Part 32 (2/2)

And, all along the woodland where I stray, I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay, And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.

Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart, So dear to me, so fair, and so benign, Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine, And turns to thee, in regions where thou art, To hymn the praises of thy face divine!

X.

BYRON.

He was a G.o.d descended from the skies To fight the fight of Freedom o'er a grave, And consecrate a hope he could not save; For he was weak withal, and foolish-wise.

Dark were his thoughts, and strange his destinies, And oftentimes his life he did deprave.

But all do pity him, though none despise.

He was a prince of song, though sorrow's slave.

He ask'd for tears,--and they were tinged with fire; He ask'd for love, and love was sold to him.

He look'd for solace at the goblet's brim, And found it not; then wept upon his lyre.

He sang the songs of all the world's desire,-- He wears the wreath no rivalry can dim!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XI.

LOVE'S AMBITION.

I must invoke thee for my spirit's good, And prove myself un-guilty of the crime Of mere self-seeking, though with this imbued.

I sing as sings the mavis in a wood, Content to be alive at harvest time.

Had I its wings I should not be withstood!

But I will weave my fancies into rhyme, And greet afar the heights I cannot climb.

I will invoke thee, Love! though far away, And pay thee homage, as becomes a knight Who longs to keep his true-love in his sight.

Yea, I will soar to thee, in roundelay, In s.h.i.+ne and shower, and make a bold a.s.say Of each fond hope, to compa.s.s thee aright.

XII.

LOVE'S DEFEAT.

Do what I will, I cannot chant so well As other men; and yet my soul is true.

My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell, But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too, Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.

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