Say, has some wet bird-haunted English lawn
Lent it the music of its trees at dawn?

Or was it from some sun-fleck'd mountain-brook

That the sweet voice its upland clearness took? Ah! it comes nearer

Sweet notes, this way!

Hark! fast by the window

The rushing winds go,

To the ice-cumber'd gorges,

The vast seas of snow!

There the torrents drive upward

Their rock-strangled hum;

There the avalanche thunders

The hoarse torrent dumb.

-I come, O ye mountains!

Ye torrents, I come!

But who is this, by the half-open'd door,
Whose figure casts a shadow on the floor?
The sweet blue eyes-the soft, ash-colour'd hair-
The cheeks that still their gentle paleness wear-
The lovely lips, with their arch smile that tells
The unconquer'd joy in which her spirit dwells-

Ah! they bend nearer

Sweet lips, this way!

Hark! the wind rushes past us!

Ah! with that let me go

To the clear, waning hill-side,

Unspotted by snow,

There to watch, o'er the sunk vale,

The frore mountain-wall,

Where the niched snow-bed sprays down

Its powdery fall.

There its dusky blue clusters

The aconite spreads;

There the pines slope, the cloud-strips

Hung soft in their heads.

No life but, at moments,
The mountain-bee's hum.
-I come, O ye mountains!
Ye pine-woods, I come!

Forgive me forgive me!
Ah, Marguerite, fain

Would these arms reach to clasp thee!
But see! 'tis in vain.

In the void air, towards thee,

My stretch'd arms are cast; But a sea rolls between us—

Our different past!

To the lips, ah! of others

Those lips have been prest,

And others, ere I was,

Were strain'd to that breast;

Far, far from each other

Our spirits have grown ;

And what heart knows another?
Ah! who knows his own?

Blow, ye winds! lift me with you!

I come to the wild.

Fold closely, O Nature!

Thine arms round thy child.

To thee only God granted

A heart ever new

To all always open,

To all always true.

Ah! calm me, restore me;

And dry up my tears

On thy high mountain-platforms, Where morn first appears;

Where the white mists, for ever, Are spread and upfurl'd—

In the stir of the forces

Whence issued the world.

3. A FAREWELL.

My horse's feet beside the lake,

Where sweet the unbroken moonbeams lay,
Sent echoes through the night to wake

Each glistening strand, each heath-fringed bay.

The poplar avenue was pass'd,

And the roof'd bridge that spans the stream;
Up the steep street I hurried fast,
Led by thy taper's starlike beam.

I came! I saw thee rise!-the blood
Pour'd flushing to thy languid cheek.
Lock'd in each other's arms we stood,
In tears, with hearts too full to speak.

Days flew ;-ah, soon I could discern
A trouble in thine alter'd air!

Thy hand lay languidly in mine,

Thy cheek was grave, thy speech grew rare.