All's lost-with a start from his rosy sleep waking, "Farewell-what a dream thy suspicion hath broken ! "Thus ever Affection's fond vision is crost; "Dissolv'd are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, "And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!" HERO AND LEANDER. "THE night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, "There gleameth no moon in the misty sky, "No star over Helle's sea; "Yet, yet, there is shiring one holy light, Thus saying, he plung'd in the foamy stream, No eye but a lover's could see; And still, as the surge swept over his head, But fiercer around him the wild waves speed; He struggles-he sinks-while the hurricane's breath THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. "TELL me, kind Seer, I pray thee, "So may the stars obey thee, "So may each airy "Moon-elf and fairy "Nightly their homage pay thee! "Say, by what spell, above, below, "In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow, "I may discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me or no, "Whether my love loves me.' "Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee "Hath charms no gold could buy thee; "Its stem enchanted, "By moon-elves planted, "Will all thou seek'st supply thee. "Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, 66 Bring thence their fairest leaf below; "And thou'lt discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether thy love loves thee or no, "Whether thy love loves thee." "See, up the dark tree going, "From thence, oh Father, "This leaf I gather, "Fairest that there is growing. "Say, by what sign I now shall know "And thus discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me or no, "Fly to yon fount that's welling, "Dip in its water "That leaf, oh Daughter, "And mark the tale 'tis telling ;1 "List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, "Whether thy lover, "Lov'd as he is, loves thee or no, "Lov'd as he is, loves thee." Forth flew the nymph, delighted, But, scarce a minute The leaf lay in it, When, lo, its bloom was blighted! And as she ask'd, with voice of woe List'ning, the while, that fountain's flow 'The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this; and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and dipping it into the sacred water. The fountain seem'd to answer, "No;" The fountain answer'd, "No." CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. A HUNTER once in that grove reclin'd, But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise! What meaneth that rustling spray? ""Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, "I have sought since break of day." Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, The arrow flies from his sounding bow, “Hilliho-hilliho!" he gaily sings, While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!" Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, For pale at his feet he sees her lie; "I die, I die," was all she said, While Echo murmur'd, "I die, I die!" YOUTH AND AGE.' "TELL me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day, "It is a sunny hour of play, "For which repentance dear doth pay; "Repentance! Repentance! "And this is Love, as wise men say." "Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more, Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore. "Soft as a passing summer's wind: "Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind? "Repentance! Repentance! "And this is Love when love is o'er.". "Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth again, Trusting the bliss, but not the pain. "Sweet as a May-tree's scented air. "Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, "Repentance! Repentance! "This, this is Love-sweet Youth, beware." 1 The air, to which I have adapted these words, was composed by Mrs. Arkwright to some old verses, "Tell me what's love, kind shepherd, pray? ?" and it has been my object to retain as much of the structure and phraseology of the original words as possible. |