BEAUTY AND SONG.
Down in yon summer vale,
Where the rill flows.
Thus said a Nightingale
To his loved Rose:--
"Tho' rich the pleasures
"Of song's sweet measures,
"Vain were its melody,
"Rose, without thee."
Then from the green recess
Of her night-bower,
Beaming with bashfulness,
Spoke the bright flower:--
"Tho' morn should lend her
"Its sunniest splendor,
"What would the Rose be,
"Unsung by thee?"
Thus still let Song attend
Woman's bright way;
Thus still let woman lend
Light to the lay.
Like stars thro' heaven's sea
Floating in harmony
Beauty should glide along
Circled by Song.
WHEN THOU ART NIGH.
When thou art nigh, it seems
A new creation round;
The sun hath fairer beams,
The lute a softer sound.
Tho' thee alone I see,
And hear alone thy sigh,
'Tis light, 'tis song to me,
Tis all--when thou art nigh.
When thou art nigh, no thought
Of grief comes o'er my heart;
I only think--could aught
But joy be where thou art?
Life seems a waste of breath,
When far from thee I sigh;
And death--ay, even death
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.
SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN.
I come from a land in the sun bright deep,
Where golden gardens grow;
Where the winds of the north, be calmed in sleep,
Their conch-shells never blow.
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