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Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice ;-
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
[Earl Henry retires into the wood.] Sandoval [alone]. O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great
By thine own act—yet art thou never great
The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
As though they were the pillars of a temple,
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOM, THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high
Soon on this unsheltered walk
Flung to fade, to rot and die.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE.
MAIDEN, that with sullen brow
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Soft the glances of the youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh;
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
With a musing melancholy
Inly armed, go, Maiden! go.
Mother sage of self-dominion,
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
While she moults the firstling plumes,
Soon with renovated wing
Shall she dare a loftier flight,
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM.
NOR cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint; But when the long-breathed singer's uptrilled strain
Bursts in a squall-they gape for wonderment.
Hark! the deep buzz of vanity and hate!
While the pert captain, or the primmer priest,
O give me, from this heartless scene released,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wrecked sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice re-measures