Here scolds the river, thus in foam to break, Then slow meanders down the dim afar, Toward the spread waters of the sleeping lake, Where smiles in azure the fair evening star. To these crowned summits—dim old colonnades— The gentle twilight still a last ray lends, E'en while the cloud-car of the queen of shades White o'er yon far horizon's verge ascends. Spreading through all the air, with gothic swell, Soft sounds of worship bid the ear attend; The trav'ler stops to hear the distant bell With day's last noises holy concerts blend. But these fair tableaux have no charm for me; My sight indifferent is o'er them led, Like the fleet shadows that at noon I see: Suns for the living cannot warm the dead. From hill to hill in vain I turn my glance, From south to north, from sunrise to his rest, I search at every point this vast expanse; Nowhere doth fortune wait on my behest. What make these valleys and these homes? I cry; Vain objects all; their charm for me has flown: Rocks, rivers, forests, loved retreats, I sigh, One being absent, every soul is gone. What signifies the sun to rise or set? And what a heaven sombre or serene? Returning days no joy for me beget, And still unmoved I gaze on every scene. Round could I follow the sun's vast career, My eyes would see but deserts wild and void; Nothing he shines on can my bosom cheer: I wish for nothing here below enjoyed. Perchance beyond the borders of this earth, Where the true sun looks down from other skies, Could I but cast the slough of this world's birth, What I so much have dreamed would meet my eyes. There, filled from fountains whither thought aspires, There might I find again, with hope and love, This fair ideal every soul desires— Find her who has no name save there above. Borne on Aurora's car, why can I not, Vague object of my vows, launch forth to thee? Why on this earth of exile is my lot, With nothing common between it and me? Leaves in the prairie fall, with passage brief, And evening breezes to some dale convey; And I—am I not like a withered leaf? Ye stormy north winds, bear me hence away! TO A FRIEND ON THE DAY OF HIS MARRIAGE. A STORE of happiness to thee This day auspicious brings, And o'er the future fairy Hope Her robe of promise flings. Oh, fair is she whom thou hast won To be thy gentle bride, A fairer none could ever wish "To grace a lover's side." But well for thee thy chosen one Hath charms that brighter shine, And these by strong, though tiny cords, Shall make her doubly thine. Beneath the potent hand of Time That graceful form must bow, And age his furrowed lines shall trace Upon that lovely brow.