To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight;
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,
6.

Then is she tenfold gladder than before!

But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake?
Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee :

Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?

FANCY IN NUBIBUS,

OR THE POET IN THE CLOUDS.

O! IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes

Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould
Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low
And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold

"Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go From mount to mount through CLOUDLAND, gorgeous land!

Or list'ning to the tide, with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand

By those deep sounds possessed with inward light Beheld the ILIAD and the ODYSSEE

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

THE TWO FOUNTS.

STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY ON HER RECOVERY WITH UNBLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM A SEVERE

ATTACK OF PAIN.

'Twas my last waking thought, how it could be, That thou, sweet friend, such anguish should'st endure:

When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure.

Methought he fronted me with peering look
Fix'd on my heart; and read aloud in game
The loves and griefs therein, as from a book:
And uttered praise like one who wished to blame.

In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin

Two FOUNTS there are, of SUFFERING and of CHEER! That to let forth, and this to keep within!

But she, whose aspect I find imaged here,

Of PLEASURE only will to all dispense,

That Fount alone unlock, by no distress
Choked or turned inward but still issue thence
Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness.

As on the driving cloud the shiny Bow,
That gracious thing made up of tears and light,
Mid the wild rack and rain that slants below
Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly bright:

As though the spirits of all lovely flowers,
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown,
Or ere they sank to earth in vernal showers,
Had built a bridge to tempt the angels down.

Ev'n

So, Eliza! on that face of thine,

On that benignant face, whose look alone (The soul's translucence through her chrystal shrine !) Has power to soothe all anguish but thine own.

A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes wing,
But with a silent charm compels the stern
And tort'ring Genius of the BITTER SPRING,
To shrink aback, and cower upon
his urn.

Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet found

In passion, spleen, or strife,) the rOUNT OF PAIN O'erflowing beats against its lovely mound,

And in wild flashes shoots from heart to brain?

Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady gleam
On his raised lip, that aped a critic smile,
Had passed: yet I, my sad thoughts to beguile,
Lay weaving on the tissue of my dream:

Till audibly at length I cried, as though
Thou had'st indeed been present to my eyes,
O sweet, sweet sufferer; if the case be so,

I

In

pray thee, be less good, less sweet, less wise!

every

look a barbed arrow send, On those soft lips let scorn and anger live! Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet friend! Hoard for thyself the pain, thou wilt not give!