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MUTABILITY.

THE flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;

All that we wish to stay,

Tempts and then flies; What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.

Virtue, how frail it is!

Friendship too rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy and all
Which ours we call.

Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night

Make glad the day;

Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou-and from thy sleep Then wake to weep.

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To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;
To curse the life which is the cage

Of fettered grief that dares not groan,
Hiding from many a careless eye
The scorned load of agony.

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Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,
The [
] thou alone should be,
To spend years thus, and be rewarded,
As thou, sweet love, requited me
When none were near-Oh! I did wake
From torture for that moment's sake.
Upon my heart thy accents sweet

Of peace and pity fell like dew
On flowers half dead;-thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw
Their soft persuasion on my brain,
Charming away its dream of pain.

We are not happy, sweet! our state

Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate;

Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thou and me.

Gentle and good and mild thou art,

Nor can I live if thou appear Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart

Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be To hide the love thou feel'st for me.

SONG.

RARELY, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
"Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false ! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure,

Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure.

Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,
And the starry night;

Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms

Of the radiant frost:

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost

Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

I love tranquil solitude,
And such society

As is quiet, wise, and good;
Between thee and me

What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love-though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But, above all other things,

Spirit, I love thee-
Thou art love and life!

O come,

Make once more my heart thy home.

ΤΟ

WHEN passion's trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!
It were enough to feel, to see
Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,
And dream the rest-and burn and be

The secret food of fires unseen,
Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.

After the slumber of the year
The woodland violets reappear;
All things revive in field or grove,
And sky and sea, but two, which move,
And for all others, life and love.

LINES

WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

WHAT! alive and so bold, O Earth?

Art thou not overbold?

What! leapest thou forth as of old

In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starry fold? Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?

Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, And canst thou more, Napoleon being dead?

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