Hark to that solemn sound! It steals towards the strand.-- Whose is that voice profound Which mourns the swallowed land, With moans, Or groans, New threats of ruin close at hand? It is Triton--the storm to scorn Who doth wind his sonorous horn. How thick the rain to-night! And all along the coast The sky shows naught of light Is it a storm, my host? Too soon The boon Of pleasant weather will be lost Yes, 'tis Triton, etc. Are seamen on that speck Afar in deepening dark? Is that a splitting deck Of some ill-fated bark? Fend harm! Send calm! O Venus! show thy starry spark! Though 'tis Triton, etc. The thousand-toothèd gale,-- Adventurers too bold!-- Rips up your toughest sail And tears your anchor-hold. You forge Through surge, To be in rending breakers rolled. While old Triton, etc. Do sailors stare this way, Cramped on the Needle's sheaf, To hail the sudden ray Which promises relief? Then, bright; Shine, light! Of hope upon the beacon reef! Though 'tis Triton, etc. LOVE'S TREACHEROUS POOL _("Jeune fille, l'amour c'est un miroir.")_ [XXVI., February, 1835.] Young maiden, true love is a pool all mirroring clear, Where coquettish girls come to linger in long delight, For it banishes afar from the face all the clouds that besmear The soul truly bright; But tempts you to ruffle its surface; drawing your foot To subtilest sinking! and farther and farther the brink That vainly you snatch--for repentance, 'tis weed without root,-- And struggling, you sink! THE ROSE AND THE GRAVE. _("La tombe dit à la rose.")_ [XXXI., June 3, 1837] The Grave said to the rose "What of the dews of dawn, Love's flower, what end is theirs?" "And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb's mouth unawares?" The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said: "In the shade From the dawn's tears is made A perfume faint and strange, Amber and honey sweet." "And all the spirits fleet Do suffer a sky-change, More strangely than the dew, To God's own angels new," The Grave said to the Rose. A. LANG. LES RAYONS ET LES OMBRES.--1840. HOLYROOD PALACE. _("O palais, sois bénié.")_ [II., June, 1839.] Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore! Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before; For the old King of France[1] hath found in thee That melancholy hospitality Which in their royal fortune's evil day, Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay. _Fraser's Magazine._ [Footnote 1: King Charles X.]