No More Learning

Ah! why, sad lover, thus before your time
In grief and sadness should your life decay,
And, like a blighted flower, your manly prime
In vain and hopeless sorrow fade away?
Ah! yield not thus to culpable despair;
But raise thine eyes to heaven and think I wait thee there! "

CHARLOTTE SMITH.


Moved by the summer wind when all is still,
The light leaves quiver on the yielding spray;
Sighs from its flowery bank the lucid rill,
While the birds answer in their sweetest lay.
Vain to this sickening heart these scenes appear:
No form but hers can meet my tearful eyes;
In every passing gale her voice I hear;
It seems to tell me, "I have heard thy sighs.
But why," she cries, "in manhood's towering prime,
In grief's dark mist thy days, inglorious, hide?
Ah! dost thou murmur, that my span of time
Has join'd eternity's unchanging tide?
Yes, though I seem'd to shut mine eyes in night,
They only closed to wake in everlasting light! "

ANNE BANNERMAN.




SONNET XII.

_Mai non fu' in parte ove si chiar' vedessi. _

VAUCLUSE.
Nowhere before could I so well have seen
Her whom my soul most craves since lost to view;
Nowhere in so great freedom could have been
Breathing my amorous lays 'neath skies so blue;
Never with depths of shade so calm and green
A valley found for lover's sigh more true;
Methinks a spot so lovely and serene
Love not in Cyprus nor in Gnidos knew.
All breathes one spell, all prompts and prays that I
Like them should love--the clear sky, the calm hour,
Winds, waters, birds, the green bough, the gay flower--
But thou, beloved, who call'st me from on high,
By the sad memory of thine early fate,
Pray that I hold the world and these sweet snares in hate.

MACGREGOR.


Never till now so clearly have I seen
Her whom my eyes desire, my soul still views;
Never enjoy'd a freedom thus serene;
Ne'er thus to heaven breathed my enamour'd muse,
As in this vale sequester'd, darkly green;
Where my soothed heart its pensive thought pursues,
And nought intrusively may intervene,
And all my sweetly-tender sighs renews.
To Love and meditation, faithful shade,
Receive the breathings of my grateful breast!
Love not in Cyprus found so sweet a nest
As this, by pine and arching laurel made!
The birds, breeze, water, branches, whisper love;
Herb, flower, and verdant path the lay symphonious move.

CAPEL LOFFT.




SONNET XIII.

_Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto. _

HER FORM STILL HAUNTS HIM IN SOLITUDE.


How oft, all lonely, to my sweet retreat
From man and from myself I strive to fly,
Bathing with dewy eyes each much-loved seat,
And swelling every blossom with a sigh!
How oft, deep musing on my woes complete,
Along the dark and silent glens I lie,
In thought again that dearest form to meet
By death possess'd, and therefore wish to die!
How oft I see her rising from the tide
Of Sorga, like some goddess of the flood;
Or pensive wander by the river's side;
Or tread the flowery mazes of the wood;
Bright as in life; while angel pity throws
O'er her fair face the impress of my woes.

MERIVALE.




SONNET XIV.