ADELINE.

1.

MYSTERY of mysteries,
Faintly smiling Adeline,
Scarce of earth nor all divine,

Nor unhappy, nor at rest,

But beyond expression fair
With thy floating flaxen hair;

Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes

Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim locks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

2.

Whence that aery bloom of thine,
Like a lily which the sun
Looks thro' in sad decline,

And a rose-bush leans upon,
Thou that faintly smilest still,
As a Naiad in a well,
Looking at the set of day,
Or a phantom two hours old
Of a maiden past away,
Ere the placid lips be cold?
Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,
Spiritual Adeline ?

3.

What hope or fear or joy is thine?
Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone:

Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the butterflies

What they say betwixt their wings?
Or in stillest evenings

With what voice the violet woos

To his heart the silver dews?

Or when little airs arise,

How the merry bluebell rings

To the mosses underneath?

Hast thou look'd upon the breath
Of the lilies at sunrise?

Wherefore that faint smile of thine,
Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ?

4.

Some honey-converse feeds thy mind,
Some spirit of a crimson rose
In love with thee forgets to close
His curtains, wasting odorous sighs
All night long on darkness blind.
What aileth thee? whom waitest thou
With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow,
And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
Thou faint smiler, Adeline?

5.

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When thou gazest at the skies?
Doth the low-tongued Orient

Wander from the side of the morn,
Dripping with Sabæan spice

On thy pillow, lowly bent

With melodious airs lovelorn,
Breathing Light against thy face,
While his locks a-drooping twined
Round thy neck in subtle ring
Make a carcanet of rays,

And ye talk together still,
In the language wherewith Spring
Letters cowslips on the hill?
Hence that look and smile of thine,
Spiritual Adeline.

A CHARACTER.

WITH a half-glance upon the sky
At night he said, "The wanderings
Of this most intricate Universe
Teach me the nothingness of things.”
Yet could not all creation pierce
Beyond the bottom of his eye.

He spake of beauty: that the dull
Saw no divinity in grass,

Life in dead stones, or spirit in air;

Then looking as 't were in a glass,

He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair,

And said the earth was beautiful.

He spake of virtue: not the gods
More purely, when they wish to charm
Pallas and Juno sitting by:

And with a sweeping of the arm,
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,
Devolved his rounded periods.

Most delicately hour by hour
He canvass'd human mysteries,
And trod on silk, as if the winds
Blew his own praises in his eyes,
And stood aloof from other minds
In impotence of fancied power.

With lips depress'd as he were meek,
Himself unto himself he sold :
Upon himself himself did feed:
Quiet, dispassionate, and cold,

And other than his form of creed,

With chisell'd features clear and sleek.

THE POET.

THE poet in a golden clime was born,

With golden stars above;

Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love

He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill,

He saw thro' his own soul.

The marvel of the everlasting will,
An open scroll,

:

Before him lay with echoing feet he threaded
The secretest walks of fame:

The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
And wing'd with flame,

Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue, And of so fierce a flight,

From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,

Filling with light

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
Them earthward till they lit;

Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,
The fruitful wit

Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew
Where'er they fell, behold,

Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew
A flower all gold,

And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling

The winged shafts of truth,

To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth.

So

many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Tho' one did fling the fire.

Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.

Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world
Like one great garden show'd,

And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd,
Rare sunrise flow'd.

And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise
Her beautiful bold brow,

When rites and forms before his burning eyes
Melted like snow.

There was no blood upon her maiden robes
Sunn'd by those orient skies;

But round about the circles of the globes
Of her keen eyes

And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
WISDOM, a name to shake

All evil dreams of power- a sacred name.
And when she spąke,

Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder
Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
Making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words.

Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,

No sword

But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
She shook the world.

THE POET'S MIND.

1.

VEX not thou the poet's mind
With thy shallow wit:
Vex not thou the poet's mind;

For thou canst not fathom it.
Clear and bright it should be ever,
Flowing like a crystal river;
Bright as light, and clear as wind.

2.

Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear;
All the place is holy ground;
Hollow smile and frozen sneer
Come not here.

Holy water will I pour

Into every spicy flower

Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around.
The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer.
In your eye there is death,

There is frost in your breath

Which would blight the plants.

Where you stand you cannot hear

From the groves within

The wild-bird's din.

In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants,
It would fall to the ground if you came in.
In the middle leaps a fountain

Like sheet-lightning,

Ever brightening

With a low melodious thunder;

All day and all night it is ever drawn
From the brain of the purple mountain
Which stands in the distance yonder:

It springs on a level of bowery lawn,

And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, And it sings a song of undying love;

And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full,

You never would hear it; your ears are so dull; So keep where you are: you are foul with sin; It would shrink to the earth if you came in.