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Who daily scents his snowy wings
With incense of burnt offerings
From the most unpolluted things,
Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven
Above with trellis'd rays from Heaven,
No mote may shun-no tiniest fly-
The lightning of his eagle eye-
How was it that Ambition crept,

Unseen, amid the revels there,
Till, growing bold, he laughed and leapt

In the tangles of Love's very hair?

TO

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see

The wantonest singing birds, Are lips—and all thy melody

Of lip-begotten words

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,

Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind

Like starlight on a pall

Thy heart—thy heart !-I wake and sigh,

And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy-

Of the baubles that it may.

A DREAM.

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed— But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray

Turned back upon the past ?

That holy dream-that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,

So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright

In Truth's day-star ?

ROMANCE.

ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things !
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

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