MRS. HEMANS. 287 



Ev'n as a fount's remember'd gushings burst 

 On the parch'd traveller in his hour of thirst. 

 E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn 

 By quenchless longings, to my soul I say, 

 O ! for the dove's svyift wings, that I might flee away, 

 And find mine ark, yet whither? I must bear 

 A yearning heart within me to the grave. 

 * * * * * * * * 



And she to die, she loved the laughing earth 

 With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and flowers. 

 — Was not her smile even as the sudden birth 

 Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal showers ? 

 Yes, but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear 

 The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear, 

 Which, oft unconsciously, in happier hours 

 Flow'd from her lips, was to forget the sway 

 Of Time and Death below; blight, shadow, dull decay. 



Could this change be ? the hour, the scene, where last 

 I saw that form, came floating o'er my mind : 

 — A golden vintage-eve ; the heats were pass'd, 

 And, in the freshness of the fanning wind, 

 Her father sat, where gleamed the first faint star 

 Through the lime boughs; and, with her light guitar, 

 She, on the greensward at his feet reclined. 

 In his calm face laughed up; some shepherd -lay 

 Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play. 



THE REVELLERS. 



Ring, joyous chords ! yet again, again ! 



A swifter still, and a wilder strain ! 



They are here ! — the fair face, and the careless heart, 



And stars shall wane ere the mirthful part. 



— But I met a dimly mournful glance, 



In a sudden turn of the flying dance ; 



I heard the tone of a heavy sigh. 



In a pause of the thrilling melody ; 



And it is not well, that Woe should breathe 



Oh the bright spring-flowers of the festal wreath ; 



— Ye that to Thought and Grief belong. 



Leave, leave the Hall of Song ! 

 Ring, joyous chords ! — but who art thou, 

 With the shadowy locks o'er thy pale young brow. 

 And the world of dreaming gloom that lies 

 In the misty depths of thy soft dark eyes ? 

 — Thou hast loved, fair girl, thou hast loved too well ! 

 Thou art mourning now o'er a broken spell, 

 Thou hast poured thy heart's rich treasures forth. 

 And art unrepaid for their priceless worth ! 



