I, leaving oft behind The labours and the vigils of my mind That did my life consume And of my being far the best entomb, Bade from the casement of my father's house Mine ears give heed unto thy silver song And to thy rapid hand That swept with skill the spinning thread along; I watched the sky serene, The radiant paths and flowers, And here the sea, the mountain there, expand. What thoughts divinely sweet, What hopes, O Sylvia! and what souls were ours! In what guise did we meet Our destiny and life? When I remember such aspiring flown, Fierce pain invades my soul Which nothing can console And my misfortune I again bemoan. O Nature, void of ruth! Why not give some return For those fair promises? Why full of fraud Thy wretched offspring spurn? Thou, ere the herbs by Winter were destroyed, Led to the grave by an unknown disease, Did'st perish, tender blossom. Thy life's flower Was not by thee enjoyed; Nor heard, thy heart to please, The admiration of thy raven hair Or of the enamoured glances of thine eyes; Nor thy companions in the festive hour Spoke of the raptures of impassioned love Or of its burning sighs. Ere long my hope as well Was dead and gone. By cruel Fate's decree Was youthfulness denied Unto my years. Ah me! How art thou past for aye, Thou dear companion of my earlier day, My hope so much bewailed! Is this the world? Are these The joys, the loves, the labours and the deeds Whereof so often we together spoke? Is this the doom to which mankind proceeds? When dark reality before thee lay Revealed, thou sankest, and thy dying hand Pointed to death, a figure of cold gloom, And to a distant tomb. THE CALM AFTER THE TEMPEST. The storm hath passed away; the birds rejoice; I hear the feathered songsters tune their notes As they again come forth. Behold! the sky Serenely breaks through regions of the West Beyond the mountain-ridge; the country round Emerges from the shadows, and below, Within the vale, the river clearly shines.