Works

I.


A spirit haunts the year's last hours
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers:
To himself he talks;
For at eventide, listening earnestly,
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh...

Dropt here and there upon the flower
I love the dew to see,
For then returns the even's hour
That is so dear to me,
When silence reigns upon the plain,
And night hides all, or nearly;...

Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam;
But follow my shadow that points the way home;
Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay;
For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play!...

Captain O'Hare was a mariner brave;
He refused to abandon his ship;
A hero, he sleeps in a watery grave,
And his widow is now Mrs. Bipp,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Bipp!
...

(See Note 1)

Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
Love it, love it, of you thinking,
Father; mother dear,...

Nah chaps, pray dooant think it's a sarmon awm praichin,
If aw tell yo some nooations at's entered mi pate;
For ther's nubdy should turn a cold shoulder to taichin,...

I scanned her picture dreaming,
Till each dear line and hue
Was imaged, to my seeming,
As if it lived anew.

Her lips began to borrow
Their former wondrous smile;...

August is gone and now this is September,
Softer the sun in a cloudier sky;
Yellow the leaves grow and apples grow golden,
Blackberries ripen and hedges undress.
Watch and you'll see the departure of summer,...

And said I that all hope was fled,
That sorrow and despair were mine,
That each enthusiast wish was dead,
Had sank beneath pale Misery's shrine. -

Seest thou the sunbeam's yellow glow,...

1

Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush my dear!
All the house is asleep, but we know very well
That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may hear.
Tho' you've padded his night-cap O sweet Isabel!...

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
O, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
With a single thread of my own hand's weaving;...

Ah me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me:
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:...

Mary, the day of love's pleasures has been,
And the day is o'erclouded and gone;
These eyes all their fulness of pleasure have seen,
What they never again shall look on....

Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes;
And, while upon the wind
Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass...

I come from a land in the sun bright deep,
Where golden gardens grow;
Where the winds of the north, be calmed in sleep,
Their conch-shells never blow.[1]
Haste to that holy Isle with me,
Haste--haste!...

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!...

Who, Being Crossed By Their Friends, Fell Mad For One Another; And Now First Meet In Bedlam.


[Music within.]

The Lovers enter at opposite doors, each held by a keeper.

...

[1]


"I've been, oh, sweet daughter,
"To fountain and sea,
"To seek in their water
"Some bright gem for thee.
"Where diamonds were sleeping,
"Their sparkle I sought,...

O sweet To-morrow! -
After to-day
There will away
This sense of sorrow.
Then let us borrow
Hope, for a gleaming
Soon will be streaming,
Dimmed by no gray -
No gray!
...

Once again the Steamer at Calais, the tackles
Easing the car-trays on to the quay. Release her!
Sign-refill, and let me away with my horses
(Seventy Thundering Horses!)...