring
Illuminate visions to the eye of rest,-
Or rich romances from the florid West,-
Or to the sea, for mystic whispering,-
Still by thy charm'd allegiance to the will,
The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain,
As by the fingering of fairy skill,—

Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain,
Odours, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile,
Making this dull world an enchanted isle.

III.

TO AN ENTHUSIAST.

YOUNG ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth,
Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind,
And still a large late love of all thy kind,
Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth,-
For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth,

Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind
Thine eyes with tears,—that thou hast not resign'd
The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth:
For as the current of thy life shall flow,
Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stain'd,
Through flow'ry valley or unwholesome fen,
Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe
Thrice cursed of thy race,-thou art ordain'd

To share beyond the lot of common men.