Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears,

The counter-weights!-Thy laughter and thy tears

Mean but themselves, each fittest to create

And to repay each other! Why rejoices Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good?

Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood,

Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,

Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold?

Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold

These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?

SUNG BY GLYCINE IN ZAPOLYA,
ACT II. SCENE I

A SUNNY shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold-

Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sunk, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,

All else of amethyst !

And thus he sang: Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms they make no delay :
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;

'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, And scare the small birds from the corn. Not a soul at home may stay:

For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse :
Find grannam out a sunny seat,

With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
1815.

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY

AN ALLEGORY

ON the wide level of a mountain's head, (I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)

Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,

Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!

This far outstript the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy be-
hind:

For he, alas! is blind! O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed,

And knows not whether he be first or last.

ISRAEL'S LAMENT

? 1815.

Translation of 'A Hebrew Dirge, chaunted in the Great Synagogue, St. James's Place, Aldgate, on the day of the Funeral of her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte. By Hyman Hurwitz, Master of the Hebrew Academy, Highgate, 1817.

MOURN, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn!
Give utterance to the inward throe!
As wails, of her first love forlorn,
The Virgin clad in robes of woe.

Mourn the young Mother, snatch'd away
From Light and Life's ascending Sun!
Mourn for the babe, Death's voiceless
prey,

Earn'd by long pangs and lost ere won.

While Grief in song shall seek repose,

We will take up a Mourning yearly: To wail the blow that crush'd the Rose, So dearly priz'd and lov'd so dearly. 40 Long as the fount of Song o'erflows

Will I the yearly dirge renew: Mourn for the firstling of the Rose That snapt the stem on which it grew. The proud shall pass, forgot; the chill, Damp, trickling Vault their only mourner !

Not so the regal Rose, that still

Clung to the breast which first had worn her!

An old man with a steady look sublime, That stops his earthly task to watch the skies;

But he is blind

eyes ;

alone,

Essay to draw from all created things