Lost Lobe!

PART FIRST.

As eats the rust in brightest blade

That hangs in some forsaken hall;— As eats a wrong word Love has said

Into the very soul like gall,
So have the teeth of Time ate deep

In this lone heart for many years,
And all that's left can scarcely keep

A record of its sighs and fears!— Yet would I not on sorrow dwell,

But picture youth's too ardent hours, When life held out her mystic spell,

And earth was redolent with flowers.

Name not Love, except the heart
In every echo takes a part;
Know the curious ocean-shell
Always of its birth can tell.
Love is a celestial feeling,
New-created joys revealing,

Through the bosom strangely stealing--
As the blood sweeps through the veins;-
Full of mild intense devotion,
Then tempestuous as the ocean-
All excitement and commotion,

Like an eagle bound in chains;-
Bearing on with aspect grand,
Like a wave that licks the sand
Into wreathy curls, and leaves it
When the rising shore receives it
With a bold returning hand;
Sinking backward to the sea-
Dying in its majesty!

Name not Love, except like me
All your bosom is on fire,
And, with soul-felt ecstacy,

You can thrill the trembling lyre; Higher, higher, even higher

Than the morning lark ascends, Till among the cherub-choir

His fond matin anthems blend;Till he sees the smile of heaven To his warbling accents given,

And with spiral wings of love Singing, springing, he is bringing Inspiration from above, And he comes with glory driven Downwards, gentle as the dove!

If your censer has been lighted
At the shrine that's never blighted,
Then with rapturous soul return,
For that flame will always burn!
Thus I loved a girl in childhood,
Nor is yet the passion cold-
Not a flower by vale or wildwood,-
Cowslip with its bells of gold,
Primrose by the border growing
Of some streamlet sweetly flowing,
But some likeness of her told;
She was fair and fresh as nature,
Beauty beam'd in every feature;
O'er her shoulders ringlets flowing,
Like the hyacinth when blowing;
Eyes like violets of blue,
Spangled with the early dew;
Gentle, modest, artless, winning,
Such as Eve before her sinning;

Fairer than the fairest flowers,
Moulded gracefully by Him
Who had form'd the cherubim;

O what happy days were ours
In young love's delightful hours!

Love has boundless realms of pleasure,
Never has a moment's leisure-
For exhaustless is the treasure

That the joyous charm affords.
Ever trusting in its gladness,
Far removed from sullen sadness,
Revelling in happy madness,

Which with raptured heart accords;-
"Tis a joy beyond expressing,
'Tis a kind, enchanting blessing,
Like two angel-forms caressing,
And is full of tender words;-
Free of prejudice or scorning,
Fragrant as the breath of morning
Which the great sun is adorning,
Or the pleasant song of birds.

Almost do I blush to tell
That I loved, or loved so well.

Like adoration it may seem;
But let not those who never felt
The kindest bliss that heaven has dealt,
Suppose it but a maniac's dream.
She did my waken'd soul engage—
Like eagle captured in a cage

My heart leap'd up and down within; And to have been estranged to her Who did my inmost spirit stir,

I would have reckon'd more than sin. The passion gave creative joy

But then I was of tender years,

A hopeful, trusting, ardent boy,
When nothing strange in life appears.

We grew together like twin-trees
Planted on the self-same day,
And, springing by unmark'd degrees,
We were much taller every May;
And then we fondly loved to stray
Through sylvan scenes, where cooling shades

Made freedom's glorious spirit gay,
And dew-drops on the tender blades

Sparkled with prismatic rays,
Like the diamond's varying blaze;
And careless were our rambles then
By hill and vale, by wood and glen,
Singing joyously and loud,
Like the minstrel in the cloud,
Or as young deer bounding proud
O'er the mountains merrily!

Never seeking home or rest,
Till the sun sunk down the west,
Like a monarch, crimson-dress'd,
Going forth to revelry.

She loved me, and I also loved,
Yet neither knew what spirit moved
Our tender hearts; we never proved

Or scann'd the wonder-working charm:
At least we felt in heart the same;
We gave the secret power no name,
Nor ask'd we how or whence it came,

And never, never breathed of harm,—

So the lambkins revel free

O'er the flower-besprinkled lea;

So the sunshine and the shade

Chace each other through the glade;—

So the birds on leafy tree

Sing their am'rous notes of glee,

So was she akin to me

Such was her sweet company!

When I lay in midnight dream,

She was ever near mine eye-
Gliding past like radiant stream
Pouring from its fount on high:
Or winging like the butterfly
That floats in lightness o'er the bowers,
Softly as the wintry sky

Drops its snow-flakes 'mong the flowers.
How blest that love which meets return,
With equal warmth two bosoms burn;
With equal hope, with equal pride,
They walk with Cupid as their guide!

She grew in beauty as the rose
That in the land of Sharon grows;
Like fabled Venus she was fair,
Every female grace was there;
Her voice the summer morning bright,
Her eyes were full of starry light,
Her alabaster breast below
Heaved with joys that lovers' know.

At school we read from off one book Like love-birds seated side by side, Yet in each face did fondly look

Making that page of joy our guide; Pursuing this delightful rule, We made a honeymoon of school,

And when the door was open'd wide, With hearty joy we rush'd away Among the flowery meads to stray,

Or as the lock-entrammell'd tide Rushes proudly when let free, Like captive set at liberty.

Who can forget their schoolboy days When innocence and duty meet; When all we look on seems to raise

New blossoms springing at our feet? O, 'tis a time of all most sweet, Not even the little tiresome task

Can make us sad; how young hearts beat, We never smile behind a mask; But from all cares and troubles calm, We breathe the rose-begotten balm!

Years pass'd-and she was borne away
From those associations dear,
And parting, has no tongue to say

How sad that moment, how severe
To those who are in heart sincere.
They feel all hope all gladness gone,
And only drop a silent tear
From bosoms desolate and lone!

Years pass'd-no more we hail'd the spring,
No more upon the mountain-side

My fair one to my arm did cling
As we before had walk'd in pride.

I felt as the fond bird bereft
Of all its brood it lately left;
Dark as the night, when every ray
Of moon and stars have pass'd away.

O! aimless, early, mystic love,

My lonely bosom yet grows warm;— My spirit soars on wings above,

When I recall its sacred charm.
Again I play the lover's part,
I feel youth kindling in my heart,
As if I could unline the chart

Engraven on its tablet there,—
As if I could with wizard-art
Lay all its strange revealings bare;
But, ah! a tithe I cannot tell,
And scarcely do that portion well.

Thus fancied joy takes wing and flies,—
A shadow passes o'er my tale.
The candle flashes ere it dies,

And sings the swan unto the gale
Ere it resigns its latest breath
Into the horny hands of death.
Grief preyed upon me day by day—

My loved one was so far away,

And in my bosom dwelt dismay,

Like gloom deep in a cavern's breast, And, gazing on the evening star,

I hoped she saw it from afar,
For fair as dove in Juno's car
My maiden was by all confess'd.

Time to a lover is not time

As measured by the belfry's chime, It has a motion of its own; Hours are as days, and days as years, A year, eternity appears

But only to the lover known.

I could have thought me growing old
So lengthen'd every day became,
And like a miser o'er his gold

I reckon❜d all with care the same.
Where'er her fawn-like foot had paced,
Those sylvan scenes again I traced,
Yet could not charm my deep dismay,
But, like an exile far away,

I wander'd in a waking dream, Without a friendly voice to say

O, welcome to your native stream!— Without a face however rude, To cheer me in my solitude. I was an exile thus in heart,

I felt his feeling, every part.

At length the year was growing old,
The golden-leaves of autumn fell,
The swallow left the coming cold,

In distant sunlit climes to dwell-
To hold again unceasing mirth,
When spring reigns in perennial birth,

And blossoms far our own excel;-
When in our land those feel decay,
And darker grow the shades of day,

And morning has a wintry smell; When silvery frost crisps all beneath, And scatters universal death

O'er every mountain, moor, and dell;-When nature doffs her shiny dress And seems to languish in distress,

And of decline is grieved to tell;When half the world grows bare and lone, And all the gems that o'er it shone,

Sink like lost jewels in a well.

She came at this desponding time

Came like a spirit bright and fair, Came in the gladness of her prime