WORK WITHOUT HOPE.*

LINES COMPOSED 21ST FEBRUARY,† 1827.

ALL

LL Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their
lair--

The bees are stirring-birds are on the wing-
And Winter slumbering in the open air,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

YOUTH AND AGE.‡

VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung § feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young !

* Printed in The Bijou, Lond., William Pickering, 1828. On a day in February-Bijou.

Printed in The Bijou, 1828, and in The Literary Souvenir of the same date. § Clings-Bijou.

When I was young?—Ah, woful when !
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house* not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,†
How lightly then it flash'd along :-
Like those trim skiffs,‡ unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together.§

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, ||

Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,**

Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet, ††
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-‡‡

*This house of clay-Bijou.

+ O'er hill and dale and sounding sands-il. Boats-ib.

§ See Ode to the Rain, suprà, p. 263.

|| Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty-1828. ** Ah mournful Ere-Literary Souvenir. †† So merry and sweet-Bijou.

False conceit-il.

It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :-
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that Thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait,* this alter'd size :
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still. †

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When we are old : +

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,

*This dragging gait-Bijou.

+ Here the poem ends in The Bijou, and the Literary Souvenir. The remaining portion was published under the title of "The Old Man's Sigh, a Sonnet," dated "The Grove, Highgate, 18th May, 1832," in Blackwood's Magazine, June 1832.

That only serves to make us grieve

In our old age,

Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars of the still

narrowing cage.-1832.

That may not rudely be dismist; Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. [O! might Life cease! and Selfless Mind, Whose total Being is Act, alone remain behind!]

Y

A DAY-DREAM.*

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut: I see a fountain, large and fair,

A willow and a ruin'd hut,

And thee, and me and Mary there.

O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

And that and summer well † agree : And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree!

And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'Twas day but now few, large, and bright,

:

The stars are round the crescent moon;

And now it is a dark warm night,

The balmiest of the month of June!

* Printed in The Bijou, 1828.

In The Bijou "will agree,"-probably a misprint.

A glow-worm fall'n, and *on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.

O ever-ever be thou blest!

For dearly, Asra, love I thee! † This brooding warmth across my breast, This depth of tranquil bliss-ah, me ! Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall,

By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber moveless all !

And now they melt to one ‡ deep shade!

But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee : I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee !

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play

'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!

But let me check this tender lay

Which none may hear but she and thou! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE.

FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind!
As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping;

* In the marge-Bijou. †O Asra! dearly love I thee!ib.
They make to me―ib.