GOOD-NIGHT GOOD-NIGHT? ah, no! the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night good, To hearts which near each other move MUSIC. I PANT for the music which is divine, Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound; More, O more!-I am thirsting yet; Altered from thought, understood: Prof. Craik's correction It loosens the serpent which care has bound The dissolving strain, through every vein, As the scent of a violet withered up, Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, And mist there was none its thirst to slakeAnd the violet lay dead while the odour flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, Whom a mighty enchantress, filling up, Invites to love with her kiss divine DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. ORPHAN hours, the year is dead, Merry hours, smile instead, For the year is but asleep : As an earthquake rocks a corse So white Winter, that rough nurse, For your mother in her shroud. As the wild air stirs and sways January gray is here, Like a sexton by her grave; March with grief doth howl and rave, A FRAGMENT. THEY were two cousins, almost like two twins. Except that from the catalogue of sins Nature had rased their love-which could not be But by dissevering their nativity. And so they grew together, like two flowers Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather—the same clime Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow ΤΟ ONE word is too often profaned One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, |