To AH! little thought she, when, with wild delight, That in her veins a secret horror slept, That her light footsteps should be heard no more, Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew The kindred forms her closing eye required. There didst thou stand-there, with the smile she knew. She moved her lips to bless thee, and expired. * On the death of her sister. And now to thee she comes; still, still the same As in the hours gone unregarded by! To thee, how changed, comes as she ever came; Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye! Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears, WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER. THERE, in that bed so closely curtained round, He stirs yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise; Till thro' the shuttered pane the morning streams, WRITTEN AT MEILLERIE, SEPTEMBER 30, 1814. THESE HESE grey majestic cliffs that tower to Heaven, These glimmering glades and open chesnut-groves, That echo to the heifer's wandering bell, Or wood-man's axe, or steers-man's song beneath, As on he urges his fir-laden bark, Or shout of goatherd-boy above them all, Who loves not? And who blesses not the light, As now thy Chartreuse and thy bowers, Ripaille; Or Chillon's dungeon-floors beneath the wave, Channelled and worn by pacing to and fro; Yet there is, Within an eagle's flight, a nobler scene, Thy lake, Lucerne, shut in among the mountains, Mountains that flank its waves as with a wall Built by the Giant-race before the flood; Where not a cross or chapel but inspires Holy delight, lifting our thoughts to God From God-like men, men in a barbarous age |