ROMANCE.

OMANCE, 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.

FAIRY-LAND.

DIM vales-and shadowy floods—
And cloudy-looking woods,

Whose forms we can't discover

For the tears that drip all over

Huge moons there wax and wane—

Again-again-again—

Every moment of the night

For ever changing places—

And they put out the star-light

With the breath from their pale faces.

About twelve by the moon-dial

One more filmy than the rest