And learned them fashioned to the heart's desire.
The supreme mind
Of Shakspere took their sovereignty, and smiled.
Those passionate Israelitish lips that poured
The Song of Songs attained them; and the wild
Child-heart of Shelley, here from strife restored,
Remembers not life's sword.



A SERENADE.


Love hath given the day for longing,
And for joy the night.
Dearest, to thy distant chamber
Wings my soul its flight.

Though unfathomed seas divide us,
And the lingering year,
'Tis the hour when absence parts not,--
Memory hath no tear.

O'er the charmed and silent river
Drifts my lonely boat;
From the haunted shores and islands
Tender murmurs float,

Tender breaths of glade and forest,
Breezes of perfume;--