A shell was graven on its gold,-- 'Twas Cupid fix'd without his wings-- To Helene once it would have told More than was ever told by rings: But now all 's past and gone, Her love is buried with that stone. Thou shalt not see the tears that start From eyes by thoughts like these beguiled; Thou shalt not know the beating heart, Ever a victim and a child: Yet Helene, love, believe The heart that never could deceive. I'll hear thy voice of melody In the sweet whispers of the air; I'll see the brightness of thine eye In the blue evening's dewy star; In crystal streams thy purity; And look on Heaven to look on thee. George Darley. 1795-1846 642. The Fallen Star A STAR is gone! a star is gone! There is a blank in Heaven; One of the cherub choir has done His airy course this even. He sat upon the orb of fire That hung for ages there, And lent his music to the choir That haunts the nightly air. But when his thousand years are pass'd, With a cherubic sigh He vanish'd with his car at last, For even cherubs die! Hear how his angel-brothers mourn-- The minstrels of the spheres-- Each chiming sadly in his turn And dropping splendid tears. The planetary sisters all Join in the fatal song, And weep this hapless brother's fall, Who sang with them so long. But deepest of the choral band The Lunar Spirit sings, And with a bass-according hand Sweeps all her sullen strings. From the deep chambers of the dome Where sleepless Uriel lies, His rude harmonic thunders come Mingled with mighty sighs. The thousand car-bourne cherubim, The wandering eleven, All join to chant the dirge of him Who fell just now from Heaven. Hartley Coleridge. 1796-1849 643. The Solitary-Hearted SHE was a queen of noble Nature's crowning, A smile of hers was like an act of grace; She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, Like daily beauties of the vulgar race: But if she smiled, a light was on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream Of human thought with unabiding glory; Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, A visitation, bright and transitory. But she is changed,--hath felt the touch of sorrow, No love hath she, no understanding friend; O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow What the poor niggard earth has not to lend; But when the stalk is snapt, the rose must bend. The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely.