XXIII. COMPOSED ON THE EVE OF THE MARRIAGE OF A WHAT need of clamorous bells, or ribands gay, With gentleness, in that becoming way appear; Faultless does the Maid ΙΟ No disproportion in her soul, no strife: XXIV. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO. I. YES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed; For if of our affections none finds grace In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made The world which we inhabit? Better plea 5 As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 10 With beauty, which is varying every hour ; But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the power Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of paradise. XXV. 1805. FROM THE SAME. II. No mortal object did these eyes behold When first they met the placid light of thine, And my Soul felt her destiny divine, And hope of endless peace in me grew bold: Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold; Beyond the visible world she soars to seek (For what delights the sense is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. 5 The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest 1805. XXVI. FROM THE SAME. TO THE SUPREME BEING. III. THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed That of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works Thou art the seed, 5 That quickens only where Thou say'st it may : Unless Thou shew to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred XXVII. 1805. ΙΟ SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss!-That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, IO Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 1815. (?) XXVIII. METHOUGHT I Saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed; But all the steps and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone 5 Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one 10 Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone; A lovely Beauty in a summer grave! 1806. (?) XXIX. NOVEMBER, 1836. II. EVEN So for me a Vision sanctified The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen Thy countenance-the still rapture of thy mien When thou, dear Sister! wert become Death's Bride: No trace of pain or languor could abide Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold 5 Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline, burn; 1Ο Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine, The bright assurance, visibly return: And let my spirit in that power divine Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn. XXX. It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, Breathless with adoration; the broad sun The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: 5 And doth with his eternal motion make Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, 10 Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. 1802. XXXI. WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, What boots the inquiry ?-Neither friend nor foe 5 She cares for; let her travel where she may, |